Charlotte continued to let her secretary deal with lesser meetings—and after another week or so decided that his assistants were perfectly able to do that. She didn’t seem bewildered by the extra time she had, either. At first she always found Regis, but after a while she started only offering to let him tag along for various activities—she even made him sit for drawing once, though that didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. She still sought him out, but not as if she needed a distraction all the time.

“I figured something out,” she said as Regis watched her practice archery—the white snow glistening from the candlelight above the carefully sculpted field. “I’m not unhappy.” She let an arrow fly and it barely hit the target. She blew out her breath in frustration, pausing to consider the slowly drooping arrow in the target before choosing another. “I was, but part of that was how hard I was working and how I knew I had to go back to the same old thing the next day. That and no one bluntly told me the meetings weren’t important.”

“I didn’t do that,” he said.

“No,” she said, drawing the bow back. “If you’d said it I’d have hotly disagreed. You only strongly implied it.”

“You still disagreed.”

“Yes, but I had to give it a half second more of thought.” She was staring down the shaft. “Not that implication always works better.” She let it fly, and this time the arrow solidly buried itself into the snow several feet behind the target. “Maybe I should ask for lessons again,” she said.

“Wait,” Regis said, getting up and going over to the wall with extra bows.

“That’s cheating,” she said.

“You already know it, don’t you?” he asked, testing the feel of one of them. “You only need to remember.” He came over and stole one of her arrows. “Come on.”

“A bet?” she asked.

Regis only rolled his eyes and made sure he was far enough away from her so they’d both have room before notching the arrow and pulling the bow up. Charlotte mirrored him.

“I didn’t know you studied the bow, too,” she said.

“A little,” he said, and let go. The arrow was dead center. A moment later Charlotte’s sliced it clean through the middle.

“That’s not a little,” she said, taking another arrow and rolling out her shoulders as if to get comfortable in the stance. She shot another and hit the target solidly, though nowhere near the center.

“I like weapons,” he said.

“I thought you said it was only sword work?”

Regis shook his head. “When did I say that?”

“Maybe never and I assumed,” she said. “That stupid muscle-memory magic. You can’t be good at everything.” She stopped, letting an unfired arrow dangle from her fingers, and grinned. “I know how ironic that has to sound coming from me, with the currently most powerful strain of Irene’s gift, but that’s the thing—I cheat to get it. You don’t, and you’re a scholar-type. Are you perfect?”

“That’s a jump,” he said.

“Is that a yes?” she asked.

Regis blinked. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question?”

“No,” she said. “Give me a fault of yours. It’s not fair that you know everything about me.” As if to emphasize it, she turned and fired another arrow, almost as fast as she could pull her arm back, and it hit the center circle. It quivered as if in shock of its sudden transportation, and she turned to him.

“Nem would have a better list,” he said.

“Nem’s not available, and besides, I’m asking you.”

Regis didn’t like it. He avoided his faults when he could. But she was right that it wasn’t fair to her. So he studied the bow in his hands, trying to focus on how well it was crafted. “I’m a coward.”

Charlotte snorted. “Yes, and you’ve shown that admirably.”

He looked up at her blankly, and she rolled her eyes. “Asking for that week, fighting assassins—”

“When I have a lot of time, or don’t have any time, I’m alright,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of it, and shy away for as long as I can.” He picked an arrow and rolled it in his fingers. “I also may be actually ambitious-less. I keep trying to think about the future, but I can’t get myself to focus, and when I can it’s all about Nem, or—” he barely stopped himself from adding ‘or you.’ “I’m also selfish enough to want to keep the things I find most precious to myself instead of letting anyone else even touch them—like how I have to force myself to keep an open mind about this Chestern boy. If I’m honest I might also have the ability to be badly jealous, because I’m frightened, insecure about being able to keep those precious things when I don’t myself own more worldly goods than the child of one of our stablehands, and no way to get any if I tried without turning mercenary or something equally terrible.”

Without even thinking about it he pulled the bow back and shot the target, dead center again. The force finally knocked off the first arrow Charlotte had hit with.

“I’ve also been called anti-social, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“How could you possibly be anti-social?” she asked.

Regis was carefully studying something in the target—anything but look at her, after that little speech. “I talk more around you than I usually do around Nem—though that’s probably because we don’t need to talk as much. Everyone else . . . I try to be polite, and I’ve never been outright accused of being rude, but I don’t tend to give much, or ask much. Is it a fault to be more interested in watching the world than grappling with change, even if it would be good? I’ve always left that to Nem.”

“You’re not afraid to be honest,” she said.

“Oh yes, I am.”

“Then it doesn’t stop you.”

He toyed with the bow for a minute before going back over to the snow wall and putting it back.

“Well,” she said, and he turned around in time to see her land another dead-center hit, “I’ll have to ask Nem after the floods, but I think you’re doing yourself an injustice, the way you say that you’re ambitious-less—it may be partially true, but it’s a lesser sin than it sounds like you think.”

“What if it means I don’t do anything with my life?” he asked.

“I doubt that,” she said, and thoughtfully picked out three arrows, then twirled them around her fingers, firing one after another.

“If I have no ambition I won’t chase it.”

“Even if you don’t, I still doubt it. If you pick something you’ll fight for it, and there are plenty of things to run across. Perhaps you’ll visit Adife and see something that could be done, or get into Islentia, or maybe it will only be making sure Nem’s irrigation system is the very best in Pearlessagate. Maybe a girl.” She said the last one almost quickly, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“I already did that one,” he said, and she looked at him, as if remembering, and looked back at the target quickly with a blush. Most of the arrows were ruined from splitting down the dead center, and the shreds were lying on the ground in front of the target.

“Geo will have my hide,” she muttered, jogging over to gather the splinters up. Regis pushed her hands away and started picking them up himself.

“You do a lot of writing,” he said when she gave him an amused look.

“I’m wearing gloves,” she said. “You’re not—why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

“I didn’t think I’d be shooting,” he said.

She pushed his hands aside and picked up the splinters herself. “At least tell me you have them.”

“I have them,” he said. She glanced at him suspiciously. “I do. I left them in my room. You saw them yesterday.”

“You call those gloves for more than slight warmth?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. Charlotte pursed her lips. “I’m satisfied with them.”

Charlotte’s eyes lit up with laughter. “Does that translate to ‘don’t get me new ones?’”

“If you insist on buying me things, it should probably be things I need, or at least don’t have.”

“Does that mean you’ll let me buy you a suit?”

Regis sighed. “Must you?”

“The ball next week is the opening event of the snows season,” she said, “and if nothing else the one you have is for warmer weather.”

Regis sighed again, but didn’t argue. She’d already let his gloves go, and she likely considered that a concession.

Besides, while he’d rather pay for the suit himself, she was likely right that his light-weather suit would be too cold, and he’d rather not spend the evening shivering and clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.