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The silence woke Lacey up.
Her assassin trained ears were used to the sound of Patience's soft breathing as she slept, but the room was oddly quiet. Patting the empty space next her to confirm her suspicions, Lacey raised herself up, rolling her shoulders to ease the sore muscles in her back and shoulders. She wasn’t getting any younger, she thought as she reached for the shawl strewn on a nearby chair. Scooting her feet into her warm loafers, she made for the door of the bedroom without bothering to light a candle. Patience and her had been living in Tradeford Hall for years now, and she could navigate the mansion with her eyes closed.
She walked down the stairs and slipped outside without making a sound. She wasn't really worried about Patience. This wasn't the first time that Lacey had woken up to an empty bed in the middle of the night. She had lost count of the number of times Patience had gone off on nightly adventures, to monitor the success of her latest experiment or to test a new idea she'd had in a dream. Lacey would usually find her deeply asleep in the greenhouse the next morning. But this time was different, and Lacey knew exactly where she would find her mistress.
The moon was casting pale shadows on her path as Lacey crossed the yard and made her way through the gardens. The park and gardens of Tradeford had always been open to the people of the city, except for a small walled garden located on the other side of the mansion, which was where Lacey was heading. The usually closed wrought iron gate was ajar, and it squealed slightly as Lacey entered the enclosed space. It had been transformed since Patience and her household had come to live here, more than eight years ago. Like the rest of the gardens, this one had had a kind of formal beauty to it, with neatly trimmed shrubs and sweeping planted beds of colourful flowers. But this part of the garden at least, Patience had decided to make her own. ‘Plants aren't meant to be contained!’ she had assured Lacey, and she had decided to let nature run its course. The parterres were now indistinguishable from the rest of the garden, and only a very faint outline of the original paths remained. The already mossy and ivied walls were now supporting a wide array of climbing plants, most of them the results of some of Patience’s successful hybridisation attempts. As Lacey threaded her way towards the back of the garden, she made sure to add some heaviness to her step, so Patience could hear her coming.
She was sitting just where Lacey knew she would, on the stone bench hidden from view by the blooming whitethorn. The light from the stars and full moon illuminated Patience’s silhouette in her white nightgown. She was facing away from her, and Lacey came to stand behind her, wrapping the shawl she had brought around Patience’s shoulders. She didn’t startle.
They stayed as they were for a while, with one of Lacey’s hands resting on Patience's shoulder, just to let her know she was there. The night air was cool against the exposed skin of her neck and ankles, but Lacey didn’t mind. She enjoyed being outside at this time of the night, when all the bustle in Tradeford Hall had died down, and the only sound that could be heard was the chitter of night insects, only interrupted by Patience’s soft sniffles. Lacey squeezed her shoulder gently, and leaned forward to lay a soft kiss on the top of her head.
Patience glanced up at her, and indicated the empty space beside her on the bench. Lacey joined her, turning to look at her mistress, her friend and life partner. Her long dark hair was uncharacteristically let down, and her bare feet were brushing softly against the grass. The remnants of tears were still shining on her cheeks.
Lacey scooted closer to her.
‘The wisteria will soon be in bloom,’ Patience remarked, pointing at the trellised plant on the wall ahead of them.
Lacey hummed in response, but said nothing, knowing full well that this wasn't the reason why Patience was here. The silence held, until Patience finally cut to the heart of what this was about.
‘He is such a smart boy,’ she said softly.
‘That he is,’ Lacey agreed.
‘You've run out of stitches to teach him,’ Patience continued, fidgeting with the shawl. ‘Did you see how neat these chevrons look? I don't think even you could do a better job than this!’
Again, Lacey agreed easily. Kettricken had sent Dutiful to them six months before, and he had been a welcome addition to their household. The boy was not only smart, and as courteous as his name suggested, he was also kind. Patience had immediately taken to him, and endeavoured to teach him everything she knew about everything.
‘He chose the sea-pipes today,’ Lacey observed in a quiet voice.
Patience exhaled slowly and turned to Lacey, giving her a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Isn't it incredible? How alike they are?’
Lacey’s throat closed. ‘It is.’
Patience’s hands tightened on her lap, and she took a shuddering breath. ‘Sometimes, when I look at Dutiful… It’s like my son has come back to life,’ she choked as tears started to well up in her eyes again. Lacey immediately gathered her in her arms.
‘I know dear heart, I know,’ she whispered into her hair as she rocked her gently. Patience’s entire body was trembling through their embrace and the effort it took her to hold back her sobs. Lacey held her even tighter, and didn’t bother wiping away the tears that were running down her own cheeks. More than ten years had passed since he had been taken from them, but Lacey was still surprised by the sorrow weighing down on her heart when she allowed herself to think about the boy. But she couldn’t afford to let it overtake her, because she needed to be there for Patience. So she did the only thing she knew could help in this situation. She held Patience as she wept and mourned the son she had lost, and she continued to hold her long after the tears had dried.
‘Let’s get you to bed, love,’ she said softly, once she was certain that all the tension had left Patience's body. Lacey pulled back from their embrace and slid her hands to cup Patience’s face. The smile she offered her in return was small, but genuine.
‘Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you,’ Lacey assured her, and waited until she heard the gate’s squealing to get up, and kneel down where she was.
It was almost completely hidden by the darkness of the night and the overgrown foliage surrounding it, but Lacey knew it was there. The bench had been built here because of it. A small dog, sleeping peacefully among the weeds and flowers. Patience had commissioned the city's best stone carver to create it, just a few weeks after their arrival in Tradeford. The artist was talented, and the dog looked just as lifelike as in the painting Lacey remembered. She didn’t know what stone the carver had used, but it had been polished in such a way that it perfectly imitated the terrier's black coat. Smithy, she recalled his name had been. She recalled, also, the unmistakable spark of loyalty and adoration in the child’s eyes as he had told her that the puppy was the most precious thing Patience could have ever given him. This bond was what had cost him his life? The gift he'd had with animals had been their excuse for snatching a child away from his mother forever? Another wave of cutting grief and anger washed over her but she swallowed it down, brushing a few leaves from the statue’s snout.
‘Sweet dreams, little Fitz,’ she murmured, before hurrying to join Patience on her way back.