Phantasmorania, June 2

[kitchen_maid]

It's easy to find Amy. If she's not where she's supposed to be, she's in Susan's nursery.

And that's exactly where Perry has just found her, curled up in a chair she has dragged over next to the cradle, her arms resting on the edge of the cradle, chin on her crossed wrists, watching her daughter sleep.

This does not look good.

Perry looks at the one nurserymaid hovering in the room at the moment, and dismisses her with a short gesture. He comes up behind his wife and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Everything all right, darling?"

She straightens a little and turns to look up at him. "What am I late for?" she asks, not answering for the moment.

"Supper," he says. "Or, more correctly, dressing for supper."

She looks back down at Susan. "I’m not hungry, but I suppose they won't start without us, will they?"

"Let 'em wait," says Perry. "What’s wrong, Amy?"

Amy turns, rests her chin on Perry's hand, still on her shoulder. "I went to Milliways today. To ride. At least, that was my plan. I had a letter waiting for me, from Professor Lyon. Henry had some sort of . . . accident, I suppose, is as good a word as any. I don't think I got told anywhere near the whole of the story, but I don’t know that anyone has it. It sounds as if it's something of mystery. For everyone."

"Is he all right?"

"I'm told he will be. I didn't see him. He is apparently recovering from a head injury on an inaccessible boat in the middle of a lake in late autumn," says Amy, dryly. She's still very uncertain about the wisdom of that.

Perry frowns. "Odd. Do you believe the person or people who told you?"

"Yes," says Amy, without elaborating. "And I'm worried about Caspian. He was very . . . not himself, when I saw him. No, that's not fair. He was slightly not himself."

"In what way?"

Amy thinks for a moment, then picks, "Whiny. And a little self-absorbed."

"Odd," says Perry again, "but it doesn't sound too worrying. Maybe he just has a lot on his mind."

"I think he does. Something's not . . . quite right, I think, with him and Lucy." She shrugs. "I’d have a hard time articulating it."

"Don’t try, then. What can I do, Amy?"

"I don't know that there is anything. I mean, I guess Caspian and Lucy will work through whatever it is, and I'll ask about Henry next time I'm there and—"

Perry cuts her off, putting his free hand across her lips. "I meant, what can I do for my wife?"

"Oh." She's quiet for a moment. "Do we have to go to supper?" she asks. "I mean, will it cause some sort of diplomatic incident if we don't?"

"Possibly," says Perry, "but I do employ rather a lot of diplomats to take care of those. I'll tell Alfred to send our apologies. Even kings and queens can take an evening for themselves occasionally."

"And it's been a while,” she says, with the beginning of a smile. "I think the last event we arbitrarily skipped out on was that reception, and that was before Susan was born."

"Far too long," he says, tilting her chin up so he can kiss her. "Dinner in our rooms, and then, Amy, I am putting you to bed early."

"Putting me to bed?" she asks, grey-brown eyes wide and steady on his blue ones.

"Taking you to bed," he amends, stepping back so she can get up from the chair.

He gets a glance over her shoulder, with a particular smile that only Perry ever gets from her, and then she leans down to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Sweet dreams, darling girl."

For all of them, she hopes. There will be time enough for worries in the morning.