Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  I sprang up and rushed out of the study, al­most trip­ping over Justin. He sat, legs out­stretched, with his back against the wall. He looked drunk. I knew bet­ter. He was half-stunned by the push Ver­ity had given him. I brought my­self up short and stared down at him. I knew I should kill him. The poison I had com­posed for Wal­lace so long ago still rode in a pocket in my cuff. I could force it down his throat. But it was not de­signed to act quickly. As if he could guess my thoughts, he cowered away from me, scrab­bling along the wall.

  For a mo­ment longer I stared at him, striv­ing to think calmly. I had prom­ised Chade to take no more ac­tions on my own without con­sult­ing him. Ver­ity had not bid me find and kill the spy. He could have, in less than an in­stant of thought. This de­cision did not be­long to me. One of the hard­est things I have ever done was to force my­self to walk away from Justin. Half a dozen strides down the hall, I sud­denly heard him blurt, ‘I know what you’ve been do­ing!’

  I foun­ded to con­front him. ‘What are you talk­ing about?’ I asked in a low voice. My heart began to thun­der. I hoped he’d make me kill him. It was fright­en­ing to know sud­denly how badly I wanted to.

  He blanched but did not back down. He re­minded me of a brag­gart child. ‘You walk as if you are the King him­self, you sneer down at me, and make mock of me be­hind my back. Don’t think I don’t know it!’ He clawed his way up the wall, staggered to his feet. ‘But you are not so great. You Skill once, and think you are a mas­ter, but your Skilling stinks of your dog-ma­gic! Do not think you will walk so proud al­ways. You will be brought down! And soon!’

  A wolf clam­oured in me for in­stant ven­geance. I leashed my tem­per. ‘Do you dare to spy upon my Skilling to Prince Ver­ity, Justin? I did not think you had the cour­age.’

  ‘You know I did, Bas­tard. I do not fear you so that I must hide from you. I dare much, Bas­tard! Much more than you would sup­pose.’ His stance showed him grow­ing braver by the minute.

  ‘Not if I sup­pose treach­ery and treason, though. Has not King-in-Wait­ing Ver­ity been de­clared dead, oh loy­ally-sworn co­terie mem­ber? Yet you spy upon me Skilling to him, and you ex­press no sur­prise?’

  For a mo­ment, Justin stood stock-still. Then he grew bold. ‘Say what you like, Bas­tard. No one will be­lieve you if we deny it.’

  ‘Have the sense to be si­lent at least,’ Se­rene de­clared. She came down the hall­way like a ship un­der full sail. I did not step aside, but forced her to brush past me. She seized Justin’s arm, claim­ing him like a dropped bas­ket.

  ‘Si­lence is but an­other form of ly­ing, Se­rene.’ She had turned Justin about and was walk­ing him away from me. ‘You know that King Ver­ity still lives!’ I shouted after them. ‘Do you think he will never re­turn? Do you think you will never have to an­swer for the lie you live?’

  They turned a corner and were gone, leav­ing me to seethe si­lently, and curse my­self for shout­ing so blatantly aloud what as yet we must con­ceal. But the in­cid­ent had pushed me into an ag­gress­ive frame of mind. I left Ver­ity’s study and prowled the keep. The kit­chens were abustle and Cook had no time for me, other than to ask if I had heard that a ser­pent had been found ly­ing be­fore the fire on the main hearth. I said doubt­less it had crawled into the fire­wood to shel­ter for the winter, and come in with a log. The warmth would have brought it to life. She just shook her head, and said she had never heard of the like but that it boded evil. She told me again of the Pocked Man by the well, but in her story, he had been drink­ing from the bucket, and when he lowered it from his spot­ted face, the wa­ter that ran down his face was red as blood. She was mak­ing the kit­chen boys bring wa­ter from the well in the washer-courts for all the cook­ing. She’d have no one drop­ping dead at her table.

  On that cheer­ful note, I left the kit­chen, with a couple of sweet cakes I had light-fingered from a tray. I had not got far be­fore a page stood be­fore me. ‘FitzChiv­alry, son of Chiv­alry?’ he ad­dressed me cau­tiously.

  His wider cheekbones marked him as prob­ably be­ing of Bearns stock, and when I looked for it, I found the yel­low flower that was the Bearns sigil sewn to his patched jer­kin. For a boy of his height, he was wretchedly thin. I nod­ded gravely.

  ‘My mas­ter, Duke Brawndy of Bearns, de­sires that you wait upon him as soon as you hand­ily may.’ He spoke the words care­fully. I doubted that he had been a page long.

  ‘That would be now.’

  ‘Then shall I show you to him?’

  ‘I can find my way. Here. I should not take these up there with me.’ I handed him the sweet cakes, and he re­ceived them doubt­fully.

  ‘Shall I save them for you, sir?’ he asked ser­i­ously, and it smote me to see a boy put such a high value on food.

  ‘Per­haps you would eat them for me, and if they suit you, you might go in the kit­chens and tell our cook, Sara, what you think of her work.’

  No mat­ter how busy it was in there, I knew a com­pli­ment from a skinny boy would win him at least a bowl of stew.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ His face lit at my or­ders and he hastened away from me, half of one cake already in his mouth.

  The lesser guest-rooms were those on the op­pos­ite side of the Great Hall from the King’s rooms. They were con­sidered lesser, I sup­pose, mostly be­cause their win­dows faced on to the moun­tains rather than the sea, and hence the rooms were gloom­ier. But the cham­bers were no smal­ler, nor less hand­some in any other way, save that the last time I had been ad­mit­ted to one, it had been de­cently fur­nished. Bearns guards ad­mit­ted me to a sit­ting room that offered only three chairs in which to sit, and a bare, rick­ety table in the middle. Faith greeted me, neut­rally formal, and then went to let Duke Brawndy know I was there. The tapestries and hangings that had once warmed the walls and given col­our to the stone cham­ber were gone. It was as cheery as a dun­geon, save that a warm fire on the hearth brightened it. I re­mained stand­ing in the centre of the room un­til Duke Brawndy emerged from his bed­cham­ber to greet me. He in­vited me to be seated, and awk­wardly we drew two of the chairs closer to the hearth. There should have been breads and pastries upon the table, there should have been kettles and mugs and brew­ing herbs for tea, and bottles of wine in these rooms to wel­come Buck­keep’s guests. It pained me that there were not. Faith hovered in the back­ground like a hunt­ing hawk. I could not help but won­der where Celer­ity was.

  We ex­changed a few minor pleas­ant­ries, and then Brawndy plunged into his topic like a draught horse into a snow­drift. ‘I un­der­stand King Shrewd is ill, too ill to see any of his dukes. Regal, of course, is much too busy with pre­par­a­tions for to­mor­row.’ The sar­casm was heavy as thick cream. ‘So I wished to visit her majesty Queen Kettricken,’ he an­nounced pon­der­ously. ‘For as you know, she has been most cour­teous to me in the past. But at her door, her ladies told me she was not well and should not have vis­it­ors. I have heard a ru­mour that she was with child, and that now, in her grief and her fool­ish­ness at rid­ing to Rip­pon’s de­fence, she has lost it. Is this so?’

  I took a breath, stud­ied fair words for my re­sponse. ‘Our king is, as you say, very ill. I do not think you shall see him, save at the ce­re­mony. Our queen is like­wise in­dis­posed, but I am sure that if she had been told you were at her door your­self, you would have been ad­mit­ted. She has not lost the child. She rode to the de­fence of Neat­bay for the same reas­ons she has gif­ted you with opals; for fear that if she did not act, no other would. Nor was it her ac­tions at Neat­bay that threatened her child, but a fall down a tower stair here at Buck­keep. And the child was only threatened, not lost, though our queen was sorely bruised.’

  ‘I see.’ He sat back in his chair and pondered for a bit. The si­lence took root between us and grew while I waited. At last he leaned for­ward and mo­tioned me to do the same. When our heads were close to­gether, he asked quietly, ‘FitzC
hiv­alry, have you any am­bi­tions?’

  This was the mo­ment. King Shrewd had pre­dicted it years ago, and Chade more re­cently. When I made no im­me­di­ate an­swer, Brawndy went on as if each word were a stone he shaped be­fore hand­ing it to me. ‘The heir to the Farseer throne is a babe as yet un­born. Once Regal has de­clared him­self King-in-Wait­ing, do you think he will wait long to claim the throne? We do not. For al­though these words come from my lips, I speak for Rip­pon and Shoaks duch­ies as well. Shrewd has be­come old, and feeble. A king in name only. We have had a taste of what kind of king Regal would be. What should we suf­fer while Regal holds title un­til Ver­ity’s child comes of age? Not that I ex­pect the child will man­age to be born, let alone mount the throne.’ He paused, cleared his throat, and looked at me earn­estly. Faith stood by the door as if guard­ing our talk. I kept my si­lence.

  ‘You’re a man we know, a son of a man we knew. You bear his looks and al­most his name. You’ve as much a right to call your­self royal as many who have worn the crown.’ He paused again. Wait­ing.

  Again I kept si­lent. It was not, I told my­self, a tempta­tion. I would simply hear him out. That was all. He had said noth­ing, as yet, that sug­ges­ted I would be­tray my king.

  He floundered for words, then looked up and met my eyes. ‘Times are dif­fi­cult.’

  ‘They are,’ I agreed quietly.

  He looked down at his hands. They were worn hands, hands that bore the small scars and rough­ness of a man who did things with them. His shirt was freshly-washed and men­ded, but it was not a new gar­ment made es­pe­cially for this oc­ca­sion. Times might be hard in Buck­keep, but they were harder in Bearns. Quietly he said it. ‘If you saw fit to op­pose Regal, to de­clare your­self King-in-Wait­ing in his stead, Bearns and Rip­pon and Shoaks would sup­port you. It is my be­lief that Queen Kettricken would sup­port you as well, and that Buck would fol­low her.’ He looked up at me again. ‘We have talked much of this. We be­lieve Ver­ity’s child would stand a bet­ter chance of gain­ing the throne with you as re­gent than with Regal.’

  So. They had dis­missed Shrewd already. ‘Why not fol­low Kettricken?’ I asked care­fully.

  He looked into the flames. ‘It’s a hard thing to say, after she has shown her­self so true. But she is for­eign born, and in some ways un­tried. It is not that we doubt her; we do not. Nor would we be set­ting her aside. Queen she is, and would re­main, and her child to reign after her. But in these times, we need both King-in-Wait­ing and Queen.’

  A ques­tion bubbled in me. A de­mon wanted me to ask, ‘And if, when the child comes of age, I do not wish to re­lin­quish power, what then?’ They had to have asked them­selves, they had to have agreed on some an­swer to have ready for me. For a mo­ment longer I sat still and si­lent. Al­most I could feel the ed­dies of pos­sib­il­ity swirl­ing about me; was this what the Fool was al­ways prat­tling about, was this one of his misty cross­roads where I al­ways stood in the centre? ‘Cata­lyst,’ I taunted my­self quietly.

  ‘Beg par­don?’ Brawndy leaned closer to me.

  ‘Chiv­alry,’ I said. ‘As you have said, I bear his name. Al­most. Duke Brawndy. You are a man hard-pressed. I know what you have risked in speak­ing to me, and I will be as blunt with you. I am a man with am­bi­tions. But I do not de­sire the crown of my king.’ I took a breath and looked into the fire. For the first time, I really con­sidered what it would do to Bearns, Rip­pon and Shoaks for both Shrewd and Kettricken sud­denly to dis­ap­pear. The Coastal duch­ies would be­come like a rud­der­less ship with decks awash. Brawndy had as much as said they would not fol­low Regal. Yet I had noth­ing else I could of­fer them at this time. To whis­per to him that Ver­ity lived would de­mand that they rise to­mor­row, to deny Regal’s right to de­clare him­self King-in-Wait­ing. To warn them that both Shrewd and Kettricken would sud­denly van­ish would be no as­sur­ance at all to them, but would cer­tainly mean that too many folk would not be sur­prised when it happened. Once they were safely in the Moun­tain King­dom, then, per­haps, the Coastal dukes could be told all. But that could be weeks away. I tried to think what I could of­fer him now, what as­sur­ances, what hopes.

  ‘For what it is worth, I, as a man, am with you.’ I said the words care­fully, won­der­ing if I spoke treason. ‘To King Shrewd I am pledged. To Queen Kettricken, and the heir she car­ries, I am loyal. I fore­see dark days ahead of us, and the Coastal duch­ies must act as one against the Raid­ers. We have no time to worry what Prince Regal does in­land. Let him go to Trade­ford. Our lives are here, and here we must stand and fight.’

  With my own words, I felt a sea-change in me. Like the shed­ding of a cloak, or an in­sect crawl­ing from its co­coon, I felt my­self emerge. Regal was leav­ing me here at Buck­keep, abandon­ing me as he thought, to hard­ship and danger, along with those I most cared about. Well let him. With the King and Queen Kettricken safely away in the moun­tains, I would no longer fear Regal. Molly was gone, lost to me. What had Burrich said, a time ago – that I might not see her, but per­haps she might see me. Let her see then that I could act, that one man stand­ing could make a dif­fer­ence. Pa­tience and Lacey would be safer in my keep­ing than in­land as Regal’s host­ages. My mind was ra­cing. Could I make Buck­keep my own, and hold it for Ver­ity un­til he re­turned? Who would fol­low me? Burrich would be gone. I could not count on us­ing his in­flu­ence. But those swill­ing In­land sol­diers would be gone as well. What would be left would be Buck­keep war­ri­ors, with a ves­ted in­terest in keep­ing this cold rock of a castle from fall­ing. Some had watched me grow up, some had learned how to spar and swing a sword at the same time I had. Kettricken’s guard I knew, and the old sol­diers who still wore the col­ours of King Shrewd’s guard knew me. I had be­longed to them be­fore I had be­longed to King Shrewd. Would they re­mem­ber that?

  Des­pite the warmth of the fire, a shiver went up me and if I had been a wolf, my hackles would have stood on end. The spark in me quickened. ‘I am no king. I am no prince. I am but a bas­tard, but one who loves Buck. I want no blood­shed with Regal, no con­front­a­tion. We have no time to waste, and I have no heart for the killing of Six Duch­ies folk. Let Regal flee in­land. When he and the dogs that sniff after him are gone, I am yours. And as much of Buck as I can rally to fol­low me.’

  The words were spoken, the com­ment made. Treason, traitor, whispered a small voice in­side me. But in my heart I knew the right­ness of what I did. Chade might not see it my way. But I felt in that mo­ment that the only way to de­clare my­self for Shrewd and Ver­ity and Kettricken’s child was to de­clare my­self with those who would not fol­low Regal. But I wanted to be sure they un­der­stood that loy­alty clearly. I looked deep into Brawndy’s weary eyes. ‘This is my goal, Duke Brawndy of Bearns. I speak it plainly, and I will back no other. I will see a united Six Duch­ies, with her coast­line freed of Raid­ers, place a crown upon the head of Kettricken’s and Ver­ity’s child. I must hear you say that you share that goal.’

  ‘I swear that I do, FitzChiv­alry, son of Chiv­alry.’ To my hor­ror, the war-scarred old man took my hands in his and placed them on his fore­head in the an­cient sign of one who gives fealty. It was all I could do not to snatch them away. Loy­alty to Ver­ity, I told my­self. This is how I have be­gun this, and I must see that this is how I go on.

  ‘I will speak to the oth­ers,’ Brawndy was go­ing on quietly. ‘I will tell them that this is how you wish it. In truth, we have no wish for blood­shed. It is as you say. Let the whelp run in­land with his tail between his legs. Here is where the wolves shall stand and fight.’

  My scalp prickled at his choice of words.

  ‘We will at­tend his ce­re­mony. We will even stand be­fore him, and swear once more to be loyal to a king of the Farseer line. But he is not that king. Nor ever shall be. I un­der­stand he de­parts the very day after the ce­re­mony. We shall let him go, thou
gh by tra­di­tion a new King-in-Wait­ing is bound to stand be­fore his dukes and hear their coun­sels. It may be that we shall linger close, a day or so longer, after Regal has de­par­ted. Buck­keep at least shall be yours, ere we de­part. We shall see to that. And there will be much to dis­cuss. The place­ment of our ships. There are other ships, half-fin­ished in the boat-sheds, are there not?’

  At my short nod, Brawndy grinned in wolfish sat­is­fac­tion. ‘We shall see them launched, you and I. Regal has plundered Buck­keep for sup­plies; this is known to all. We will have to look into re­plen­ish­ing your ware­houses. The farm­ers and shep­herds of Buck will have to un­der­stand that they must find more, must give of what they held back, if their sol­diers are to keep their coast free. It will be a hard winter for all of us, but lean wolves fight fiercest, or so they say.’

  And we are lean, my brother, oh we are lean.

  A ter­rible fore­bod­ing rose in me. I wondered what I had done. I would have to find a way to speak to Kettricken be­fore she de­par­ted, to as­sure her some­how I had not turned on her. And I must Skill to Ver­ity, as soon as I safely could. Would he un­der­stand? He must. He had al­ways been able to see into the depths of my heart. Surely he would see what my in­ten­tions were. And King Shrewd? Once, long ago, when he had first bought my loy­alty, he had said to me, ‘If ever any man or wo­man seeks to turn you against me by of­fer­ing you more than I do, then come to me, and tell me of the of­fer, and I shall meet it.’ Would you give Buck­keep into my hands, old king? I wondered.