by Robin Hobb
We were outside, in fact, walking on a stone pathway under an archway of trees. They were willows, and their living branches had been interlaced and woven overhead, to form a green screen from the noon sun. “And they shed rain from the path, too. At least, most of it,” Kettricken added as she noted my interest. “This path leads to the shade gardens. They are my favorites. But perhaps you would wish to see the herbary first?”
“I shall enjoy seeing any and all of the gardens, my lady,” I replied, and this at least was true. Out here, away from the crowd, I would have more chance to sort my thoughts and ponder what to do in my untenable position. It was occurring to me, belatedly, that Prince Rurisk had shown none of the signs of injury or illness that Regal had reported. I needed to withdraw from the situation and reevaluate it. There was more, much more, going on than I had been prepared for.
But with an effort I pulled my thoughts away from my own dilemma and focused on what the Princess was telling me. She spoke her words clearly, and I found her conversation much easier to follow away from the background chatter of the Great Hall. She seemed to know much about the gardens and gave me to understand that it was not a hobby but knowledge that was expected of her as a princess.
As we walked and talked I constantly had to remind myself that she was a princess, and betrothed to Verity. I had never encountered a woman like her before. She wore a quiet dignity, quite unlike the awareness of station that I usually encountered in those better born than I. But she did not hesitate to smile, or become enthused, or stoop to dig in the soil around a plant to show me a particular type of root she was describing. She rubbed the root free of dirt, then sliced a bit with her belt knife from the heart of the tuber to allow me to taste its tang. She showed me certain pungent herbs for seasoning meat and insisted I taste a leaf of each of three varieties, for though the plants were very similar, the flavors were very different. In a way, she was like Patience, without her eccentricity. In another way, she was like Molly, but without the callousness that Molly had been forced to develop to survive. Like Molly, she spoke directly and frankly to me, as if we were equals. I found myself thinking that Verity might find this woman more to his liking than he expected.
And yet, another part of me worried what Verity would think of his bride. He was not a womanizer, but his taste in women was obvious to anyone who had been much around him. And those that he smiled upon were usually small and round and dark, often with curly hair and girlish laughter and tiny soft hands. What would he think of this tall pale woman, who dressed as simply as a servant and declared she took much pleasure in tending her own gardens? As our talk turned, I found she could speak as familiarly about falconry and horse breeding as any stableman. And when I asked her what she did for pleasure, she told me of her small forge and tools for working metal, and lifted her hair to show me the earrings she had made for herself. The finely hammered silver petals of a flower clasped a tiny gem like a drop of dew. I had once told Molly that Verity deserved a competent and active wife, but now I wondered if she would much beguile him. He would respect her, I knew. But was respect enough between a king and his queen?
I resolved not to borrow trouble, but to keep my word to Verity instead. I asked her if Regal had told her much of her husband, and she became suddenly quiet. I sensed her drawing on her strength as she replied that she knew he was a king-in-waiting with many problems facing his realm. Regal had warned her that Verity was much older than she was, a plain and simple man, who might not take much interest in her. Regal had promised to be ever by her, helping her to adapt, and doing his best to see that the court was not a lonely place for her. So she was prepared….
“How old are you?” I asked impulsively.
“Eighteen,” she replied, and then smiled to see the surprise on my face. “Because I am tall, your people seem to think I am much older than that,” she confided in me.
“Well, you are younger than Verity, then. But not so much more than between many wives and husbands. He will be thirty-three this spring.”
“I had thought him much older than that,” she said wonderingly. “Regal explained they share but a father.”
“It is true that Chivalry and Verity were both sons of King Shrewd’s first queen, but there is not that great a span between them. And Verity, when he is not burdened with the problems of state, is not so dour and severe as you might imagine him. He is a man who knows how to laugh.”
She cast me a sideways glance, as if to see if I was trying to put a better face on Verity than he deserved.
“It is true, Princess. I have seen him laugh like a child at the puppet shows at Springfest. And when all join in for luck at the fruit press to make fall wine, he does not hold back. But his greatest pleasure has always been the hunt. He has a wolfhound, Leon, whom he holds dearer than some men hold their sons.”
“But,” Kettricken ventured to interrupt, “surely this is as he was, once. For Regal speaks of him as a man older than his years, bent down by the cares of his people.”
“Bent down as a tree burdened by snow, that springs erect again with the coming of spring. His last words to me before I left, Princess, were to desire me to speak well of him to you.”
She cast her eyes down quickly, as if to hide from me the sudden lift of her heart. “I see a different man, when you speak of him.” She paused, and then closed her mouth firmly, forbidding herself the request I heard anyway.
“I have always seen him as a kind man. As kind as one lifted to such a responsibility can be. He takes his duties very seriously, and will not spare himself from what his folk need of him. This it is that has made him unable to come here, to you. He engages in a battle with the Red-Ship Raiders, one he couldn’t fight from here. He gives up the interests of a man to fulfill his duty as a prince. Not through a coldness of spirit, or a lack of life in himself.”
She gave me a sideways glance, fighting the smile from her face as if what I told her were sweetest flattery such as a princess must not believe.
“He is taller than I am, but only by a bit. His hair is very dark, as is his beard, when he lets it grow. His eyes are blacker still, yet when he is enthused, they shine. It is true there is a scattering of gray in his hair now that you would not have found a year ago. True, also, that his work has kept him from the sun and the wind, so his shoulders no longer tear the seams of his shirts. But my uncle is still very much a man, and I believe that when the danger of the Red-Ships has been driven from our shores, he will ride and shout and hunt with his hound once more.”
“You give me heart,” she muttered, and then straightened herself as if she had admitted some weakness. Looking at me gravely, she asked, “Why does Regal not speak of his brother so? I thought I went to an old man, shaking of hand, too burdened by his duties to see a wife as anything other than another duty.”
“Perhaps he…” I began, and could think of no courtier’s way to say that Regal was frequently deceptive if it gained him his goal. For the life of me, I had no idea what goal might be served by making Kettricken so dread Verity.
“Perhaps he has…been…unflattering about other things as well,” Kettricken suddenly supposed aloud. Something seemed to alarm her. She took a breath and became suddenly franker. “There was an evening, in my chamber, when we had dined, and Regal had, perhaps, drunk a bit too well. He told tales of you then, saying you had once been a sullen, spoiled child, too ambitious for your birth, but that since the King had made you his poisoner, you seemed content with your lot. He said it seemed to suit you, for even as a boy, you had enjoyed eavesdropping and skulking about and other secretive pursuits. Now, I do not tell you this to make a mischief, but only to let you know what I first believed of you. The next day Regal begged me to believe it had been the fancies of the wine rather than the facts he had shared with me. But one thing he had said that night was too icy a fear for me to entirely lay aside. He said that if the King did send you or Lad
y Thyme, it would be to poison my brother so that I might be the sole heir to the Mountain Kingdom.”
“You are speaking too quickly,” I chided her gently, and hoped my smile did not look as dizzy and sickly as I suddenly felt. “I did not understand all you said.” Desperately I strove to think of what to say. Even as accomplished a liar as I found such a direct confrontation uncomfortable.
“I am sorry. But you speak our language so well, almost like a native. Almost as if you were recalling it, rather than learning it new. I will go more slowly. Some weeks, no, it was over a month ago, Regal came to my chambers. He had asked if he might dine alone with me, that we might get to know one another better, and—”
“Kettricken!” It was Rurisk, calling down the path as he came seeking us. “Regal is asking that you would come and meet the lords and ladies who have come so far to see your marriage.”
Jonqui was at his shoulder, hurrying after him, and as the second and unmistakable wave of dizziness hit me, I thought she looked too knowing. And, I asked myself, what step would Chade have taken if someone had sent a poisoner to Shrewd’s court to eliminate Verity? All too obvious.
“Perhaps,” Jonqui suddenly suggested, “FitzChivalry would like to be shown the Blue Fountains now. Litress has said she would gladly take him.”
“Maybe later this afternoon,” I managed to say. “I find myself suddenly wearied. I think I shall seek my chamber.”
None of them looked surprised. “Shall I have some wine sent to you?” Jonqui asked graciously. “Or perhaps some soup? The others will be summoned to a meal soon. But, if you are tired, it is no trouble to bring food to you.”
Years of training came to the fore. I kept my posture straight, despite the sudden fire in my belly. “That would be most kind of you,” I managed to say. The brief bow I forced myself to make was sophisticated torture. “I am sure I will rejoin you soon.”
And I excused myself, and I did not run, nor curl in a ball and whimper as I wished to. I walked, with obvious enjoyment of the plantings, back through the garden to the door of the Great Hall. And the three of them watched me go, and spoke softly together of what we all knew.
I had but one trick left to me, and small hope it would be effective. Back in my room, I dug out the seapurge the Fool had given me. How long, I wondered, had it been since I had eaten the honey cakes? For that was the venue I would have chosen. Fatalistically, I decided I would trust the ewer of water in my room. A tiny part of me said that was foolish, but as wave after wave of giddiness washed over me, I felt incapable of any further thought. With shaking hands I crumbled the seapurge into water. The dried herb absorbed the water and became a green sticky wad, which I managed to choke down. I knew it would empty my stomach and bowels. The only question was, would it be swift enough, or was the Chyurda poison too widespread in me?
I spent a miserable evening that I will not dwell on. No one came to my room with soup or wine. In my moments of lucidity, I decided they would not come until they were sure their poison had had its effect. Morning, I decided. They would send a servant to waken me, and he would discover my death. I had until morning.
It was past midnight when I was able to stand. I left my room as silently as my shaking legs would carry me and went out into the garden. I found a cistern of water there and drank until I thought I would burst. I ventured farther into the garden, walking slowly and carefully, for I ached as if I had been beaten and my head pounded painfully with each step I took. But eventually I stumbled into an area of fruit trees gracefully trained along a wall, and as I had hoped, they were heavy with the harvest. I helped myself, filling my jerkin with a supply. These I would conceal in my room, to give me food I could safely consume. Sometime tomorrow, I would make an excuse to go down and check on Sooty. My saddlebags still held some dried meat and hard bread. I hoped it would be enough to get me through this visit.
And as I made my way back to my room, I wondered what else they would try when they found the poison hadn’t worked.
Chapter
21
Princes
Of the Chyurdan herb carryme, their saying is, “A leaf to sleep, two to dull pain, three for a merciful grave.”
* * *
Toward dawn, I finally dozed, only to be awakened by Prince Rurisk flinging aside the screen that served as door to my chamber. He burst into the room, flourishing a sloshing decanter. The looseness of the garment that fluttered about him declared it a night robe. I rolled quickly from the bed and managed to stand, with the bedstead between us. I was cornered, sick and weaponless, save for my belt knife.
“You live still!” he exclaimed in amazement, then advanced on me with his flask. “Quick, drink this.”
“I would sooner not,” I told him, retreating as he advanced.
Seeing my wariness, he paused. “You have taken poison,” he told me carefully. “It is fully a miracle of Chranzuli that you still live. This is a purge that will flush it from your body. Take it, and you may still live.”
“There is nothing left in my body to purge,” I told him bluntly, and then caught at a table as I began to shake. “I knew I had been poisoned when I left you last night.”
“And you said nothing to me?” He was incredulous. He turned back to the door, where Kettricken now peeked in timidly. Her hair was in tousled braids, and her eyes red with weeping. “It is averted, small thanks to you,” her brother told her severely. “Go and make him a salty broth from some of last night’s meat. And bring a sweet pastry as well. Enough for both of us. And tea. Go on now, you foolish girl!”
Kettricken scampered off like a child. Rurisk gestured at the bed. “Come. Trust me enough to sit down. Before you upset the table with your shaking. I am speaking plainly to you. You and I, FitzChivalry, we have no time for this distrust. There is much we must speak of, you and I.”
I sat down, not out of trust so much as for fear I would otherwise collapse. Without formality, Rurisk sat down on the end of the bed. “My sister,” he said gravely, “is impetuous. Poor Verity will find her more child than woman, I fear, and much of that is my fault, I have spoiled her so. But although that explains her fondness for me, it does not excuse her poisoning of a guest. Especially not on the eve of her wedding to his uncle.”
“I think I would have felt much the same about it at any time,” I said, and Rurisk threw back his head and laughed.
“There is much of your father in you. So would he have said, I am sure. But I must explain. She came to me days ago, to tell me that you were coming to make an end of me. I told her then that it was not her concern, and I would take care of it. But, as I have said, she is impulsive. Yesterday she saw an opportunity and took it. With no regard as to how the death of a guest might affect a carefully negotiated wedding. She thought only to do away with you before vows bound her to the Six Duchies and made such an act unthinkable. I should have suspected it when she took you so quickly to the gardens.”
“The herbs she gave me?”
He nodded, and I felt a fool. “But after you had eaten them, you spoke so fair to her that she came to doubt you could be what it was said you were. So she asked you, but you turned the question aside by pretending to not understand. So again she doubted you. Still, it should not have taken her all night to come to me with her tale of what she had done, and her doubts of the wisdom of it. For that, I apologize.”
“Too late to apologize. I have already forgiven you,” I heard myself say.
Rurisk looked at me. “That was your father’s saying as well.” He glanced at the door a moment before Kettricken came through it. Once she was within the room, he slid the screen shut and took the tray from her. “Sit down,” he told her sternly. “And see another way of dealing with an assassin.” He lifted a heavy mug from the tray and drank deeply of it before passing it to me. He shot Kettricken another glance. “And if that was poisoned, you have just killed your bro
ther as well.” He broke an apple pastry into three portions. “Select one,” he told me, and then took that one for himself, and gave the next I chose to Kettricken. “So you may see there is nothing amiss with this food.”
“I see small reason why you would give me poison this morning after coming to tell me I was poisoned last night,” I admitted. Still, my palate was alive, questing for the slightest mistaste. But there was none. It was rich, flaky pastry stuffed with ripe apples and spices. Even if I had not been so empty, it would have been delicious.
“Exactly,” Rurisk said in a sticky voice, and then swallowed. “And, if you were an assassin”—here he shot a warning to silence to Kettricken—“you would find yourself in the same position. Some murders are only profitable if no one else knows they were murders. Such would be my death. Were you to slay me now, indeed, were I to die within the next six months, Kettricken and Jonqui both would be shrieking to the stars that I had been assassinated. Scarcely a good foundation for an alliance of peoples. Do you agree?”
I managed a nod. The warm broth in the mug had stilled most of my trembling, and the sweet pastry tasted fit for a god.
“So. We agree that were you an assassin, there would now be no profit to carrying out my murder. Indeed, there would be a very great loss to you if I died. For my father does not look on this alliance with the favor that I do. Oh, he knows it is wise, for now. But I see it as more than wise. I see it as necessary.
