Royal Assassin tft-2

by Robin Hobb

  She drew back a little from me. Her eyes searched my face. "You would not lie to me about this, Newboy?"

  The question hurt, but I deserved it. "No. This is not a lie. I promise you that. And I promise that I shall never lie—"

  Her fingers stopped my lips. "I hope to spend the rest of my life with you. Make me no promises that you cannot keep for the rest of your days." Her other hand went to the lacing of my shirt. It was my turn to tremble.

  I kissed her fingers. And then her mouth. At some time Molly got up and latched and barred my door. I remember sending up a fervent prayer that this would not be the night that Chade finally returned from his journeying. It was not. Instead I journeyed afar that night, into a place that was becoming ever more familiar, but no less wondrous to me.

  She left me in the deep of the night, shaking me awake to insist that I latch and bar the door after her. I wanted to dress and walk her back to her room, but she refused me indignantly, saying she was perfectly capable of going up some stairs, and that the less we were seen together, the better. I reluctantly conceded her logic. The sleep I fell into then was deeper than any the valerian had induced.

  I awoke to thunder and shouting. I found myself on my feet, dazed and confused. After a moment the thunder turned to pounding on my door, and the shouting was Burrich's repetition of my name. "A moment!" I managed to call back. I ached everywhere. I dragged on some clothes and staggered to the door. It took a long time for my fingers to manage the catch. "What's wrong?" I demanded.

  Burrich just stared at me. He was washed and dressed, hair and beard combed, and carrying two axes.

  "Oh."

  "Verity's tower room. Hurry up, we're already late. But wash first. What is that scent?"

  "Perfumed candles," I extemporized. "They're supposed to bring restful dreams."

  Burrich snorted. "That's not the kind of dreams that scent would bring me. It's full of musk, boy. Your whole room reeks of it. Meet me up in the tower."

  And he was gone, striding purposefully down the hall. I went back into my room, groggily realizing that this was his idea of early morning. I washed myself thoroughly with cold water, not enjoying it, but lacking the time to warm any. I dug about for fresh clothes and was dragging them on when the pounding at my door began again. "I'm nearly there," I called out. The pounding went on. That meant Burrich was angry. Well, so was I. Surely he could understand how badly I ached this morning. I jerked the door open to confront him, and the Fool slipped in as smoothly as a waft of smoke. He wore a new motley of black and white. The sleeves of his shirt were all embroidered with black vines crawling up his arms like ivy. Above the black collar, his face was as pale as a winter moon. Winterfest, I thought dully. Tonight was the first night of Winterfest. The winter had already been as long as any five others I had known. But tonight we would begin to mark the midpoint of it.

  "What do you want?" I demanded, in no mood for his silliness.

  He took a deep appreciative sniff. "Some of what you had would be lovely," he suggested, and then danced back gracefully at the look on my face. I was instantly angry. He leaped lightly to the center of my tousled bed, then to the other side, putting it between us. I lunged across it after him. "But not from you," he exclaimed coquettishly and fluttered his hands at me in girlish rebuke before retreating again.

  "I've no time for you," I told him disgustedly. "Verity's expecting me and I cannot keep him waiting." I rolled off the bed and stood to adjust my clothing. "Out of my room."

  "Ah, such a tone. Time was when the Fitz could handle a jest better than this." He pirouetted in the center of my room, then stopped abruptly. "Are you truly angry with me?" he demanded straightforwardly.

  I gaped to hear him speak so bluntly. I considered the question. "I was," I said guardedly, wondering if he was deliberately drawing me out. "You made a fool of me that day, with that song, before all those people."

  He shook his head. "Don't take titles to yourself. Only I am the Fool. And the Fool is always only what I am. Especially that day, with that song, before all those people."

  "You made me doubt our friendship," I said bluntly.

  "Ah, good. For doubt not that others must always doubt our friendship if we are to remain doughty friends."

  "I see. Then it was your end to sow rumors of strife between us. I understand, then. But I still must go."

  "Farewell, then. Have fun playing at axes with Burrich. Try not to be dumbstruck with all he teaches you today." He put two logs onto my failing fire and made a great show of settling himself before it.

  "Fool," I began uncomfortably. "You are my friend, I know. But I like not to leave you here, in my room, while I am gone."

  "I like it not when others enter my room when I am not there," he pointed out archly.

  I flushed miserably. "That was long ago. And I apologized for my curiosity. I assure you, I have never done it again."

  "Nor shall I, after this. And when you come back, I shall apologize to you. Shall that do?"

  I was going to be late. Burrich was not going to be amused. No help for it. I sat down on the edge of the rumpled bed. Molly and I had lain here. Suddenly it was a personal area. I tried to be casual as I tugged the quilts up over the feather beds. "Why do you want to stay in my room? Are you in danger?"

  "I live in danger, Fitzy-fitz. As do you. We are all in danger. I should like to stay here for part of the day, and try to find a way out of that danger. Or at least a way to lessen it." He shrugged significantly toward the scatter of scrolls.

  "Verity entrusted those to me," I said uneasily.

  "Obviously because he feels you are a man whose judgment he trusts. So, perhaps you shall judge it safe to entrust them to me?"

  It is one thing to trust a friend with one's own possessions. It is another to allow him those another has put in your safe keeping. I found I had no doubt of my own trust of the Fool. But. "Perhaps it would be wiser to ask Verity first," I offered.

  "The less connection between Verity and me, the better it is for both of us." The Fool spoke flatly.

  "You do not care for Verity?" I was startled.

  "I am the King's fool. He is the King-in-Waiting. Let him wait. When he is king, I shall be his. If he does not get us all killed before then."

  "I will hear nothing spoken against Prince Verity," I told him softly.

  "No? Then you must walk about with your ears closely stoppered these days."

  I walked to the door, set my hand to the latch. "We must leave now, Fool. I am already late." I kept my voice steady. His sneer at Verity had cut me as deeply as if aimed at me.

  "Do not be the Fool, Fitz. That is my role. Think. A man can serve only one master. No matter what your lips may say, Verity is your king. I fault you not for that. Do you fault me that Shrewd is mine?"

  "I do not fault you. Nor do I make mock of him before you."

  "Nor do you come to visit him, no matter how many times I have urged it."

  "I was at his door just yesterday. I was turned away. They said he was not well."

  "And if that were to happen at Verity's door, would you take it so meekly?"

  That made me stop and think. "No. I don't suppose I would."

  "Why do you give him up so easily?" The Fool spoke softly, like a man grieved. "Why does not Verity bestir himself for his father, instead of luring away Shrewd's men to his side?"

  "I have not been lured away. Rather Shrewd has not seen fit to see me. As for Verity, well, I cannot speak for him. But all know it is Regal that Shrewd favors of his sons."

  "Do all know that? Then do all know as well where Regal's heart is truly set?"

  "Some do," I said briefly. This was dangerous talk.

  "Reflect on this. Both of us serve the King we love best. Yet there is another that we love least. I do not think we have a conflict of loyalty, Fitz, while we are united in who we love least. Come. Confess to me that you have scarce had time to set your eyes upon the scrolls, and I shall remind you that the time you h
ave not had has fled us all too swiftly. This is not a task that can wait upon your convenience."

  I teetered on the decision. The Fool came suddenly closer. His eyes were always hard to meet and harder to read. But the set of his mouth showed me his desperation. "I will trade you. I offer you a bargain you will find nowhere else. A secret I hold, promised to you, after you have let me search the scrolls for a secret which may not even be there."

  "What secret?" I asked reluctantly.

  "My secret." He turned aside from me and stared at the wall. "The mystery of the Fool. Whence comes he and why?" He cast me a sidelong glance and said no more.

  The curiosity of a dozen years leaped in me. "Freely given?" I asked.

  "No. Offered as a bargain, as I said."

  I considered. Then: "I'll see you later. Latch the door when you leave." And I slipped out.

  There were serving folk moving about in the corridors. I was grievously late. I forced myself into a creaking trot, and then to a run. I did not slow for the stairs to Verity's tower, but rushed up their full length, knocked once, and then entered.

  Burrich turned to me, greeting me with a frown. The Spartan furnishings of the room had already been pushed to one wall, save for Verity's window chair. Verity was already ensconced in it. He turned his head to me more slowly, with eyes still full of distance. There was a drugged look to his eyes and mouth, a laxness painful to see when one knew what it meant. The Skill hunger gnawed at him. I feared that what he wished to teach me would only feed it and increase it. Yet how could either of us say no? I had learned something yesterday. It had not been a pleasant lesson, but once learned, it could not be undone. I knew now that I would do whatever I must to drive the Red-Ships from my shore. I was not the King, I would never be the King, but the folk of the Six Duchies were mine, just as they were Chade's. I understood now why Verity spent himself so recklessly.

  "I beg pardon that I am late. I was detained. But I am ready to begin now."

  "How do you feel?" The question came from Burrich, asked with genuine curiosity. I turned to find him regarding me as sternly as before, but also with some puzzlement.

  "Stiff, sir. A bit. The run up the stairs warmed me up some. Sore, from yesterday. But otherwise I am all right."

  A bit of amusement quirked at his face. "No tremors, FitzChivalry? No darkening at the edge of your vision, no dizzy spells?"

  I paused to think for a moment. "No."

  "Be damned." Burrich gave a snort of amusement. "Evidently the cure has been to beat it out of you. I'll remember that the next time you need a healer."

  Over the next hour he seemed intent on applying his new theory of healing. The heads of the axes were blunt ones, and he had bundled them both in rags for this first lesson, but that did not prevent bruises. To be honest, most of them I earned with my own clumsiness. Burrich was not trying to land any blows that day, but only to teach me to use the whole weapon, not just the head of it. To keep Verity with me was effortless, for he remained in the same room with us. He was silent within me that day, offering no counsels or observations or warnings, but merely riding with my eyes. Burrich told me that the ax was not a sophisticated weapon, but was a very satisfactory one if used correctly. At the end of the session, he pointed out to me that he had been gentle with me, in consideration of the wounds I already bore. Verity dismissed us, and we both went down the stairs rather more slowly than I had come up.

  "Be on time tomorrow," Burrich charged me as we parted at the kitchen door, he going back to his stables, and I to find breakfast. I ate as I had not in days, with a wolf's appetite, and wondered at the source of my own sudden vitality. Unlike Burrich, I did not put it down to any beating I had received. Molly, I thought, had healed with a touch what all the herbs and rest in a year could never have put to rights. The day suddenly stretched long in front of me, full of unbearable minutes of unendurable hours before nightfall and the kindly dark allowed us to be together again.

  I set her resolutely from my mind and resolved to fill the day with tasks. A dozen immediately leaped to mind. I had been neglecting Patience. I had promised my aid with Kettricken's garden. An explanation was owed to Brother Nighteyes. A visit was owed King Shrewd. I tried to order them in importance. Molly kept moving to the top of the list.

  I resolutely set her to last. King Shrewd, I decided. I gathered my crockery from the table and took it back to the kitchen. The bustle was deafening. It puzzled me for a moment, until I recalled that tonight was the first night of Winterfest. Old Cook Sara looked up from the bread she was kneading and motioned me over. I went and stood beside her as I often had as a child, admiring the deft way her fingers shaped handfuls of dough into rolls and set them to rise. She was flour to her dimpled elbows, and flour smudged one cheek as well. The racket and rush of the kitchen created a strange sort of privacy. She spoke quietly through the clatter and chatter, and I had to strain to hear her.

  "I just wanted you to know," she grunted as she folded and pushed a new batch of dough, "that I know when a rumor is nonsense. And I speak it so when anyone tries to tell it here in my kitchen. They can gossip all they like in the laundry court, and tattle tales as much as they wish while they spin, but I'll not have ill said of you here in my kitchen." She glanced up at me with snapping black eyes. My heart stood still with dread. Rumors? Of Molly and me?

  "You've et at my tables, and often enough, stood aside me and stirred a pot while we chatted when you were small. I think that maybe I know you better than most. And them what says you fight like a beast because you're more than half beast are talking evil nonsense. Them bodies was tore up bad, but I've seen worse done by men in a rage. When Sal Flatfish's daughter was raped, she cut up that beast with her fish knife, chop, chop, chop, right there in the market, just like she was cutting bait to set her lines. What you done was no worse than that."

  I knew an instant of dizzying terror. More than half beast… It wasn't so long ago or far away that folk with the Wit were burned alive. "Thank you," I said, fighting for a calm voice. I added a modicum of truth when I said, "Not all of that was my doing. They were fighting over… their prey when I came on them."

  "Ginna's daughter. You need not hide words from me, Fitz. I've children of my own, growed now, but if any was to attack them, why, I'd pray there'd be one like to you to defend them, no matter how. Or avenge them, if that's all you could do."

  "I'm afraid it was, Cook." The shudder that ran over me was not feigned. I saw again the lines of blood trickled over a fat little fist. I blinked, but the image stayed. "I've got to hurry off now. I'm to wait on King Shrewd this day."

  "Are ye? Well, there's a spot of good news, then. You just run these up with you, then." She trundled over to a cupboard to take out a covered tray of small pastries baked rich with soft cheese and currants. She set a pot of hot tea beside them and a clean cup. She arranged the pastries lovingly. "And you see he eats them, Fitz. His favorites, they are, and if he tastes one, I know he'll eat them all. And do him good, too."

  Mine, too.

  I jumped as if poked with a pin. I tried to cover, it with a cough, as if I had suddenly choked, but Cook still looked at me oddly. I coughed again, and nodded at her. "I'm sure he'll love them," I said in a choked voice, and bore the tray out of the kitchen. Several sets of eyes followed me. I smiled pleasantly and tried to pretend I didn't know why.

  I didn't realize you were still with me, I told Verity. A tiny part of me was reviewing every thought I'd had since I left his tower, and was thanking Eda that I had not decided to seek out Nighteyes first, even as I pushed such thoughts aside, unsure how private they were.

  I know. I didn't intend to be spying on you. Only to show you that when you do not focus so tightly on this, you are able to do it.

  I groped after his Skilling. More your effort than mine, I pointed out as I climbed the stairs.

  You're annoyed with me. Beg pardon. From now on, l shall be sure you are aware of me whenever I am with you. Shall I leave you to y
our day?

  My own surliness had left me feeling embarrassed. No. Not yet. Ride with me a bit more while I visit King Shrewd. Let's see how far we can carry this.

  I sensed his assent. I paused before Shrewd's door and balanced the tray with one hand as I hastily smoothed my hair back and tugged my jerkin straight. My hair had begun to be a problem lately. Jonqui had cut it short during one of my fevers in the mountains. Now that it was growing out, I didn't know whether to tie it back in a tail as Burrich and the guardsmen did, or keep it at my shoulders as if I were a page still. I was much too old to wear it in the half braid of a child.

  Tie it back, boy. I'd say you'd earned the right to wear it as a warrior, as much as any guardsman. Just don't start fussing about it and twining it into oiled curls as Regal does.

  I fought the smirk off my face and knocked at the door.

  I waited a bit, then knocked again, more loudly.

  Announce yourself and open it, Verity suggested.

  "It's FitzChivalry, sire. I've brought you something from Cook." I set my hand to the door. It was latched from within.

  That's peculiar. It has never been my father's way to latch a door. Put a man on it, yes, but not latch it and ignore someone knocking. Can you slip it?

  Probably. But let me try knocking again first. I all but pounded on the door.

  "A moment! A moment!" someone whispered from inside. But it was considerably more than that before several latches were undone and the door opened a hand's width. Wallace peered out at me like a rat from under a cracked wall. "What do you want?" he demanded accusingly.

  "Audience with the King."

  "He's asleep. Or was before you came pounding and shouting. Be off with you."

  "A moment." I shoved my booted foot into the closing door. With one free hand, I turned up the collar of my jerkin to expose the red-stoned pin I was seldom without. The door was closed firmly on my foot. I put a shoulder against it, leaned as much as I could without dropping the tray I still carried. "This was given to me by King Shrewd a number of years ago. With it he gave the promise that whenever I showed it, I would be admitted to see him."