Inga stood at the kitchen table, trying not to be obvious about leaning most of her weight on it.
Frederick was looking at her.
"I feel strange," she admitted.
"Strange?" he asked.
"Just- Just a little tired, mostly. Don't worry about it. Forget I said it."
"Why don't you go back to bed, then?" he asked her. As usual, her brother had a way of stating the obvious.
"I suppose I should. There's so much to do for the festival that I promised to help Mother with."
"Let me take care of it."
"You?"
"Why not? I'm not completely useless."