Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  I think the Fool put her up to it. Cer­tainly he had spent a great many hours in the tower-top garden with Kettricken, and his ad­mir­a­tion for what she had ac­com­plished there was un­feigned. Much good­will can be won with a sin­cere com­pli­ment. By the end of the sum­mer, not only was she laugh­ing at his jests when he came up to en­ter­tain her and her ladies, but he had per­suaded her to be a fre­quent caller in the King’s cham­bers. As Queen-in-Wait­ing, she was im­mune to Wal­lace’s hu­mours. Kettricken her­self un­der­took to mix King Shrewd strength­en­ing ton­ics, and for a time the King did seem to rally un­der her care and at­ten­tion. I think the Fool de­cided that he would ac­com­plish through her what he had been un­able to nag Ver­ity and me into do­ing.

  It was a wintry au­tumn even­ing when she first broached the sub­ject to me. I was up on the tower top with her, help­ing her to tie bundles of straw about the more tender of the plants there, that they might with­stand the winter snows bet­ter. This was some­thing Pa­tience had de­creed must be done, and she and Lacey were per­form­ing the same task on a bed of wind­bower plants be­hind me. She had be­come a fre­quent ad­visor to Queen Kettricken in mat­ters of grow­ing things, al­beit a very timid one. Little Rose­mary was at my el­bow, hand­ing me twine as we needed it. One or two of Kettricken’s other ladies, well-bundled, had stayed, but they were at the other end of the garden, talk­ing quietly to­gether. The oth­ers she had dis­missed back to their hearths when she had noted them shiv­er­ing and blow­ing on their fin­gers. My bare hands were near numb, as were my ears, but Kettricken seemed per­fectly com­fort­able. As was Ver­ity, tucked away some­where in­side my skull. He had in­sisted that I start car­ry­ing him again after he had dis­covered that once more I was go­ing out after Forged ones alone. I scarcely no­ticed his pres­ence in the back of my mind any more. Yet I be­lieve that I felt him startle when Kettricken asked me, as she knot­ted a string about a bundled plant I was sup­port­ing, what I knew of the Eld­er­lings.

  ‘Little enough, my lady queen,’ I replied hon­estly, and once more made a prom­ise to my­self to go through the long neg­lected ma­nu­scripts and scrolls.

  ‘Why not?’ she de­man­ded.

  ‘Well, little was ac­tu­ally writ­ten about them. I be­lieve at one time a know­ledge of them was so com­mon as not to need writ­ing down. And the bits that are writ­ten about them are scattered here and there, not gathered in one place. It would take a scholar to track down all the rem­nants that re­main …’

  ‘A scholar like the Fool?’ she asked tartly. ‘He seems to know more of them than any­one else I have asked.’

  ‘Well. He is fond of read­ing, you know, and …’

  ‘Enough of the Fool. I wish to speak to you of the Eld­er­lings,’ she said ab­ruptly.

  I startled at her tone, but found her star­ing, grey-eyed, out over the sea once more. She had not in­ten­ded either a re­buke or a rude­ness. She was simply in­tent upon her ob­ject­ive. I re­flec­ted that in my months away, she had be­come more cer­tain of her­self. More queenly.

  ‘I know a little bit,’ I offered hes­it­antly.

  ‘As do I. Let us see if what each of us knows agrees. I shall be­gin.’

  ‘As you wish, my queen.’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Long ago, King Wis­dom was bit­terly be­sieged by Raid­ers from the sea. When all else had failed him, and he feared that the next sum­mer of kind weather would bring the end of the Six Duch­ies and House Farseer, he re­solved to spend the winter search­ing for a le­gendary folk. The Eld­er­lings. Do we agree so far?’

  ‘Mostly. As I have heard it, the le­gends called them not a folk, but near-gods. And the folk of the Six Duch­ies had al­ways be­lieved Wis­dom some­thing of a re­li­gious fan­atic, al­most a mad­man where such things were con­cerned.’

  ‘Men of pas­sion and vis­ion are of­ten seen as mad,’ she calmly in­formed me. ‘I shall con­tinue. He left his castle one au­tumn, with no more in­form­a­tion than that the Eld­er­lings resided in the Rain Wilds bey­ond the tallest moun­tains of the Moun­tain King­dom. Some­how, he found them, and he won their al­li­ance. He re­turned to Buck­keep, and to­gether they drove the Raid­ers and in­vaders away from the coasts of the Six Duch­ies. Peace and trade were re-es­tab­lished. And the Eld­er­lings swore to him that if they were ever needed again, they would re­turn. Do we still agree?’

  ‘As be­fore, mostly. I have heard many min­strels say that the end­ing is a stand­ard one in tales of her­oes and quests. Al­ways, they prom­ise that if ever they are needed again, they will re­turn. Some even pledge to re­turn from bey­ond the grave if they must.’

  ‘Ac­tu­ally,’ Pa­tience sud­denly ob­served, rock­ing back on her heels, ‘Wis­dom him­self never re­turned to Buck­keep. The Eld­er­lings came to his daugh­ter, Prin­cess Mind­ful, and it was to her they offered al­le­gi­ance.’

  ‘Whence do you have that know­ledge?’ Kettricken de­man­ded.

  Pa­tience shrugged. ‘An old min­strel my father used to have al­ways sang it that way.’ Un­con­cerned, she went back to knot­ting twine about a straw-bundled plant.

  Kettricken con­sidered a mo­ment. The wind teased loose a long lock of her hair and blew it across her face like a net. She looked at me through the pale web. ‘It doesn’t mat­ter what the tales say about their re­turn­ing. If a king once sought them, and they gave aid, do you not think they might do so again, if a king again be­seeched them? Or a queen?’

  ‘Per­haps,’ I said grudgingly. Privately I wondered if the Queen longed for her home­land and would make any ex­cuse for a visit there. Folk were be­gin­ning to talk about her lack of preg­nancy. While many ladies at­ten­ded her now, she really had no fa­vour­ites who were genu­inely her friends. Lonely, I sus­pec­ted. ‘I think,’ I began gently, paus­ing to con­sider how to frame a dis­cour­aging reply.

  Tell her she should come to me and speak of it. I wish to know more of what she has gleaned. Ver­ity’s thought quivered with ex­cite­ment. It un­settled me.

  ‘I think you should take your idea to the King-in-Wait­ing, and dis­cuss it with him,’ I du­ti­fully sug­ges­ted to her.

  She was si­lent a long time. When she spoke, her voice was pitched very low, for my ears alone. ‘I think not. He will con­sider it an­other one of my fool­ish­nesses. He will listen for a bit, and then be­gin to look at the maps on the wall, or move things about on his table as he waits for me to fin­ish so he can smile and nod and send me on my way. Again.’ Her voice hoarsened on the last word. She brushed the hair back from her face, then brushed at her eyes again. She turned from me to look out over the sea again, as dis­tant as Ver­ity when he Skilled.

  She’s cry­ing?

  I could not con­ceal from Ver­ity my an­noy­ance that this sur­prised him.

  Bring her to me. Now, at once!

  ‘My queen?’

  ‘A mo­ment.’ Kettricken looked aside from me. With her face away from me, she pre­ten­ded to be scratch­ing her nose. I knew she brushed at tears.

  ‘Kettricken?’ I ven­tured the fa­mili­ar­ity as I had not for months. ‘Let us go to him now with this idea. At once. I will go with you.’

  She spoke hes­it­antly, not turn­ing to look at me. ‘You do not think it is fool­ish?’

  I would not lie, I re­minded my­self. ‘I think that, as things stand, we must con­sider any pos­sible sources of aid.’ As I spoke the words, I found I be­lieved them. Had not both Chade and the Fool hin­ted, no, pleaded for this very idea? Per­haps Ver­ity and I were the ones who were short-sighted.

  She took a shud­der­ing breath. ‘We shall do it, then. But … you must wait for me out­side my cham­ber. I wish to fetch sev­eral scrolls to show him. I will be but a short time.’ She turned to Pa­tience, spoke more loudly. ‘Lady Pa­tience, might I ask you to fin­ish these plants for me as well? I have some­thing else I wish t
o at­tend to.’

  ‘Of course, my queen. I should be pleased to.’

  We left the garden, and I fol­lowed her to her cham­bers. I waited for more than a short time. When she emerged, her little maid Rose­mary was be­hind her, in­sist­ing on car­ry­ing the scrolls for her. Kettricken had washed the soil from her hands. And changed her gown, and ad­ded scent and dressed her hair and was wear­ing the jew­ellery Ver­ity had sent to her when she was pledged to him. She smiled at me cau­tiously as I looked at her. ‘My lady queen, I am dazzled,’ I ven­tured.

  ‘You flat­ter me as wildly as Regal does,’ she pro­claimed, and hastened away down the hall, but a blush warmed her cheeks.

  She dresses so just to come to speak to me?

  She dresses so to … at­tract you. How could a man so as­tute at read­ing men be so ig­nor­ant of wo­men?

  Per­haps he has had little time ever to learn much of their ways.

  I clamped my mind shut on my thoughts and hastened after my queen. We ar­rived at Ver­ity’s study just in time to see Charim leav­ing. He was car­ry­ing an arm­ful of laun­dry. It seemed odd un­til we were ad­mit­ted. Ver­ity was wear­ing a soft shirt of pale-blue linen, and the mingled scents of lav­ender and ce­dar were lively in the air. It re­minded me of a clothes chest. His hair and beard were freshly smoothed; well I knew that his hair never stayed that way for more than a few minutes. As Kettricken ad­vanced shyly to curt­sey to her lord, I saw Ver­ity as I had not for months. The sum­mer of Skilling had wasted him again. The fine shirt belled about his shoulders, and the smoothed hair was as much grey as black now. There were lines, too, about his eyes and mouth that I had never no­ticed be­fore.

  Do I look so poorly then?

  Not to her, I re­minded him.

  As Ver­ity took her hand and drew her to sit down be­side him on a bench near the fire, she looked at him with a hun­ger as deep as his Skill drive. Her fin­gers clung to his hand, and I looked aside as he lif­ted her hand to kiss it. Per­haps Ver­ity was right about a Skill sens­it­iv­ity. What Kettricken felt battered at me as roughly as the fury of my fel­low crew-mates dur­ing battle.

  I felt a flut­ter of as­ton­ish­ment from Ver­ity. Then, Shield your­self, he com­manded me brusquely, and I was sud­denly alone in­side my skull. I stood still a mo­ment, diz­zied by the ab­rupt­ness of his de­par­ture. He really had no idea, I found my­self think­ing, and felt glad the thought re­mained private.

  ‘My lord, I have come to ask a mo­ment or two of your time for … an idea I have.’ Kettricken’s eyes searched his face as she spoke quietly.

  ‘Cer­tainly,’ Ver­ity agreed. He glanced up at me. ‘FitzChiv­alry, will you join us?’

  ‘If you will, my lord.’ I took a seat on a stool on the op­pos­ite side of the hearth. Rose­mary came and stood at my el­bow with her arm­load of scrolls. Prob­ably filched from my room by the Fool, I sus­pec­ted. But as Kettricken began to talk to Ver­ity, she took up the scrolls one by one, in each case to il­lus­trate her ar­gu­ment. Without ex­cep­tion, they were scrolls that dealt, not with the Eld­er­lings, but with the Moun­tain King­dom. ‘King Wis­dom, you may re­call, was the first of Six Duch­ies’ no­bil­ity to come to our land … to the land of the Moun­tain King­dom, for any­thing other than the mak­ing of war upon us. So he is well-re­membered in our his­tor­ies. These scrolls, copied from ones made in his time, deal with his do­ings and travels in the Moun­tain King­dom. And thus, in­dir­ectly, with the Eld­er­lings.’ She un­rolled the last scroll. Ver­ity and I both leaned for­ward in amazement. A map. Faded with time, poorly copied prob­ably, but a map – of the Moun­tain King­dom, with passes and trails marked on it. And a few strag­gling lines lead­ing into the lands bey­ond.

  ‘One of these paths, marked here, must lead to the Eld­er­lings. For I know the trails of the moun­tains, and these are not trade routes, nor do they go to any vil­lage I know. Nor do they lie in con­junc­tion with the trails as I know them now to be. These are older roads and paths. And why else would they be marked here, save that they go where King Wis­dom went?’

  ‘Can it be that simple?’ Ver­ity rose quickly, to re­turn with a branch of candles to light the map bet­ter. He smoothed the vel­lum lov­ingly with his hands and leaned close over it.

  ‘There are sev­eral paths marked that go off into the Rain Wilds. If that is what all this green rep­res­ents. None seem to have any­thing marked at the end. How would we know which one?’ I ob­jec­ted.

  ‘Per­haps they all go to the Eld­er­lings,’ Kettricken ven­tured. ‘Why should they reside in but one place?’

  ‘No!’ Ver­ity straightened up. ‘Two at least have some­thing marked at the end. Or had some­thing. The damned ink has faded. But there was some­thing there. I in­tend to find out what.’

  Even Kettricken looked as­ton­ished at the en­thu­si­asm in his voice. I was shocked. I had ex­pec­ted him to hear her out po­litely, not to en­dorse her plan whole­heartedly.

  He rose sud­denly, paced a quick turn around the room. The Skill en­ergy ra­di­ated off him like heat from a hearth. ‘The full storms of winter are upon the coast now. Or will be, any day now. If I leave quickly, in the next few days, I can be to the Moun­tain King­dom while the passes can still be used. I can force my way through to … whatever is there. And re­turn by spring. Per­haps with the help we need.’

  I was speech­less. Kettricken made it worse.

  ‘My lord, I had not in­ten­ded that you should go. You should re­main here. I must go. I know the moun­tains; I was born to their ways. You might not sur­vive there. In this, I should be Sac­ri­fice.’

  It was a re­lief to see Ver­ity as dumb­foun­ded as I was. Per­haps, hav­ing heard it from her lips, he would now real­ize how im­possible it was. He shook his head slowly. He took both her hands in his and looked sol­emnly at her. ‘My Queen-in-Wait­ing.’ He sighed. ‘I must do this. I. In so many other ways I have failed the Six Duch­ies. And you. When first you came here to be queen, I had no pa­tience with your talk of Sac­ri­fice. I thought it a girl’s ideal­istic no­tion. But it is not. We do not speak it here, but it is what is felt. It is what I learned from my par­ents. To put the Six Duch­ies al­ways ahead of my­self. I have tried to do that. But now I see that al­ways I have sent oth­ers in my place. I sat and Skilled, it is true, and you have an ink­ling what it has cost me. But it has been sail­ors and sol­diers who I have sent out to put down their lives for the Six Duch­ies. My own nephew, even, do­ing the crude and bloody work for me. And des­pite those I have sent to be sac­ri­ficed, our coast is still not safe. Now it comes to this last chance, to this hard thing. Shall I send my queen to do it for me?’

  ‘Per­haps.’ Kettricken’s voice had gone husky with un­cer­tainty. She looked down at the fire as she sug­ges­ted, ‘Per­haps we might go to­gether?’

  Ver­ity con­sidered. He ac­tu­ally earn­estly con­sidered it, and I saw Kettricken real­ize he had taken her re­quest ser­i­ously. She began to smile, but it faded as he slowly shook his head. ‘I dare not,’ he said quietly. ‘Someone must re­main here. Someone I trust. King Shrewd is … my father is not well. I fear for him. For his health. With my­self away, and my father ill, there must be someone to stand in my stead.’

  She looked aside. ‘I would rather go with you,’ she said fiercely.

  I aver­ted my eyes as he reached and took her chin in his fin­gers and lif­ted her face so he might see her eyes. ‘I know,’ he said evenly. ‘That is the sac­ri­fice I must ask you to make. To stay here, when you would rather go. To be alone, yet again. For the sake of the Six Duch­ies.’

  Some­thing went out of her. Her shoulders sagged as she bowed her head to his will. As Ver­ity gathered her to him, I rose si­lently. I took Rose­mary with me and we left them alone.

  I was in my room, por­ing be­latedly over the scrolls and tab­lets there, when the page came to my door that af­ter­noon.
‘You are summoned to the King’s cham­bers, in the hour after din­ner,’ was the only mes­sage he gave me. Dis­may rolled over me. It had been two weeks since my last visit to his cham­ber. I did not wish to con­front the King again. If he were sum­mon­ing me to say that he ex­pec­ted me to be­gin court­ing Celer­ity, I did not know what I would do or say. I feared I would lose con­trol of my­self. Res­ol­utely I un­rolled one of the Eld­er­ling scrolls and tried to study it. It was hope­less. I saw only Molly.

  In the brief nights we had shared since our day on the beach, Molly had re­fused to dis­cuss Celer­ity with me any fur­ther. In some ways it was a re­lief. But she had also stopped teas­ing me about all she would de­mand from me when I was truly her hus­band and all the fu­ture chil­dren we would have. She had quietly given up hope that we would ever be wed. If I stopped to think of it, it grieved me to the edge of mad­ness. She did not re­buke me with it, as she knew it was not of my choos­ing. She did not even ask what was to be­come of us. Like Nighteyes, she seemed to live only in the present now. Each night of close­ness we shared, she ac­cep­ted as a thing com­plete, and did not ques­tion if there would be an­other. What I sensed from her was not des­pair, but con­tain­ment: a fierce re­solve that we would not lose what we had now to what we could not have to­mor­row. I did not de­serve the de­vo­tion of such a faith­ful heart.

  When I dozed be­side her in her bed, safe and warm amidst the per­fume of her body and her herbs, it was her strength that pro­tec­ted us. She did not Skill, she had no Wit. Her ma­gic was a stronger kind, and she worked it by her will alone. When she closed and bolted her door be­hind me late at night, she cre­ated within her cham­ber a world and a time that be­longed to us. If she had blindly placed her life and hap­pi­ness in my hands, it would have been in­tol­er­able. But this was even worse. She be­lieved there would even­tu­ally be a ter­rible price to pay for her de­vo­tion to me. Still she re­fused to for­sake me. And I was not man enough to turn away from her and bid her seek a hap­pier life. In my most lonely hours, when I rode the trails around Buck­keep with my saddle-bags full of poisoned bread, I knew my­self for a cow­ard, and worse than a thief. I had once told Ver­ity I could not draw off an­other man’s strength to feed my own, that I would not. Yet every day, that was what I did to Molly. The Eld­er­ling scroll fell from my lax fin­gers. My room was sud­denly suf­foc­at­ing. I pushed aside the tab­lets and scrolls I had been at­tempt­ing to study. In the hour be­fore din­ner, I sought out Pa­tience’s cham­ber.