That night we returned to our quarters in a nearby inn. When I had begun working for Master Margrace, I was surprised at his willingness to mingle with poor folk, for it was not something I thought common of royalty. But Master Margrace is a kinder man than I had supposed, though enigmatic in a way. I believe we are much the same in that respect.

He was quite exhausted, and instead of speaking to me of his thoughts on the day (as he was wont to do at night, for I speak little), he slept nearly immediately. Upon the room's other bed, I attempted to do the same, but could not.

The Lady plagued me. Her light hair, her serious eyes, the unsmiling, delicate lips...I could not bear to think of her, for it rent my heart in two. I had a serious problem, I knew, in that this was no ordinary admiration. No, unfortunately, I was feeling something far more serious.

But who could not? She was a brave and strong woman, and intelligent enough to understand the world of politics as I could not. She had the nerve to speak and speak freely, and I did not. She had the beauty of freshly-fallen snow, of ice glimmering in the sun, of a frozen sky. Hers was not a beauty of summer, and indeed I marveled that in Dalmasca she did not melt. Perhaps it was her steely disposition which made her seem such a queen of ice.

I wondered idly, knowing the answer, if she had noticed me at all. I imagined her strong voice uttering my name, joyful at seeing me and me alone. "Arlie!" And I felt my heart swell. I wished sincerely I had not had that thought. I wished sincerely I could speak as she did, with all her strength and nerve...but I could hardly bring myself to speak in front of Master Margrace. I so desperately wanted to be like the Lady...more accurately, I so desperately wanted the Lady. I supposed if I never practiced saying her name I could never speak to her, and, well, Master Margrace was asleep...

"Ashe," I whispered, and from the other bed I heard laughter! Master Margrace was awake! I rolled over and pretended to be asleep, but it was no use.

"So, it seems you too desire Dalmasca's sweet bloom," laughed Master Margrace. I had been his assistant for many years, and it seemed often he knew me better than I did myself. It was rare, though, he mustered enough interest to tease me. "Go to sleep, Arlie. Perhaps in your dreams she may, too, whisper your name to the stars!"