Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  Not quite, my king. I reined my mind back from think­ing of Kettricken safely on her way to the moun­tains. In­stead, I re­peated, There is still Will. And Burl and Car­rod. We must be cir­cum­spect, my prince.

  A shade of warmth. I shall. But you know the depths of my thanks. Per­haps we paid highly, but what we bought was worth it. To me, at least.

  To me, also. I sensed the wear­i­ness in him, and the resig­na­tion. Are you giv­ing up?

  Not yet. But like yours, my fu­ture does not seem prom­ising. The oth­ers are all dead or fled. I will go on. But I don’t know how much farther I must go. Or what I must do when I get there. And I am so very tired. To give in would be so easy.

  Ver­ity read me with ease, I knew. But I had to reach for him and for all he was not con­vey­ing to me. I sensed the great cold that sur­roun­ded him, and an in­jury that made it pain­ful to breathe. His alone­ness, and the pain of know­ing that those who had died had died so far from home, and for him. Hod, I thought, my own grief echo­ing his. Charim. Gone for ever. And some­thing else, some­thing he could not quite con­vey. A tempta­tion, a tee­ter­ing at the brink. A pres­sure, a pluck­ing, very sim­ilar to the Skil­lish pluck­ing I had felt from Se­rene and Justin. I tried to push past him, to look at it more closely, but he held me back.

  Some dangers be­come more dan­ger­ous when con­fron­ted, he warned me. This is one of them. But I am sure it is the path I must fol­low, if I am to find the Eld­er­lings.

  ‘Pris­oner!’

  I jol­ted out of my trance. A key turned in the lock of my door and it swung open. A girl stood in the door­way. Regal was be­side her, one hand com­fort­ingly on her shoulder. Two guards, In­land­ers both by the cut of their clothes, flanked them. One leaned for­ward to thrust a torch into my cell. I cowered back in­ad­vert­ently, then sat blink­ing in the un­ac­cus­tomed light. ‘Is that him?’ Regal asked the girl gently. She peered at me fear­fully. I peered back, try­ing to de­cide why she looked fa­mil­iar.

  ‘Yes, sir, lord prince, king, sir. That’s him. I went to the well that morn­ing, had to, had to have wa­ter, or the baby would die, just as sure as if the Raid­ers killed him. And it had been quiet a while, all Neat­bay as quiet as the dead. So I went to the well in the early morn­ing, creep­ing like through the mist, sir. Then there was this wolf there, right by the well, and he starts up and stares at me. And the wind moves the mist, and the wolf is gone, he’s a man now. That man, sir. Your majesty king.’ She con­tin­ued to stare at me wide-eyed.

  I re­called her now. The morn­ing after the battle for Neat­bay and Bay­guard. Nighteyes and I had paused to rest by the well. I re­called how he had jostled me awake as he fled at the girl’s ap­proach.

  ‘You’re a brave girl,’ Regal praised her, and pat­ted her shoulder again. ‘Here, guard, take her back above to the kit­chens, and see she gets a good meal and a bed some­where. No, leave me the torch.’ They backed out of the door, and the guard shut it firmly be­hind him. I heard de­part­ing foot­steps, but the light out­side the door stayed. After the foot­steps had dwindled, Regal spoke again.

  ‘Well, Bas­tard, it looks as if this game is played out. Your cham­pi­ons will aban­don you fairly quickly, I sus­pect, once they un­der­stand what you are. There are other wit­nesses, of course. Ones who will speak of how there were wolf tracks and men dead of bites every­where you fought at Neat­bay. There are even some of our own Buck­keep guard, who, when put to oath, must ad­mit that when you have fought Forged ones, some of the bod­ies have borne the marks of teeth and claws.’ He heaved a great sigh of sat­is­fac­tion. I heard the sounds of him set­ting the torch into a wall sconce. He came back to the door. He was just tall enough to peer in at me. Child­ishly I stood, and ap­proached the door to look down at him. He stepped back. I felt petty sat­is­fac­tion.

  It had tweaked his tem­per. ‘You were so gull­ible. Such a fool. You came limp­ing home from the moun­tains with your tail between your legs, and thought that Ver­ity’s fa­vour would be all you needed to sur­vive. You and all your fool­ish plot­tings. I knew of them all. All of them, Bas­tard. All your little chats with our queen, the tower-garden bribes to turn Brawndy against me. Even her plans to leave Buck­keep. Take warm things, you told her. The King will go with you.’ He stood on tip-toe to be sure I could see his smile. ‘She left with neither, Bas­tard. Not the King, nor the warm things she had packed.’ He paused. ‘Not even a horse.’ His voice caressed the last words as if he had been sav­ing them for a long time. He watched my face avidly.

  I sud­denly knew my­self for nine kinds of a fool. Rose­mary. Sweet, sleepy child, al­ways nod­ding off in a corner. So bright one could trust her with any er­rand. So young one for­got she was even there. Yet I should have known. I was no older when Chade had first be­gun to teach me my trade. I felt ill, and it must have shown on my face. I could not re­call what I had or had not said in front of her. I had no way of know­ing what secrets Kettricken had con­fided over that little, dark, curly head. What talks with Ver­ity had she wit­nessed, what chats with Pa­tience? The Queen and the Fool were miss­ing. That only I knew for cer­tain. Had they ever got out of Buck­keep alive? Regal was grin­ning, well sat­is­fied with him­self. The barred door between us was the only thing that kept my prom­ise to Shrewd in­tact.

  He left, still grin­ning.

  Regal had his proof that I had the Wit. The Neat­bay girl was the bind­ing knot for that. All that re­mained now was for him to tor­ture from me a con­fes­sion that I had killed Shrewd. He had plenty of time for that. How­ever much time as it would take, he had.

  I sank down onto the floor. Ver­ity had been right. Regal had won.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Tor­ture

  But noth­ing would sat­isfy the Wil­ful Prin­cess but that she rode the Piebald Stal­lion to the hunt. All her ladies warned her, but she turned aside her head and would not hear them. All the lords warned her, but she scoffed at their fears. Even the Sta­ble­mas­ter sought to say her nay, telling her, ‘Lady Prin­cess, the stal­lion should be put down in blood and fire, for he was trained by Sly o’the Wit, and only to him is he true!’ Then the Wil­ful Prin­cess grew wroth and said, ‘Are these not my stables and my horses, and may I not choose which of my beasts I shall ride?’ Then all grew si­lent be­fore her tem­per, and she ordered the Piebald Stal­lion saddled for the hunt.

  Forth they went, with a great bay­ing of hounds and flut­ter­ing of col­ours. And the Piebald Stal­lion bore her well, and car­ried her far ahead of the field, and at last out of sight of the other hunters en­tirely. Then, when the Wil­ful Prin­cess was far and away, over the hill and be­neath the green trees, the Piebald Stal­lion bore her this way and that, un­til she was lost and the cry­ing of the hounds but an echo in the hills. At last she stopped by a stream to sip the cool wa­ter, but lo, when she turned, the Piebald Stal­lion was gone, and in his place stood Sly o’the Wit, as mottled as his Wit-beast. Then he was with her as a stal­lion is with a mare, so that ere the year had turned, she went heavy with child. And when those who at­ten­ded her birth saw the babe, all mottled on the face and shoulders, they cried aloud with fear. When the Wil­ful Prin­cess saw him, she screamed, and gave up her spirit in blood and shame, that she had borne Sly’s Wit-child. So the Piebald Prince was born in fear and shame, and that was what he brought into the world with him.

  – Le­gend of the Piebald Prince

  The torch Regal had left set the shad­ows of the bars to dan­cing. I watched them for a time, thought­less, hope­less. Know­ledge of my own death numbed me. Gradu­ally my mind began to work again, but without or­der. Was this what Chade had been try­ing to tell me? Without her horse; how much had Regal known about the horses? Had he known the des­tin­a­tion? How had Burrich es­caped de­tec­tion? Or had he? Might not I meet him in the tor­turer’s cham­ber? Did Regal think Pa­tience was con­nec­ted to the es­cape plan? If he did, would he
still be con­tent simply to aban­don her, or would he take more dir­ect ven­geance? When they came for me, should I fight? No. I would go with dig­nity. No. I would kill as many of his In­land-bred curs as I could with my bare hands. No. I would go quietly, and wait for a chance at Regal. I knew he would be there, to watch me die. My prom­ise to Shrewd, not to kill one of his own? It no longer bound me. Did it? No one could save me. Don’t even won­der if Chade would act, if Pa­tience could do any­thing at all. After Regal had tor­tured a con­fes­sion from me … would he keep me alive to hang and quarter be­fore all? Of course he would. Why deny him­self that pleas­ure? Would Pa­tience come to watch me die? I hoped not. Maybe Lacey could keep her away. I had thrown my life away, sac­ri­ficed all for noth­ing. At least, I had killed Se­rene and Justin. Had it been worth it? Had my queen es­caped at all, or was she still hid­den some­where within the castle walls? Was that what Chade had been try­ing to tell me? No. My mind paddled and scrabbled through thoughts like a rat fallen into a rain bar­rel. I longed to talk to someone, any­one. I forced my­self to calmness, to ra­tion­al­ity, and fi­nally found a grip. Nighteyes. Nighteyes had said that he had taken them, had guided them to Burrich.

  My brother? I reached for Nighteyes.

  I am here. I am al­ways here.

  Tell me of that night.

  What night?

  The night you guided the people from the keep to Heart of the Pack.

  Ah. I sensed him strug­gling. His ways were a wolf’s ways. A thing done was a thing done. He planned no fur­ther ahead than the next kill, re­called al­most noth­ing of events that happened a month or a year ago, un­less they touched most dir­ectly on his own sur­vival. Thus he re­called the cage I had taken him from, but where he had hunted four nights ago was lost to him. Gen­eral things he re­called: a well-used rab­bit trail, a spring that did not freeze over, but spe­cific de­tails of how many rab­bits he had killed three days ago were lost forever. I held my breath, hop­ing he could give me hope.

  I took them all to Heart of the Pack. I wish you were here. I’ve a por­cu­pine quill in my lip. I can’t paw it loose. It hurts.

  And how did you get that? In the midst of all else, I still had to smile. He knew bet­ter but had not been able to res­ist the fat, wad­dling creature.

  It isn’t funny.

  I know. Truly, it was not funny. A quill was a nasty barbed thing that would only work deeper, fes­ter­ing all the way. It could get bad enough to keep him from hunt­ing. I turned my at­ten­tion to his prob­lem. Un­til I had solved it for him, he would be able to fo­cus on noth­ing else. Heart of the Pack would get it out for you, if you asked him nicely. You can trust him.

  He pushed me when I spoke to him. But then he spoke to me.

  Did he?

  A slow work­ing through of thought. That night. When I guided them to him. He said to me, Bring them here to me, not to the dog-fox place.

  Pic­ture me the place you went.

  This was harder for him. But as he tried, he re­called the road­side, empty in the blow­ing snow, save for Burrich astride Ruddy and lead­ing Sooty. I glimpsed the Fe­male and the Scent­less One, as he thought of them. Chade he re­membered well, chiefly for a fat beef-bone be­stowed on Nighteyes at their part­ing.

  Did they speak to one an­other?

  Overly much. I left them yip­ping to one an­other.

  Try as I might, that was really all he had for me. It was enough that I knew the plans had changed drastic­ally and at the last minute. Odd. I had been will­ing to lay down my life for Kettricken, but at the last ac­count­ing, I was not sure how I felt about giv­ing up my horse. Then I re­called I would prob­ably never ride a horse again, save the one that car­ried me to the hanging tree. At least Sooty had gone with someone I cared about. And Ruddy. Why those two horses? And only those two? Had Burrich been un­able to get oth­ers out of the stable? Was that why he had not gone?

  The quill hurts, Nighteyes re­minded me. I can­not eat for the pain.

  I wish I could come to help you, but I can­not. You must ask Heart of the Pack.

  Can­not you ask him to do it? He does not push you.

  I smiled to my­self. He did once. It was enough, I learned from it. But if you go to him, ask­ing for help, he will not re­pel you.

  Can­not you ask him to help me?

  I can­not speak to him as we speak. And he is too far away for me to yip at him.

  I will try, then, Nighteyes said doubt­fully.

  I let him go. I thought of try­ing to make him un­der­stand my situ­ation. I de­cided against it. There was noth­ing he could do; it would only dis­tress him. Nighteyes would tell Burrich I had sent him; Burrich would know I was still alive. There was little else to con­vey that he would not already know.

  A long, slow time passed then. I meas­ured it in the small ways I could. The torch Regal had left burned out. The guard changed. Someone came and put food and wa­ter through my door. I had not asked for it. I wondered if that meant a very long time had passed since I had last eaten. The guard changed again. These were a chatty pair, a man and a wo­man. But they spoke in low voices, and all I heard were the mur­murs, and the laughter. Some sort of a rib­ald flir­ta­tion between the two, I sur­mised. In­ter­rup­ted by someone’s ar­rival.

  The friendly chat­ter ceased sud­denly. Low mur­murs, in a very re­spect­ful tone. My stom­ach roiled cold in­side me. Quietly I came to my feet, crept to my door. I peered through the bars to­ward the guard’s sta­tion.

  He came like a shadow down the hall. Si­lently. Not furt­ive. He was so un­ob­trus­ive, he did not need to worry about be­ing furt­ive. This was Skill as I had never seen it used be­fore. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck hackle when Will stopped out­side the door and looked in at me. He did not speak and I dared not. Even look­ing at him was giv­ing him too much of an open­ing to my­self. Yet I feared to look away. The Skill shimmered around him like an aura of aware­ness. I coiled deep in­side my­self, tighter and tighter, pulling back everything I felt or thought, slam­ming my walls up as swiftly as I could, but know­ing, some­how, that even those walls told him much about me. Even my de­fences were a way for this one to read me. Even as my mouth and throat went dry with fear, a ques­tion hovered. Where had he been? What had been so im­port­ant to Regal that he had set Will upon it rather than us­ing him to se­cure the crown?

  White ship.

  The an­swer came to me from deep within me, foun­ded on a con­nec­tion so deep I could not un­earth it. But I did not doubt it. I looked at him, con­sid­er­ing him in con­junc­tion with the white ship. He frowned. I felt an in­crease in the ten­sion between us, a press­ing of the Skill against my bound­ar­ies. He did not scrabble or pluck at me like Se­rene and Justin had. Rather, I could com­pare it to an en­gage­ment of blades, where one tests the strength of his op­pon­ent’s at­tack. I bal­anced my­self against him, know­ing that if I wavered, if for one in­stant I did not hold him out, he would slip past my guard and skewer my soul. His eyes widened and sur­prised me with a brief look of un­cer­tainty. But he fol­lowed it with a smile as wel­com­ing as a shark’s maw.

  ‘Ah,’ he sighed out. He seemed pleased. He stepped back from my door, stretched like a lazy cat. ‘They have un­der­es­tim­ated you. I shall not make that mis­take. Well I know the ad­vant­ages one gains when your rival un­der­val­ues you.’ Then he left, neither ab­ruptly nor slowly, but like smoke drifts away on a breeze. Here, and then gone.

  After he was gone, I went back to my slab and sat. I took a deep breath and sighed it out to still the quiv­er­ing in­side me. I felt I had passed through a trial, and that this time, at least, I had held my own. I leaned back against the cold stone wall, and glanced once more at my door.

  Will’s half-lid­ded eyes bored into me.

  I leaped up so sud­denly that the scabbed-over in­jury on my leg tore open afresh. I glared at my win­dow. Noth­ing. He was gone. Heart ha
m­mer­ing, I forced my­self to go to the tiny win­dow and peer out. No one was there, that I could see. He was gone. But I could not make my­self be­lieve he was gone.

  I limped back to my seat and sat down again, gath­er­ing Brawndy’s cloak about me. I stared at my win­dow, look­ing for mo­tion, for some change in the shad­owy light from the guard’s torch, for any­thing to in­dic­ate that Will lurked out­side my door. There was noth­ing. I longed to quest out, Wit and Skill, to see if I could feel him out there. I dared not. I could not ven­ture out of my­self without leav­ing a way for an­other to push in.

  I set my guards about my thoughts, and a few mo­ments later, re­set them. The harder I tried to calm my­self, the fiercer my panic be­came when it rose. I had been fear­ing phys­ical tor­ture. Now the sour fear-sweat trickled down my ribs and the sides of my face as I con­sidered all that Will could do to me if he got past my walls. Once he got in­side my head, I would stand be­fore all the dukes and tell in de­tail how I had killed King Shrewd. Regal had in­ven­ted for me some­thing worse than merely dy­ing. I could go to my death a self-pro­claimed cow­ard and traitor as well. I would cower at Regal’s feet and beg his for­give­ness be­fore all.

  I think the time that passed was a night. I slept for none of it, save to doze off and then wake with a start from a dream of eyes at my win­dow. I dared not even reach out to Nighteyes for com­fort, and I hoped he would not try to reach me with thoughts. I came out of such a doze with a start, think­ing I had heard foot­steps down the hall. My eyes were sandy, my head ached with my vi­gil­ance, and my muscles were knot­ted from ten­sion. I stayed where I was on the bench, con­serving every bit of strength that I had.