Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  There were few things I wished less to do. But I would not undo what Kettricken had so la­bor­i­ously wrought. I could not. So I bowed and ex­cused my­self, and forced my­self to cross the rain-pel­ted garden, to present my­self to Celer­ity. Faith and Shells im­me­di­ately with­drew to a not-quite-dis­creet dis­tance to watch us.

  I bowed to her with ab­so­lute cor­rect­ness. ‘Lady Celer­ity, I must thank you again for the scroll you sent me,’ I said awk­wardly. My heart was pound­ing. As was hers, I am sure, for a com­pletely dif­fer­ent reason.

  She smiled at me through the fall­ing rain. ‘I was glad to send it, and glad­der of your reply. My father ex­plained it to me. I hope you do not take it amiss that I showed it to him. I did not un­der­stand why you would be­little your­self so. He said, “The man who must brag for him­self knows that no one else will.” Then he told me there is no bet­ter way to learn the sea than at the oar of a boat. And that, in his younger years, the axe was al­ways his weapon, too. He has prom­ised my sis­ters and I a dory of our own, next sum­mer, that we can take out on the sea on fine days …’ she faltered sud­denly. ‘I chat­ter, do I not?’

  ‘Not at all, my lady,’ I as­sured her quietly. I much pre­ferred that she do the talk­ing.

  ‘My lady,’ she re­peated softly and then blushed as furi­ously as if I had kissed her right there.

  I looked aside from her, only to find Faith’s wide eyes on us, her mouth an O of scan­dal­ized de­light. Ima­gin­ing what she ima­gined I had said to her sis­ter brought the col­our and heat to my face as well. As I went scar­let, she and Shells burst out gig­gling.

  It seemed an etern­ity be­fore we left the storm-battered Queen’s Garden. Our guests sought their rooms, both to change from sod­den cloth­ing and to pre­pare for their jour­ney. I did like­wise, dress­ing hast­ily lest I miss any­thing of their de­par­ture. I was at the outer court­yard to see Brawndy and his guard mount. So was Queen Kettricken, in her now-fa­mil­iar purple and white, and her hon­our-guard had been turned out as well. She stood be­side Brawndy’s horse to bid him farewell, and be­fore he moun­ted, he went down on one knee and kissed her hand. Some brief words were spoken, I know not what, but the Queen smiled as the winds lashed her hair about her face. Brawndy and his troops set off into the teeth of the storm. There was an­ger yet in the set of Brawndy’s shoulders, but his obeis­ance to the Queen showed me that, as of yet, not all was lost.

  Celer­ity and Faith both looked back to me as they rode off, and Celer­ity dared to lift a hand in farewell. I re­turned the ges­ture. I stood watch­ing them go, chilled by more than the rain. I had sup­por­ted Ver­ity and Kettricken this day, but at what cost to my­self? What was I do­ing to Celer­ity? Was Molly, per­haps, right about all this?

  Later that even­ing, I went to pay my re­spects to my king. He had not summoned me. I did not in­tend to dis­cuss Celer­ity with him. I went, won­der­ing if Ver­ity willed it in me or if it was my own heart cau­tion­ing me not to aban­don him. Wal­lace grudgingly ad­mit­ted me, with a stern warn­ing that the King was still not feel­ing com­pletely him­self, and I must not weary him.

  King Shrewd was sit­ting up be­fore his fire­place. The air of the room was cloy­ing with Smoke. The Fool, his face still an in­ter­est­ing land­scape of purples and blues, sat at the King’s feet. He had the good for­tune to be be­low the most pun­gent level of the haze. I had no such luck as I took the low, back­less stool that Wal­lace so thought­fully provided for me.

  A few mo­ments after I had presen­ted my­self and sat down, the King turned to me. He re­garded me blear­ily for a few mo­ments as his head swayed on his neck. ‘Ah, Fitz,’ the King greeted me be­latedly. ‘How have your les­sons been? Is Mas­ter Fed­wren pleased with your pro­gress?’

  I glanced at the Fool, who did not meet my eyes, but poked mor­osely at the fire.

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘He has said my let­ter­ing is good.’

  ‘That’s fine. A clear hand is a thing any man may be proud of. And what of our bar­gain? Have I kept my word to you?’

  It was our old lit­any. Once more I con­sidered the terms he had offered me. He would feed me, clothe me and edu­cate me, and in re­turn he would have my com­plete loy­alty. I smiled at the fa­mil­iar words, but my throat closed at how the man who said them had wasted away, and what they had come to cost me.

  ‘Yes, my king. You have,’ I answered softly.

  ‘Good. Then see you keep your word to me as well.’ He leaned back heav­ily in his chair.

  ‘I shall, your majesty,’ I prom­ised, and the Fool’s eyes met mine as he wit­nessed again that prom­ise.

  For a few mo­ments the room was still save for the crack­ling of the fire. Then the King sat up as if startled by a sound. He looked about con­fusedly. ‘Ver­ity? Where’s Ver­ity?’

  ‘He’s gone on a quest, my king. To seek the help of the Eld­er­lings to drive the Red Ships from our shores.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Of course. Of course he has. But just for a mo­ment, I thought …’ He leaned back in his chair. Then all the hair on my skin prickled up. I could feel him vaguely Skilling, in an un­focused fum­bling way. His mind tugged at mine like old hands seek­ing for a grip. I had be­lieved him in­cap­able of Skilling any more; I had thought that he had burned out his tal­ent years ago. Ver­ity had told me once that Shrewd used his tal­ent but sel­dom. I had set those words aside as his loy­alty to his father. But the ghostly Skill plucked at my thoughts like un­schooled fin­gers at harp strings. I sensed Nighteyes hack­ling at this new in­va­sion. Si­lence, I cau­tioned him.

  My breath snagged sud­denly on an idea. Fostered by Ver­ity within me? I set aside all cau­tions, re­minded my­self that this was what I had prom­ised this man so long ago. Loy­alty in all things. ‘My king?’ I asked his per­mis­sion as I moved my stool closer to his chair. I took his withered hand in mine.

  It was like plunging my­self into a rush­ing river. ‘Ah, Ver­ity, my boy, there you are!’ Just for a mo­ment, I glimpsed Ver­ity as King Shrewd still saw him. A chubby boy of eight or nine, more friendly than smart, not so tall as his big brother Chiv­alry. But a sound and like­able prince, an ex­cel­lent second son, not too am­bi­tious, not too ques­tion­ing. Then, just as if I had stepped off a ri­verb­ank, I tumbled into a black, rush­ing roar of Skill. It was dis­or­i­ent­ing to see sud­denly through Shrewd’s eyes. The edges of his vis­ion were filmy with haze. For a mo­ment I glimpsed Ver­ity for­ging wear­ily through snow. What’s this? Fitz? Then I was whirled away, car­ried into the heart of King Shrewd’s pain. Skilled deep in­side him, bey­ond where the herbs and smoke deadened him, I was scorched with the agony. It was a slow-grow­ing pain, along his spine and in his skull, a push­ing, crowding thing that would not be ig­nored. But deep in­side his Smoke-fogged mind, a king still lived and raged at his con­fine­ment. The spirit was still there, bat­tling the body that no longer obeyed him and the pain that was de­vour­ing the last years of his life. I swear I saw him, a young man, per­haps a year or so older than my­self. His hair had been as busy and un­ruly as Ver­ity’s, his eyes were wide and lively, and once his face’s only lines had been from a wide grin. This was who he still was, in his soul, this young man, trapped and des­per­ate. He seized on me, ask­ing wildly, ‘Is there a way out?’ I felt my­self sink­ing with his grip.

  Then like two rivers mer­ging, an­other force crashed against me, sent me spin­ning with its cur­rent. Boy! Con­tain your­self. It was as if strong hands stead­ied me and es­tab­lished me as a sep­ar­ate strand in the twist­ing rope we were form­ing. Father. I am here. Are you in need?

  No. No. All is as it has been for some time. But Ver­ity …

  Yes, I am here.

  Bearns is no longer true to us. Brawndy har­bours Red Ships there, in ex­change for pro­tec­tion for his own vil­lages. He has turned on us. When you come home, you must …

 
The thought wandered, lost strength.

  Father. Whence come these tid­ings? I sensed Ver­ity’s sud­den des­per­a­tion. If what Shrewd spoke was true, there was no hope for Buck­keep to stand the winter.

  Regal has spies. They bring word to him, and he comes to me. This must re­main a secret, for a time, un­til we have the strength to strike back at Brawndy. Or un­til we de­cide to aban­don him to his Red Ship friends. Yes. That is Regal’s plan. To hold the Red Ships off from Buck, and then they will turn on Brawndy and pun­ish him for us. Brawndy even sent a false call for help, in the hopes of lur­ing our war­ships to their de­struc­tion.

  Can this be so?

  All Regal’s spies con­firm it. And I fear we can no longer trust your for­eign wife. While Brawndy was here, Regal marked how she dal­lied with him, and made many ex­cuses for private talk. He fears that she plots with our en­emies to over­throw the throne.

  THIS IS NOT SO! The force of this denial went through me like a sword’s point. For an in­stant I was drown­ing again, lost, self­less, in the flood of Skill passing through me. Ver­ity sensed it, stead­ied me again. We must be care­ful of the boy. He has not the strength to be used like this. Father. I beg you. Trust my queen. I know she is not false. And be wary of what Regal’s spies re­port to you. Put spies upon the spies, be­fore you act on any of their re­ports. Con­sult with Chade. Prom­ise me this.

  I am not a fool, Ver­ity. I know how to hold my throne.

  Good. Good then. Make sure the boy is ten­ded to. He is not trained for this.

  Someone snatched my hand back then, as if from a burn­ing stove. I sagged for­ward, put my head down between my knees while the world spun around me. Next to me, I could hear King Shrewd pant­ing for his breath as if he had run a race. The Fool pushed a glass of wine into my hand, then went back to ur­ging small sips of wine into the King. And over all, sud­denly, Wal­lace’s voice, de­mand­ing, ‘What have you done to the King?’

  ‘It is both of them!’ There was a sharp edge of fear to the Fool’s voice. ‘They were talk­ing to­gether, quite calmly, then sud­denly this! Take the damned Smoke censers away! I fear you have killed them both!’

  ‘Si­lence, Fool! Do not ac­cuse my heal­ing of this!’ But I heard the hurry in Wal­lace’s step as he made the rounds of the room, pinch­ing out the burn­ing twists in each censer or cap­ping them with brass cups. In a mo­ment the win­dows were thrown wide to the icy winter night. The cool air stead­ied me. I man­aged to sit up and take a sip of the wine. Gradu­ally my senses came back to me. Even so, I was still sit­ting there when Regal came bust­ling into the room, de­mand­ing to know what had happened. He ad­dressed the ques­tion to me, as the Fool was help­ing Wal­lace put the King to bed.

  I shook my head at him dumbly, and the gid­di­ness was not all pre­ten­ded.

  ‘How is the King? Will he re­cover?’ he called to Wal­lace.

  Wal­lace im­me­di­ately came hur­ry­ing to Regal’s side. ‘He seems to be steady­ing, Prince Regal. I do not know what over­came him. There was no sign of a struggle, but he is as wear­ied as if he had run a race. His health will not stand this sort of ex­cite­ment, my prince.’

  Regal turned an ap­prais­ing glance on me. ‘What did you do to my father?’ he growled.

  ‘I? Noth­ing.’ That at least was truth­ful. Whatever had happened, it had been the King’s do­ing and Ver­ity’s. ‘We were talk­ing quietly. Sud­denly, I felt over­whelmed. Dizzy. Weak. As if I were los­ing con­scious­ness.’ I turned my gaze to Wal­lace. ‘Could it have been the Smoke?’

  ‘Per­haps,’ he con­ceded un­hap­pily. He looked nervously at Regal’s dark­en­ing stare. ‘Well, it seems every day I must make it stronger, for it to have any ef­fect at all. And still he com­plains that …’

  ‘SI­LENCE!’ Regal cut him off with a roar. He ges­tured at me as if I were of­fal. ‘Get him out of here. Then get back to tend the King.’

  At that mo­ment, Shrewd moaned in his sleep, and I felt again the feather-soft brush­ing of the Skill against my senses. My hair hackled.

  ‘No. Go to the King now, Wal­lace. Fool. You get the Bas­tard out of here. And see that this is not spoken of amongst the ser­vants. I shall know if I am dis­obeyed. Hurry up, now. My father is not well.’

  I had thought I could rise on my own and de­part, but found that I did need the Fool’s as­sist­ance, at least to stand. Once I was up on my feet, I teetered along pre­cari­ously, feel­ing as if I tottered on stilts. Walls loomed near and then far, the floor heaved gently be­neath me like the deck of a ship when she rides a slow swell.

  ‘I can man­age from here,’ I told the Fool once we were out­side the door. He shook his head.

  ‘You are too vul­ner­able to be left alone just now,’ he told me quietly, and then linked arms with me, and began some non­sensical dis­course. He put a fine front of ca­maraderie on help­ing me up the stairs and to my door. He waited, chat­ter­ing on, while I un­latched it and then fol­lowed me in.

  ‘I told you, I am all right,’ I said with some an­noy­ance. All I wanted to do was lie down.

  ‘Are you? And how is my king? What did you do to him, back there?’

  ‘I did noth­ing!’ I grit­ted out as I sat down on the foot of my bed. My head was be­gin­ning to pound. Elf­bark tea. That was what I needed just now. I had none.

  ‘You did! You asked his per­mis­sion, and then you took his hand. And in the next in­stant you were both gasp­ing like fish.’

  ‘Just an in­stant?’ It had felt like hours to me. I had thought the whole even­ing spent.

  ‘No more than three heart beats.’

  ‘Ooh.’ I put my hands to my temples, tried to push my skull back into one piece. Why did Burrich have to be gone just now? I knew he would have elf­bark. The pain de­man­ded I take a chance. ‘Do you have any elf­bark? For tea?’

  ‘With me? No. But I could go beg some of Lacey. She keeps a horde of all sorts of herbs.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘What did you do to the King?’ The trade he offered was plain.

  The pres­sure in my head built, push­ing out on my eyes. ‘Noth­ing,’ I gasped. ‘And what he did to me is for him to tell. If he chooses. Is that plain enough for you?’

  A si­lence. ‘Per­haps. Are you really in that much pain?’

  I lay back very slowly on my bed. Even put­ting my head down hurt.

  ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he offered. I heard the door of my room open and shut. I lay still, eyes closed. Gradu­ally the sense of what I had eaves­dropped formed it­self in my mind. Des­pite my pain, I sor­ted in­form­a­tion. Regal had spies. Or claimed to. Brawndy was a traitor. Or so Regal claimed his sup­posed spies had in­formed him. I sus­pec­ted Brawndy was as much a traitor as Kettricken was. Oh, the spread­ing poison. And the pain. Sud­denly I re­membered the pain. Had not Chade bid me simply to ob­serve as I had been taught to find an an­swer to my ques­tion? It had been plain be­fore me all the time, if only I had not been so blinded with fears of trait­ors and plots and pois­ons.

  A dis­ease was eat­ing King Shrewd, gnaw­ing him away from the in­side. He drugged him­self against the agony, in an ef­fort to have some corner of his mind to him­self, a place in which the pain could not come and rob him. If someone had just told me of that a few hours ago, I would have scoffed. Now, ly­ing on my bed, try­ing to breathe softly be­cause the slight­est move­ment triggered an­other wave of pain, I could be­gin to un­der­stand. Pain. I’d only been en­dur­ing this for a few minutes, and I’d already sent the Fool run­ning for elf­bark. An­other con­sid­er­a­tion pushed it­self into my mind. I ex­pec­ted this pain to pass, that by to­mor­row I would rise up free from it. What if I had to face it every mo­ment for the rest of my life, with the cer­tainty that it was de­vour­ing what hours were left to me? No won­der Shrewd kept him­self drugged.

  I heard my door open and close quietly. When I did not hear th
e Fool be­gin to make tea, I forced my eyes open. Justin and Se­rene stood in­side the door of my room. They stood frozen, as if in the lair of a sav­age beast. When I shif­ted my head slightly to look at them, Se­rene’s lips ac­tu­ally drew back as if she snarled. Within me, Nighteyes snarled back. The tempo of my heart sud­denly in­creased. Danger here. I tried to loosen my muscles, to be ready to take any ac­tion, but the pain bludgeon­ing my head bade me only be still, be still. ‘I didn’t hear your knock,’ I man­aged to say. Each word was edged in red as my voice echoed in my skull.

  ‘I didn’t knock,’ Se­rene said harshly. Her clearly-spoken words were as pain­ful to me as a club­bing. I prayed she didn’t know how much power she had over me just then. I prayed for the Fool to come back. I tried to ap­pear non­chal­ant, as if I kept to my bed only be­cause I con­sidered them so un­im­port­ant.

  ‘Did you need some­thing from me?’ I soun­ded brusque. In real­ity, each word cost too much ef­fort to waste even one.

  ‘Need? Never,’ Se­rene scoffed.

  Skill nudged me. Clum­sily. Justin, prod­ding at me. I could not repress the shud­der that went through me. My king’s use of me had left my mind as raw as a bleed­ing wound. Justin’s awk­ward Skilling was like hav­ing cat’s claws rake my brain.

  Shield your­self. Ver­ity was a whis­per. I made an ef­fort to set my guards, but could not find enough of my­self to do it. Se­rene was smil­ing.

  Justin was push­ing into my mind like a hand shov­ing into a pud­ding. My senses jumbled sud­denly. He smelled foul in my head, he was a ter­rible rot­ten green­ish-yel­low and soun­ded like spurs jingling. Shield, Ver­ity pleaded. He soun­ded des­per­ate, weak, and I knew he was try­ing very hard to hold the tattered pieces of my­self to­gether for me. He’s go­ing to kill you with sheer stu­pid­ity. He doesn’t even know what he’s do­ing.