Lavender,' he commented, looking at the ribbons in her…

““Lavender,' he commented, looking at the ribbons in her sleeve. 'The prince was tired, he said, of looking at so much black.' 'So am I,' he breathed. ... Sorrow caught her, as it did sometimes unexpectedly: a thumbprint of fire in the hollow of her throat. She swallowed it, said only, 'Because you have been working so hard, my lord.' 'I'm not used to it yet.' He measured a trailing end of the ribbon at her wrist between his fingers, oblivious of the guards and hovering officials who had followed him. ... He added impulsively, 'Perhaps I'll come with you this afternoon.' The thought made her smile. 'To my father's tavern? It's hardly for the likes of you.' 'I've been to --' 'I know, my lord: every tavern in Ombria but the Rose and Thorn. I wonder how you missed it.' Then, out of nowhere, a chill of fear blew through her; she heard herself say, 'We can't both leave the prince. Not both of us at once.' He gave her a strange look, not of surprise, but a reflection of her fear, which she found odder still. He loosed the ribbon, nodded, his eyes returning briefly to the prince's door. 'Perhaps you're right. He knows where you're going?' 'He knows, my lord. But I'll be back before he remembers that I'm gone.' 'Be careful,' he said. 'Tell your father that I will come and draw in his tavern some day.' But that was idle wishing, she knew. Already he was a legend in certain parts of the city, and legends, having made themselves so, rarely returned to repeat their feats. He seemed to read her mind. His eyes, clear, faintly smiling, held hers a moment. 'Not,' he said, 'an idle wish.' A promise, his eyes told her. She blinked, then dismissed the half-glimpsed idea that had rolled like a sea creature on the surface of her mind, then dove back down, so deeply that she had forgotten it before she returned to her chamber.””

— Patricia A. McKillip