Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  There had been short ra­tions for the watch-room, and the stew had been overly salted, while some­how the beer had gone flat. The Duke of Tilth com­plained of vin­egar in­stead of wine in his rooms, which led the Dukes of Bearns to com­ment to those of Shoaks and Rip­pon that even a bit of vin­egar would have been wel­come as a sign of hos­pit­al­ity in their rooms. The un­for­tu­nate re­mark was con­veyed some­how to Mis­tress Hasty, who soundly scol­ded all the cham­ber­lains and serving-folk who had not some­how man­aged to spread the thin cheer left at Buck­keep to in­clude the lesser guestrooms. There was a com­plaint among the lesser ser­vants that an or­der had come down to keep ex­penses for those guests to a min­imum, but no one could be found who would ad­mit to giv­ing such an or­der, or even passing it down. And so the day had gone, so that I had been al­to­gether re­lieved to isol­ate my­self in Ver­ity’s tower.

  But I dared not miss the King-in-Wait­ing ce­re­mony, for too much would have been in­ferred from that. And so I stood, an un­com­fort­able vic­tim of a shirt with over-full sleeves and some very itchy leg­gings, pa­tiently await­ing Regal’s en­trance. My mind was not on his pomp and show; rather it whirled with ques­tions and wor­ries of my own. I fret­ted over whether Burrich had been able to smuggle out the horses and lit­ter. It was dark now. He was prob­ably sit­ting out­side in this storm, in the pathetic shel­ter of the alder copse. He would have blanketed the horses, no doubt, but that would do little against the sleet that now fell stead­ily. He had given me the name of the smithy where Sooty and Ruddy had been taken. Some­how I must find a way to keep up the man’s weekly bribes, and to check on them of­ten to be sure they were well-cared-for. This he had made me prom­ise to en­trust to no one else. Would the Queen be able to re­tire alone to her room? And again and again, how was I to empty King Shrewd’s room that Chade might spirit him away?

  A mut­ter of won­der broke me from my rev­erie. I glanced to­ward the dais where every­one seemed to be star­ing. There was a brief flick­er­ing, and for an in­stant, one of the white tapers burn­ing there flickered blue. Then an­other spat a spark, and burnt blue for an in­stant. There was an­other mut­ter, but the way­ward candles settled after that to burn­ing evenly and well. Neither Kettricken nor King Shrewd ap­peared to no­tice any­thing amiss, but the Fool sat up and shook Ratsy at the er­rant candles in re­buke.

  At length Regal did ap­pear, resplen­dent in red vel­vet and white silk. A little maid walked be­fore him, swinging a censer of san­dal­wood in­cense. Regal smiled upon all as he ad­vanced leis­urely to­ward the throne, meet­ing many an eye and nod­ding many an ac­know­ledge­ment on his way to that high seat. I am sure it did not go off so finely as Regal had planned. King Shrewd faltered and then looked puzzled over the scroll that had been given him to read. At length Kettricken took it from his shaky hands, and he smiled up at her as she read aloud the words that must have cut her to her heart. It was a care­ful list­ing of the chil­dren that King Shrewd had sired, in­clud­ing a daugh­ter who had died in in­fancy, by the or­der of their births, and then by or­der of their deaths, all lead­ing up to Regal as sole sur­vivor and le­git­im­ate heir. She did not hes­it­ate at Ver­ity’s name, but read aloud the brief state­ment, ‘Lost to mis­for­tune while on a quest to the Moun­tain King­dom’ as if it were an in­gredi­ent list. Of the child she car­ried, no men­tion was made. A child as yet un­born was an heir, but not a King-in-Wait­ing. The child could not step for­ward to claim that title un­til he or she was at least six­teen.

  Kettricken had taken from Ver­ity’s chest the simple sil­ver circlet with the blue gem that was crown for a King-in-Wait­ing, and the pendant of gold and em­er­ald in the shape of a leap­ing buck. These she passed first to King Shrewd, who looked down at them as if be­wildered. He made no move to be­stow them upon Regal. At length Regal reached for them, and Shrewd al­lowed him to take them out of his hands. And so Regal set the crown upon his own head, and slipped the pendant about his own neck, and stood be­fore us all, the new King-in-Wait­ing of the Six Duch­ies.

  Chade’s tim­ing was slightly off. The candles did not ser­i­ously be­gin to flicker blue un­til the dukes were wend­ing their way for­ward to pledge once more to House Farseer. Regal tried to ig­nore this phe­nomenon, un­til the mut­ter­ing of the folk threatened to drown out Duke Ram of Tilth’s oath. Then Regal turned and cas­u­ally pinched out the of­fend­ing candle. I ad­mired his aplomb, es­pe­cially when a second candle al­most im­me­di­ately went blue, and he re­peated the ges­ture. I my­self thought it was a bit too much of a portent when a torch set in a sconce by the main door sud­denly whooshed out a blue flame and a foul stench be­fore it guttered dark. All eyes had turned to watch it. Regal waited it out, but I saw the clench of his jaw and the tiny vein that throbbed on his temple.

  I do not know how he had planned to end his ce­re­mony, but he brought it to a rather ab­rupt close after that. At his curt sig­nal, min­strels struck up ab­ruptly, while at an­other nod the doors opened and men bore in table-boards already laden, while boys hastened after them with the trestles to set them upon. At least for this feast he had spared noth­ing, and the well-pre­pared meats and pastries were wel­comed by all. If there seemed to be some­thing of a short­age of bread, no one thought to com­plain of it. Cloths and tables had been set in the lesser hall for the grand folk and thither I saw Kettricken slowly es­cort­ing King Shrewd, while the Fool and Rose­mary trailed after them. For those of us with lesser rank, there were sim­pler but plen­ti­ful foods to hand and a cleared floor for dan­cing.

  I had planned to make my­self a hearty meal at the feast­ing but again and again I was ac­cos­ted by men who clapped my shoulder too firmly, or wo­men who met my eyes too know­ingly. The Coastal dukes were in at table with the other high nobles, os­tens­ibly break­ing bread with Regal and ce­ment­ing their new re­la­tion­ship to him. I had been pre­pared that all three Coastal dukes would know I con­curred with their plan. It was un­nerv­ing to find evid­ence it was known among the lesser no­bil­ity as well. Celer­ity made no overt claim upon me as es­cort, but made me nervously aware of my­self by fol­low­ing me about as mutely as a hound. I could not turn but I found her a half-dozen steps away. Plainly she wished me to speak to her, but I did not trust my wits to find suit­able words. I al­most broke when a lesser noble from Shoaks cas­u­ally asked me if I thought any of the war­ships would be har­boured as far south as False Bay.

  With a sink­ing heart, I sud­denly real­ized my er­ror. None of them feared Regal. They saw no danger, only a spoiled pop­in­jay of a boy who wished to wear fine clothes and a circlet and claim a title to him­self. They be­lieved he would go away and they could ig­nore him. I knew bet­ter.

  I knew what Regal was cap­able of, in search of power, or on a whim, or simply be­cause he be­lieved he could get away with it. He would leave Buck­keep. He did not want it. But if he thought I did, he would do everything within his power to see that I did not get it. I was sup­posed to be dumped here, like a stray, left to starve or be raided. Not as­cend to power on the wreck­age he had left.

  If I were not care­ful, they would get me killed. Or worse, if there was any­thing Regal could de­vise that he saw as worse.

  Twice I tried to slip away, and each time was cornered by someone who wanted a quiet mo­ment of talk with me. I fi­nally pleaded a head­ache and openly an­nounced I was seek­ing my bed. Then I must be resigned to at least a dozen folk hasten­ing to wish me good night be­fore I re­tired. Just as I thought I was free, Celer­ity touched a shy hand to mine and wished me ‘good night’ in such a dis­pir­ited voice that I knew that I had hurt her feel­ings. That, I think, rattled me more than any­thing else that even­ing. I thanked her, and in my most cow­ardly act of that night, dared to kiss her fin­ger­tips. The re­sur­gence of light in her eyes shamed me. I fled up the stairs. As I climbed them, I wondered how Ver­ity had ever stood
this sort of thing, or my father. If I had ever thought or dreamed of be­ing a real prince in­stead of a bas­tard, I aban­doned the dream that night. It was en­tirely too pub­lic a pro­fes­sion. With a sink­ing heart, I real­ized that this was how life would be for me un­til Ver­ity re­turned. The il­lu­sion of power clung to me now, and too many would be dazzled by it.

  I went to my own cham­ber and, with great re­lief, changed into sens­ible clothes. As I tugged on my shirt, I felt the tiny bulge of Wal­lace’s poison, still sewn into my cuff. Per­haps, I re­flec­ted bit­terly, it would bring me luck. I left my room, and then com­mit­ted pos­sibly my most fool­ish act of the even­ing. I went up to Molly’s cham­ber. The ser­vants’ hall was empty, the cor­ridor but dimly lit with two waver­ing torches. I tapped at her door. There was no reply. I tried the latch softly, but it was not fastened. The door swung open at my touch.

  Dark­ness. Empti­ness. The small hearth held no fire. I found a bit of a candle and kindled it at a torch. Then I went back in her room and shut the door. I stood there while the dev­ast­a­tion fi­nally be­came real. It was all too Molly. The stripped bed, the hearth swept clean, but with a small stack of wood set ready for a fire for the next res­id­ent. Those were the touches that told me she had ti­died her­self out of the room. Not a rib­bon, not a taper, not even a scrap of wick­ing re­mained of the wo­man who had lived a ser­vant’s life here. The ewer set up­side-down in the basin to keep the dust out. I sat in her chair be­fore the cold hearth, I opened her cloth­ing chest and peered within. But it was not her chair, or hearth, or chest. These were just ob­jects she had touched in the brief time she had been here.

  Molly was gone.

  She wasn’t com­ing back.

  I had held my­self to­gether by re­fus­ing to think of her. This empty room jerked the blind­fold from my eyes. I looked into my­self and des­pised what I saw. I wished I could call back the kiss I had placed on Celer­ity’s fin­ger­tips. Balm for a girl’s wounded pride, or the lure to bind her and her father to me? I no longer knew which it had been. Neither could be jus­ti­fied. Both were wrong, if I be­lieved at all in the love I had pledged to Molly. That one act was proof I was guilty of all she had charged me with. I would al­ways put the Farseers ahead of her. I had dangled mar­riage be­fore Molly like bait, left her with no pride in her­self nor be­lief in me. She had hurt me by leav­ing me. What she could not leave be­hind was what I had done to her be­lief in her­self. That she must carry with her for ever, a be­lief that she had been tricked and used by a selfish, ly­ing boy who lacked even the cour­age to fight for her.

  Can des­ol­a­tion be a source of cour­age? Or was it merely reck­less­ness and a de­sire for self-de­struc­tion? I went boldly back down­stairs, and went dir­ectly to the King’s cham­bers. The torches in the wall sconces out­side his door an­noyed me by spit­ting blue sparks as I passed. A little too dra­matic, Chade. I wondered if he had treated every candle and torch in the keep. I pushed the hanging cur­tain aside and entered. No one was there. Not in the sit­ting room, not even in the King’s bed­cham­ber. The place had a thread­bare look to it, with all the best things taken away and car­ted off up­river. It re­minded me of a room in a me­diocre inn. Noth­ing left here was worth steal­ing, or Regal would have left a guard on the door. In a strange way, it re­minded me of Molly’s room. Here there were ob­jects left, bed­ding, gar­ments and the like. But this was no longer my king’s room. I went and stood by a table, in the ex­act spot where I had stood as a young boy. Here, while Shrewd break­fas­ted, he had quizzed me as­tutely on my les­sons each week, and made me aware, every time he spoke to me, that if I was his sub­ject, he was also my king. That man was gone, stripped from this room. The clut­ter of an act­ive man, the boot-trees, the blades, the scat­ter of scrolls, had been re­placed with censers for burn­ing herbs and sticky cups of drug tea. King Shrewd had left this room a long time ago. To­night I would take away a sick old man.

  I heard foot­steps and cursed my­self for my clum­si­ness. I slipped be­hind a hanging and stood mo­tion­less. I heard the mur­mur of voices from the sit­ting room. Wal­lace. That mock­ing reply would be the Fool. I ghos­ted from my hid­ing place to stand just in­side the bed­cham­ber and peer through the make­shift cur­tain. Kettricken sat on the couch be­side the King, talk­ing with him softly. She looked weary. Dark circles smudged be­neath her eyes, but she smiled for the King. I was pleased to hear him mur­mur a reply to whatever she had asked him. Wal­lace crouched on the hearth, adding sticks of wood to the fire with ex­cess­ive care. On the other side of the hearth Rose­mary had col­lapsed in a heap, her new dress bunched up about her. As I watched she yawned sleepily, then heaved a sigh and straightened her­self up. I pit­ied her. The long ce­re­mony had left me feel­ing ex­actly the same way. The Fool stood be­hind the King’s chair. He sud­denly turned and stared dir­ectly at me, as if the cur­tain were no bar­rier at all. I could see no one else in the room.

  The Fool turned ab­ruptly back to Wal­lace. ‘Yes, blow, Sir Wal­lace, blow well and hot. Per­chance we shall not need the fire at all, with the warmth of your breath to drive the chill from the room.’

  Wal­lace did not rise from his crouch, but turned to glare at the Fool over his shoulder. ‘Bring me some wood, would you? Not a stick of this will catch. The flame runs along it well, but the wood does not burn. I need hot wa­ter if I am to make the King his sleep­ing tea.’

  ‘Would I bring wood? Wood? Would I? Wooden am I not, fair Wal­lace. Nor would I burn, no mat­ter how closely you huffed and puffed upon me. Guards! Ho, guards! Enter, and bring with you wood, if you would!’ The Fool leaped up from his place be­hind the King and capered to the door, where he made a great show of at­tempt­ing to treat the cur­tain as if it were a proper door. At last he thrust his head out into the hall, and called loudly again for the guards. He drew his head back in after a mo­ment and re­turned to the room with a de­jec­ted air. ‘No guards, no wood. Poor Wal­lace.’ He gravely stud­ied the man. Wal­lace was on his hands and knees, pok­ing an­grily at the fire. ‘Per­haps were you to turn, bow to stern, and blow thus upon the fire, the flames might dance more mer­rily for you. Fore to aft, to cre­ate a draught, brave Wal­lace.’

  One of the candles that lit the room sud­denly spat blue sparks. All, even the Fool, flinched to its hiss­ing, while Wal­lace lumbered to his feet. I would not have thought him a su­per­sti­tious man, but there was a brief wild­ness in his eyes that spoke well of how little he liked this omen. ‘The fire simply will not burn,’ he an­nounced, and then as if real­iz­ing the sig­ni­fic­ance of what he said, he paused, mouth agape.

  ‘We are witched,’ said the Fool be­nignly. On the hearth, little Rose­mary drew her knees up un­der her chin and looked about with round eyes. All trace of sleep­i­ness was gone from her.

  ‘Why are there no guards?’ Wal­lace de­man­ded an­grily. He strode to the door of the room and peered out into the hall­way. ‘The torches burn blue, every one of them!’ he gasped. He drew his head back in, looked about wildly. ‘Rose­mary. Run and fetch the guards. They said they would fol­low us shortly.’

  Rose­mary shook her head and re­fused to budge. She hugged her knees tightly.

  ‘Guards would fol­low us? Wood fol­low us? Fol­lowed by wood? Now that’s a knotty sub­ject! Would wooden guards burn?’

  ‘Stop your nat­ter­ing!’ Wal­lace snapped at the Fool. ‘Go fetch the guards.’

  ‘Go fetch? First he thinks I am wood, not that I am his little pet dog. Ah! Go fetch the wood, the stick, you mean. Where’s the stick?’ And the Fool began to bark like a feist and frolic about the room as if in search of a thrown stick.

  ‘Go fetch the guards!’ Wal­lace all but howled.

  The Queen spoke firmly. ‘Fool. Wal­lace. Enough. You weary us with your antics, and Wal­lace, you are fright­en­ing Rose­mary. Go and fetch the guards your­self, if you are so set on hav­ing t
hem here. As for me, I would have a little peace. I am weary. Soon I must re­tire.’

  ‘My queen, there is some­thing ill afoot this night,’ Wal­lace in­sisted. He glanced about him war­ily. ‘I am not a man swayed by chance omens, but of late there have been too many to ig­nore. I shall go fetch the guards, since the Fool here lacks the cour­age –’

  ‘He clam­ours and weeps for the guards to come guard him from wood that will not burn, but I, I am the one who lacks cour­age? Ah, me!’

  ‘Fool, peace, please!’ The Queen’s plea seemed genu­ine. ‘Wal­lace. Go bring, not guards, but simply dif­fer­ent wood. Our king wishes not this com­mo­tion, but simply rest. Go now. Go.’

  Wal­lace hovered at the door, plainly re­luct­ant to brave the blue light of the cor­ridor alone.

  The Fool simpered at him. ‘Shall I come with you, to hold your hand, brave Wal­lace?’

  That at last sent him strid­ing from the room. As his foot­steps faded, the Fool once more looked to­ward my hid­ing-place, his in­vit­a­tion plain. ‘My queen,’ I said softly, and a quickly in-drawn breath was the only sign that I startled her as I stepped out of the King’s bed­cham­ber. ‘If you wished to re­tire, the Fool and I could see the King to his bed. I know you are weary and that you wished to rest early this night.’ From the hearth, Rose­mary re­garded me with round eyes.