Those moods had been few and far between since we got back from France, but I could feel this one coming on a mile away. Ever since Slick had taken me, Archer had been extra hard on himself for things he had no control over. That, of course, was not a conversation I could have with him in this mood. There was no note the next morning when I woke up, so I assumed he had gone to sleep in the keep as usual. I grabbed coffee and a muffin from the breakfast room sideboard and went back upstairs. There was a dormer window on the third floor that was easier for roof access when my hands were full, and I dropped down next to Ringo to have my breakfast with a view. “How long have you been up?” I asked him after a sip of coffee. “A while. Archer and I ‘ad a talk before ‘e went down for the day.” That surprised me. “About what?” He sipped his own coffee, loaded with cream and sugar, in silence. I knew better than to prod Ringo. He’d tell me whatever he was going to tell me, but he’d tell me less if I poked at him.
