Fool’s Assassin by Robin Hobb (8)

Once upon a time there was a good man and his wife. They had both worked hard all their lives, and slowly fortune had favoured them with everything that they could desire save one. They had no child.

One day as the wife was walking in her garden and weeping that she had no child, a pecksie came out of the lavender bush and said to her, ‘Woman, why do you weep?’

‘I weep that I have no babe of my own,’ the woman said.

‘Oh, as to that, how foolish you are,’ said the pecksie. ‘If you but say the word, I can tell you how a babe can be in your arms before the year is out.’

‘Tell me then!’ the woman implored.

The pecksie smiled. ‘As to that, it is easily done. Tonight, just as the sun kisses the horizon, set out on the ground a square of silk, taking care that it rests flat on the ground with never a wrinkle in it. And tomorrow, whatever is under the silk is yours.’

The woman hastened to do as she was bid. As the sun touched the horizon, she set the silk flat to the ground, with never a wrinkle. But as the garden darkened and she hurried back to her house, a curious mouse came to the silk, sniffed it, and scampered across it, leaving a tiny wrinkle at the edge.

In the earliest light of dawn, the woman hastened to the garden. She heard small sounds and saw the silk moving. And when she lifted the square of silk, she found a perfect child with bright black eyes. But the babe was no bigger than the palm on her hand …

Old Buckkeep Tale

Ten days after our baby’s birth, I finally resolved that I must make confession to Molly. I dreaded it, but there was no avoiding it, and delaying it any longer was not going to make it easier.

Since both Nettle and I had doubted Molly’s pregnancy, we had not shared the news with anyone outside our immediate family. Nettle had informed her brothers, but only in the context that their mother was ageing and her mind had begun to wander. The lads all had busy lives of their own, and in Chivalry’s case, that meant three youngsters as well as a wife and a holding to tend to. They were far too caught up in their own lives and wives and children to give more than a passing worry that their mother might be losing her mind. Nettle and Tom, they were sure, would handle any crisis in that area, and in any case, what could any of them do about their mother’s increasing senility? It is the way of the young to accept the debilitations of old age very gracefully on behalf of their elderly parents. And now there was a baby to explain to them. And not just to them, but to the whole rest of the world.

I had confronted this difficulty by ignoring it. No one beyond Withywoods had been told. Not even to Nettle had I passed the news.

But now I had to admit that to Molly.

I armed myself for the task. I had requested from the kitchen a tray of the little sweet biscuits Molly loved, along with a dish of thick, sweetened cream and raspberry preserves. A large pot of freshly-brewed black tea joined it on my tray. I assured Tavia that I was perfectly capable of carrying a tray, and set out for Molly’s nursery. On the way, I arrayed my reasons as if I were facing a battle and setting my weapons to hand. First, Molly had been weary and I had not wanted any guests to trouble her. Second, there was the baby herself, so tiny and possibly frail. Molly herself had told me she might not survive, and surely keeping her undisturbed had been for the best. Third, I never wanted anyone to put any obligations on our baby beyond her need to be herself … No. That was not a reason to share with Molly. Not right now, at least.

I managed to open the door of the room without dropping the tray. I set it down carefully on a low table and then managed to move the small table with the tray on it so that it was next to Molly’s seat without oversetting anything. She had the baby on her shoulder and was humming as she patted her back. The soft gown hung far past our daughter’s feet and her arms and hands were lost in the sleeves.

Molly had a honeysuckle candle burning; it lent a sharp sweet scent to the room. There was an apple-wood fire burning in the small hearth, and no other light: it made the room as cosy as a cottage. She enjoyed the luxury of not worrying constantly about money, but she had never become completely comfortable with the life of a noble lady. ‘I like to do for myself,’ she had told me more than once when I had suggested that a personal maid was entirely appropriate to her new station. The larger work of the manor, the scrubbing and dusting, cooking and laundering, that the servants might do. But Molly was the one who dusted and swept our bedchamber, who spread fresh sun-dried linens on our bed or warmed the feather bed before the hearth on a cold night. In that chamber, at least, we remained Molly and Fitz.

The pansy screens had been moved to catch and hold the warmth of the fire. The burning logs crackled softly and shadows danced in the room. The baby was close to sleep in her mother’s arms when I set down the table and the tray.

‘What’s this?’ Molly asked with a startled smile.

‘I just thought we might have some quiet time, and perhaps a bite of something sweet.’

Her smile widened. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like better!’

‘And true for me as well.’ I sat down beside them, careful not to jostle her. I leaned around her to look into my daughter’s tiny face. She was red, her pale brows drawn together in concentration. Her hair was only wisps, her fingernails smaller than a fish’s scale and as delicate. For a time, I just looked at her.

Molly had taken a biscuit and dipped it in the raspberry preserves and then scooped a small amount of cream onto it. ‘It smells and tastes like summer,’ she said after a moment. I poured tea for both of us, and the fragrance of it mingled with the scent from the raspberries. I took a biscuit for myself, and was more generous with both jam and cream than she had been.

‘It does,’ I agreed. For a short time, we simply shared food and tea and the warmth of the fire. Outside a light snow was falling. We were here, inside, safe and warm as a den. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better time to tell her.

‘What is it?’

I turned startled eyes to her. She shook her head at me. ‘You’ve sighed twice and shifted about as if you have fleas but aren’t allowed to scratch. Out with it.’

It was like ripping a bandage off a wound. Do it quickly. ‘I didn’t tell Nettle the baby was born. Or send your letters to the boys.’

She stiffened slightly and the baby opened her eyes. I felt the effort Molly made to relax and be calm for the infant’s sake. ‘Fitz. Why ever not?’

I hesitated. I didn’t want to anger her, but I desperately wanted my own way about this. I finally spoke, my words awkward. ‘I thought we might keep her a secret for a time. Until she was bigger.’

Molly shifted her hand on the baby. I saw how she measured the tiny chest, less than the span of her fingers. ‘You’ve realized how different she is,’ she said quietly. ‘How small.’ Her voice was husky.

I nodded at her. ‘I heard the maids talking. I wish they hadn’t seen her. Molly, they were frightened of her. “Like a doll come to life, so tiny and with those pale blue eyes always staring. Like she ought to be blind but instead she’s looking right through you.” That’s what Tavia said to Mild. And Mild said she “wasn’t natural”. That no child that tiny and young should seem as alert as she is.’

It was as if I had hissed at a cat. Molly’s eyes narrowed and her shoulders tightened. ‘They came in here to tidy yesterday. I’d told them I didn’t need their help, but that’s why they came in, I’m sure. To see her. Because yesterday I took her to the kitchen with me, and Cook Nutmeg saw her. She said, “The little mite hasn’t grown a bit yet, has she?” She has, of course. But not enough for Cook to notice.’ She clenched her teeth. ‘Let them go. All of them. The maids and Cook. Send them all away.’ There was as much pain as anger in her voice.

‘Molly.’ I kept my voice calm as I called her back to reason. ‘They’ve been here for years. Mild’s cradle was in that kitchen, and only last year she took employment with us as a scullery girl. She’s scarcely more than a child, and this has always been her home. Patience hired Cook Nutmeg, all those years ago. Tavia has been with us sixteen years, and her mother Salin before her. Her husband works in the vineyards. It will cause hard feelings among the whole staff if we let them go! And it would cause talk. And rumours that there was something about our babe that we needed to hide. And we’d know nothing of those we hired to replace them.’ I rubbed my face, and then added more quietly, ‘They need to stay. And perhaps we need to pay them well to be sure of their loyalty.’

‘We already pay them well,’ Molly snapped. ‘We’ve always been generous with them. We’ve always hired their children as they came of age to be useful. When Tavia’s husband broke his leg and had to sit out the harvest that year, we kept him on. And Cook Nutmeg spends more time sitting than cooking these days, but we’ve never spoken of letting her go. We simply hired more help. Fitz, are you seriously saying that I need to bribe them not to think ill of my baby? Do you think they’re a danger to her? Because if they are, I’ll kill them both.’

‘If I thought they were a danger, I’d already have killed them,’ I retorted. The words horrified me as they came out of my mouth, because I recognized they were absolutely true.

Any other woman might have been alarmed by what I had said. But I saw Molly relax, comforted by my words. ‘Then you love her?’ she asked quietly. ‘You aren’t ashamed of her? Appalled that I’ve given you such a peculiar child?’

‘Of course I love her!’ The question jolted me. How could she doubt me? ‘She’s my daughter, the child we hoped for all those years! How could you think I wouldn’t love her?’

‘Because some men wouldn’t,’ she said simply. She turned the child and held her on her knees for my inspection. It woke her, but she didn’t cry. She looked up at both of us with her wide blue eyes. She was nearly lost in the soft gown. Even the neck opening was too large for her, baring a small shoulder. Molly tugged it closed. ‘Fitz. Let’s say aloud what we both know. She’s a strange little thing. I was pregnant so long; I know, you doubt that, but trust me in this. I carried her inside me for over two years. Perhaps even longer than that. And yet she was born so tiny. Look at her now. She seldom cries, but she watches, just as Tavia said. Still too young to even hold her head up, but she looks so knowing. She watches, and her eyes go from you to me as we speak, as if she listens and already knows every word we say.’

‘Maybe she does,’ I said with a smile, but I didn’t give any credence to her words. Molly folded her close in her arms again and forced out words. She didn’t look at me as she spoke them. ‘Any other man would look at her and call me a whore. Hair pale as a spring lamb and such blue eyes. Any other man would doubt that this was your child.’

I laughed out loud. ‘Well, I don’t! She is mine. Mine and yours. Given to us as miraculously as any child bestowed by the pecksies in an old tale. Molly. You know I have the Wit. And I tell you plainly, from the first time I scented her, I knew her as mine. And yours. Ours. I have never doubted that.’ I drew one of Molly’s hands free from the baby, unfolded her clenched fingers and kissed her palm. ‘And I have never doubted you.’

Gently I pulled her closer to lean on me. I found a curl of her hair and twined it about my finger. It took a bit of waiting, but I felt her clenched muscles ease. She relaxed. For a short time, there was peace. The fire muttered softly to itself and outside the wind wound through the ancient willows that gave the place its name. We were a simple family for a few heartbeats. Then I girded up my courage and spoke again.

‘But I’d like to keep her a secret for a while longer. Not because I doubt she is mine or fear her strangeness.’

Molly shook her head, a tiny movement. Her opinion of my utter stupidity radiated from her. I felt it but I did not release her from my embrace, nor did she pull away from me. She spoke with her brow resting on my chest, asking in a cheery voice, ‘How long, my dear? A year? Two? Perhaps we will reveal her to the world on her sixteenth birthday, like a princess in an old tale?’

‘I know it sounds foolish but—’

‘It IS foolish. That’s why it sounds foolish. It’s too late to keep her a secret. The servants know we have a child, so the village knows, and doubtless all their cousins up and down the river know. Fitz, dear, you should have sent those letters. Now Nettle and the boys will wonder why they were delayed. Keeping this a secret will have old Lord Chade sniffing about like a hound with a fox in a tree. To say nothing of what the old queen will wonder. And the longer we wait to announce her, the more questions folks will ask of themselves about her. Is she truly ours? Is she the child of some poor girl who had to give her up? Did we find her in a hollow tree in the forest or is she some changeling child that the pecksies left on our doorstep?’

‘That’s ridiculous! No one would believe such a thing!’

‘They might find it easier to believe than the idea that a parent concealed a lawfully-born child from even her brothers and sister. That’s already difficult for me to believe.’

‘Very well.’ I was beaten. ‘I’ll send the letters tomorrow.’

She didn’t let me get away with it. She leaned slightly away to look at me. ‘You should let Nettle know right away. Now. She is closer to her brothers and can send messengers more swiftly. Oh, Fitz.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head at me.

Total defeat. ‘Very well.’ I stood, and retreated a little from her.

Once it had been a secret that Nettle shared the Skill-magic with me. But now she was the leader of the King’s Own Coterie, the Skill-users that were the Six Duchies’ magical line of defence against all dangers. All had to guess she was a bastard Farseer though most had the political sense not to utter those words aloud. Molly was not always comfortable with the magical bond that she shared with me, but had come to accept it. Just as she had accepted that Swift possessed the Wit. It had been even stranger when we discovered that Steady possessed an aptitude for Skill-magic as well. I did not speak what we both wondered now. Would the child she held inherit either of those magics from me?

‘Look. She almost looks like she’s smiling,’ her mother whispered.

I opened my eyes. I had reached Nettle and conveyed the news. I had a half-wall in place now, almost blocking her outraged response that she had not been informed sooner and her flood of questions about how her mother could have possibly borne a child and her frantic reorganizing of her schedule to come to see us as soon as she practically could. Nettle’s flood of information threatened to overwhelm my own thoughts. I closed my eyes, conveyed to her that we would be delighted to see her whenever she could come, and the same for any of her brothers who chose to visit, and would she please send those messages on for us. Then I hastily retreated from her mind, walling myself into my own thoughts again.

I knew that I would pay for it when my elder daughter and I were in the same room and I could not so easily retreat from her tongue-lashing. I was content to wait for that experience. I settled my shoulders. ‘Nettle knows now, and will pass on the word to the boys. She will soon be coming to visit,’ I told Molly. I wandered back to her, but sat down on the floor at her feet. I leaned lightly on her legs and picked up my cup of tea.

‘Will she travel by the stones?’ Her dread was in her question.

‘No. I have prevailed there, and the pillars will only be used in matters of great urgency, and in secrecy. She will come as soon as she can arrange it, by horseback, and with an escort.’

Molly had been busy with thoughts of her own. ‘Is it the queen you fear?’ she asked in a low voice.

I raised my brows at her. ‘Scarcely. She pays no attention to my existence at all. She and Dutiful have taken both the princes and gone to visit Bearns Duchy for ten days. He is finally listening to Chade, I believe. The plan is that the royal family will visit all six duchies and the Mountain Kingdom, staying at least ten days with each duke. I confess, I wonder if the dukes are already showing their daughters to the princes in hopes of early arrangements for—’

‘Don’t try to distract me. You know very well which queen I am talking about.’

I had and did. I lowered my eyes at her scowl. ‘Kettricken is on her way home from the Mountains right now. Dutiful Skilled the news to me some days ago. She has reached an agreement with both the Mountain people and the Six Duchies dukes. She will be spending much more time there now, maybe even half of each year. She will not be called queen there, but will consult with Dutiful frequently. When she reaches Buckkeep, they intend to choose one of the Skill-apprentices to be a companion to her whenever she travels there, to make communication between the Mountains and the Six Duchies far more swift. I think both she and Dutiful will find it a relief. There, she is still a queen, even if they do not name her so. And Queen Elliania will have much more room to adjust the court and the castle to her liking. I think it was a wise comprom-ise they reached.’

Molly shook her head. ‘It will be, if Dutiful lives up to his share of it and stands up to the Narcheska. The boys were supposed to be sent to the Mountains for two months of every year, to better learn the language and ways of that duchy. If he does not undertake that, when Queen Kettricken dies, he may find that his beloved seventh duchy rises against the idea of becoming a full part of the Six Duchies.’

I nodded, taking relief in the change of topic. ‘You have put your finger exactly on what worries me. The two queens have always chafed against one another and—’

Molly was relentless. ‘But that does not answer my question. Regarding our little one and your ridiculous idea to raise her in secrecy, who were you hoping to conceal her from? I wonder this, and the only answer I can think of is Queen Kettricken. And perhaps Lord Chade?’

I shifted uncomfortably and then leaned my head against her knee. She moved her hand and stirred her fingers through my hair. She spoke softly. ‘I’ve never been stupid, you know.’

‘Far from it. I know that you’ve pieced it all together over the years, even if we seldom speak of it aloud. But when we talk of it, the memory of how I lied to you and deceived you for so many years is like a sword in my chest. Molly, I am so—’

‘Evasive,’ she filled in for me in a deliberately light voice. ‘Fitz, you have apologized a thousand times for those days, and I have forgiven you. So, please, do not make me angry by trying to distract me now. Who and what do you fear?’

Silence hovered. Then ‘I fear everyone,’ I admitted in a low voice. I acknowledged it to myself as much as her. ‘You and I see a baby we have longed for, and a child who is so different that others may despise her for that reason alone. But others may see her as a secret princess or a potential Skill-user or a political pawn, a future woman to be wedded where she is most useful to the throne. I know they must see her that way. Just as they saw me as a royal bastard and a very useful tool. An assassin or a disposable diplomat. Just as they saw Nettle as a potential brood-mare for a royal heir should Dutiful’s seed somehow fail to thrive. When Chade and Kettricken blocked Nettle’s engagement to Riddle—’

‘Please, Fitz. Not again! Done is done, and there is no need to stir up old pains.’

‘How can I consider it “done” while Nettle still moves through life alone?’ The old outrage I had felt on my daughter’s behalf roared through me. I would never, never understand how she had accepted that secret edict from the throne, and still continued to serve them. I had come very near to sundering my ties with Buckkeep over it. Only Nettle’s request that I remain calm and allow her to ‘handle my own life decisions’ had prevented me from doing so. Every time I thought of it—

‘Oh, Fitz,’ Molly sighed. She sensed my mood and her hand moved soothingly on the back of my neck. She kneaded at the tight muscles with her still-strong hands and spoke quietly. ‘Nettle has always been a private person. She appears to be alone, and to have resigned herself to the throne forbidding her marriage to Riddle. But appearances can be deceiving.’

I sat up straight and twisted to look up at her. ‘Nettle would defy the Farseer throne?’

She shook her head. ‘Defy? Probably not. Ignore? Yes. Just as we ignored what Lady Patience and King Shrewd decreed for us. Your daughter is very like you, Fitz. She keeps her own counsel and follows her own will. I am sure that if she still wants to be with Riddle, then she is.’

‘Sweet Eda, what if she gets pregnant?’ Anxiety twisted my voice tight.

Molly gave a brittle caw of laughter. ‘Fitz! Must you always leap from one imagined disaster to another? Listen to what I’m actually saying, which is that I don’t know what path Nettle chose for herself. But if she is alone now, it is because she chose to be alone, not because someone decreed it for her. Her life is hers to live, not yours to repair.’

‘Then you do not think that she and Riddle are together?’

She sighed again. ‘I think nothing about that. Deliberately. But I will point out to you that Riddle left our employ to take work in Buckkeep Town, and that Nettle shows no sign of encouraging anyone to court her. In any case, she is a woman grown for many years now. It isn’t up to me to worry her worries for her, any more than it is your place to decide her decisions. My love, we have all we can deal with within these four walls. The other children have grown up and gone on with their lives. Even Hearth has a sweetheart now and an apprenticeship of his own to serve in Rivertown. Let Nettle and Riddle live their own lives, so that we can have a bit of peace. If you are so anxious to have a child to worry about, well, there is one right here. Here. Hold her for a bit.’

She leaned down and set the babe into my hands. As always, I received her with reluctance. It had nothing to do with how I felt about her and a great deal to do with my terror that I would somehow hold her wrong and damage her. Puppies and foals did not fill me with that fear, but she did. She was so tiny and so naked, so weak compared to any other infant creature I’d ever tended. A foal could stand within the day of its birth. Pups could whine and shuffle their way to their mother’s teats. My infant could not even hold her head up. Yet, as I settled her into my lap, the spark of life in her burned incredibly bright to my Wit. And to my Skill? I touched her little hand, skin to skin, and felt something there.

Molly rose, groaning a little as she straightened her back. ‘I’ve been sitting still too long. I’m going to go get more hot tea. I’ll take the pot and just be a moment.’

‘Shall I ring for a servant?’

‘Oh, no. I could do with a stroll to the kitchen and back. I’ll be but a moment.’ She was at the door as she spoke.

‘Very well,’ I responded distractedly. I gazed into my child’s face but she stared past my shoulder. I heard Molly’s slippers scuff softly away. I was alone with my daughter. No reason to be nervous. How many young things had I cared for in my days in the Buckkeep stables? A baby could not be so different. I’d won over spooky foals and wary pups.

‘Hey. Baby. Look at me. Look at Da.’ I moved my face into her view. She shifted her eyes and her hand flailed away from my touch. I tried again.

‘So, baby, you’re going to live and stay with us a while, are you?’ I spoke not in the higher pitched tone that so many would use when speaking to an infant, but in a low deliberate cadence. As one spoke to a puppy or a horse. Soothing. I clicked my tongue at her. ‘Hey. Over here. Look at me.’

She didn’t. I hadn’t really expected her to.

Patience. Just keep talking. ‘You are such a tiny thing. I hope you start growing soon. What are we going to call you? It’s time we gave you a name. A good name, one that is strong. Let’s think of a strong name for you. But a pretty one. Lacey? Do you like that name? Lacey?’

No response at all. It seemed to me that the spark I had felt went dimmer, as if she shifted her attention away from me. Was that possible?

My finger traced a figure on her chest. ‘Maybe a flower name? Your sister is Nettle. What about … Fern?’ I could not be mistaken. She had definitely put her attention elsewhere. I considered for a moment, and tried again. ‘Myrtle? Foxglove? Thyme?’

She seemed to be listening. Why wouldn’t she look at me? I touched her cheek with my finger, trying to make her look at me. She turned her face toward the touch, but avoided my eyes. I suddenly recalled that Nighteyes had seldom met my gaze in a steady look, but the wolf had loved me all the same. Don’t force her to meet your eyes. Let the cub come to you, as you let me come to you. I nodded at this wolf-wisdom and did not try to meet her eyes.

Unfolding her tiny fingers, I put my little finger in the palm of her hand. Even my smallest finger was still too large for her to grip. She let go of it and coiled her hand into her chest. I lifted her to hold her closer and inhaled deeply, taking her scent. In that moment, I was my wolf, and I recalled my bond with Nighteyes so vividly that I ached with the loss. I looked at my cub and knew how sharply sweet her birth would have been for him. Oh, Nighteyes. Would that you could be beside me for this. Tears stung my eyes. I stared in amazement as I saw the infant blink away newly-formed tears. They ventured onto her little cheeks.

I swallowed against the old pain of losing my wolf. Could she be sharing my feelings? I stared at her and dared myself. I opened myself to her, Skill and Wit.

The baby suddenly waved her arms helplessly and thrashed her feet, as if she were trying to swim away from me. Then, to my horror, she opened her mouth wide and wailed aloud, a sound that seemed far too loud and shrill to come out of such a small being. ‘Shh! Shh!’ I begged her, dreading that Molly would hear. I placed her on my lap and lifted my hands away. Surely she could not be that open to me. I’d done something wrong in how I held her. Had I pinched her somehow, or held her too tightly? I could only look down at her in utter dismay.

I heard the hasty whisper of slippers against the flagged floors and then Molly was suddenly in the room, a dripping teapot in her hand. She hastily clacked it onto the tray and leaned over us, her hands reaching to take her baby back. ‘What happened? Did you drop her? She’s never cried aloud like this before!’

I leaned back, well clear of the baby and let Molly take her. Almost immediately, her wails ceased. Her face was bright red and as her mother patted her, she panted still with the effort it had taken her to scream so loudly.

‘I don’t know what I did. I was just holding her and looking at her and suddenly she began to scream. Wait! I put my finger in her hand! Did I hurt her fingers? I don’t know what I did to upset her! Did I hurt her hand? Is she all right?’

‘Shush. Let me see.’ Molly took the baby’s hand softly and very gently unfolded her fingers. The infant didn’t flinch or wail. Instead she looked up into her mother’s face and I can only describe her expression as relief. Molly gathered her to her shoulder and began her gentle, rocking walk. ‘She’s fine, she’s fine,’ Molly sing-songed as she made a slow circuit of the room. When she came back to me, she said gently, ‘She seems fine, now. Perhaps it was just a little air stuck in her gut. Oh, Fitz, it gave me such a turn to hear her cry like that. But, you know,’ and here she startled me by smiling. ‘It was such a relief as well. She has been so silent, so calm that I wondered if she could cry. Or if she were too simple to make such a sound.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘With the boys, I always wished for them to be quieter, to be easier to put down to sleep. But with her, it has been the opposite. I’ve worried at how placid she is. Would she be simple? But she’s fine. Whatever you did, you’ve proven she has your temper.’

‘My temper?’ I dared to ask, and she mock-scowled at me.

‘Of course your temper! Who else’s could she have inherited?’ She took her seat again, and I nodded at the puddle around the pot on the tray.

‘Looks like you were interrupted. Shall I take it back to the kitchen for more hot water?’

‘I’m sure there’s enough tea left for us.’

She settled in her chair. The room grew quieter as peace flowed back into it. Molly spoke to our baby. ‘Once, I saw a black-and-white horse with one eye blue, just the same colour as yours. The man who owned him said it was his “wild eye” and not to stand on that side of him.’ She fell silent for a time, considering her babe. She rocked her gently, calming all of us.

It took me a few moments to realize she was asking to be reassured that our baby was all right. I didn’t know. My words were cautious. ‘I don’t think Burrich ever brought a blue-eyed horse into the stables. Or a dog with one odd eye. Did he tell you something about it?’

‘Oh, no. Let’s not be silly, Fitz. She’s a girl, not a horse or a puppy. And blue-eyed Queen Kettricken seems to have your trust.’

‘That’s so,’ I agreed. I poured a tiny bit of tea from the pot. Too pale. I put it down to let it brew some more. ‘I don’t think she likes me,’ I ventured softly.

Molly blew out an annoyed breath. ‘My love, must you ever and always find something to worry about? She hardly knows you yet. Babies cry. That’s all. She’s fine now.’

‘She won’t look at me.’

‘Fitz, I’m not going to indulge you in this! So stop. Besides we have more important things to think about. She needs a name.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing myself.’ I edged over to sit more closely to them, and reached for the teapot again.

Molly stopped me. ‘Patience! It needs to brew a bit longer.’

I halted and raised my brows at her. ‘Patience?’

‘I’ve considered it. But she’s so tiny …’

‘So … she needs a small name?’ I was completely confused.

‘Well, her name has to fit her. I had thought …’ She hesitated, but I waited to hear what she would say. She spoke at last. ‘Bee. ‘Because she’s so small.’

‘Bee?’ I asked her. I had to smile. Bee. Of course. ‘It’s a lovely name.’

‘Bee.’ She asserted firmly. Her next question surprised me. ‘Will you seal her name to her?’ Molly was referring to the old custom of the royal family. When a Farseer prince or princess was named, there was a public ceremony with all the nobility called to witness. The custom was to pass the child through flame, sprinkle the child with soil and then plunge the infant into water to seal the name to the babe by fire, earth and water. But such babies were given names such as Verity or Chivalry or Regal. Or Dutiful. And when the name was sealed to the child, it was hoped that he would develop an affinity for the virtue.

‘I think not,’ I said quietly, reflecting that such a ceremony would draw to her the very sort of Farseer attention I sought to avoid. Even then, I was still hoping to keep her existence quiet.

Such hopes vanished when Nettle arrived five days later. She had left Buckkeep as quickly as she could make arrangements and ridden horseback to make the trip as swiftly as possible. Two of her guardsmen had ridden with her, the minimum escort expected for the king’s Skillmistress. One was a grey-haired old man, the other a willowy girl, but both looked more exhausted than my daughter did. I had only a glimpse of them from my study window when I pushed aside the drapes and peered out when I heard horses whinnying outside.

I took a deep breath to steel myself. I let the curtain fall and left my study, striding hastily through the manor to intersect with her. Before I had reached the front entrance, I heard the door open, the sound of her clear voice lifted in a hasty greeting to Revel, and then the clatter of her boots as she ran down the hall. I stepped from the connecting corridor and she nearly cannoned into me. I caught her by the shoulders and looked down into her face.

Nettle’s dark curling hair had pulled free of its tie to fall to her shoulders. Her cheeks and brow were reddened from chill. She still wore her cloak and had been pulling off her gloves as she ran. ‘Tom!’ She greeted me, and then, ‘Where is my mother?’

I pointed down the hall to the door of the nursery, she shrugged free of me and was gone. I glanced back. In the entrance, Revel was greeting her retinue. Our steward had things well in hand. The guardsmen who had ridden with her looked weary and cold and desirous of nothing so much as rest; Revel could deal with them. I turned and followed Nettle.

By the time I caught up with her, she stood in the open door of the nursery. She gripped the door frame and seemed frozen there. ‘You really had a baby? A baby?’ She demanded of her mother. Molly laughed. I halted where I was. As Nettle stepped cautiously into the room, I ghosted up and stood where I could watch them but not be seen. Nettle had halted by the empty cradle set near the fire. Abject penitence was in her voice as she cried out, ‘Mother, I’m so sorry I doubted you. Where is she? Are you well?’

Molly sat, an image of calm, but I felt her anxiety. Did Nettle see, as I did, how carefully she had arranged herself to meet her elder daughter? Molly’s hair looked recently smoothed, and her shawl was evenly spread on her shoulders. The baby was swaddled in a soft cover of palest pink and a matching cap hid her tiny face. Molly did not waste time or effort in answering Nettle but offered the child to her. I could not see Nettle’s face but I saw the set of her shoulders change. The bundle her mother offered was too small to be a baby, even a newborn. She crossed the room as cautiously as a wolf walking into unknown territory. She still feared madness. When she accepted the baby, I saw her muscles adjust for the lightness of the infant. She looked into Bee’s face, startled to find her really there and even more shocked at her blue gaze and then she lifted her eyes to look at her mother. ‘She’s blind, isn’t she? Oh, Ma, I’m so sorry. Will she live long, do you think?’ In her words, I heard all I had feared, that not only the world, but even her sister would perceive our Bee as peculiar.

Molly took Bee swiftly back from her, sheltering her in her arms as if Nettle’s words were an evil wish on the child. ‘She’s not blind,’ her mother said. ‘Fitz thinks it likely his Mountain mother had blue eyes and that is where she gets them. And though she is tiny, she is perfect in every other way. Ten toes, ten fingers, she eats well and sleeps well, and almost never fusses. Her name is Bee.’

‘Bee?’ Nettle was puzzled but then smiled. ‘She is such a little thing. But I wonder what the old queen will think of her.’

‘Queen Kettricken?’ her mother’s voice was between alarmed and confused.

‘She comes, not far behind me. She arrived home at Buckkeep just as I was leaving. I gave her the news before I left, and she was full of joy for you both. She won’t be more than a day behind me. I was glad I won Dutiful’s permission to leave right away; she clearly wished me to wait for her.’ She paused and then her loyalty to her mother prevailed. ‘And I know that Fitz knew she was coming because I Skilled the knowledge to him myself! And he has said nothing to you! I can tell by the look on your face. Which means that the servants probably haven’t been put to airing the rooms or otherwise preparing for guests. Oh, Mother, that man of yours—’

‘That man is your father,’ she reminded Nettle and as always, Nettle looked aside and made no response. For if a child can inherit a trait from a fostering parent, then Nettle had inherited Burrich’s stubbornness. Nettle swiftly changed the subject to a more immediate concern. ‘I’ll have the servants open the rooms right away, and freshen them and make sure that there is wood for the hearths. And I’ll let the kitchen staff know as well. Don’t worry!’

‘I don’t worry,’ her mother replied. ‘The Mountain Queen has never been a difficult guest for us, in that way.’ But in other ways, she had, Molly’s unspoken words said. ‘Nettle.’ Her tone stopped her daughter before she could escape. ‘Why does she come here? What does she want?’

Nettle met her mother’s gaze directly. ‘What you know she wants. She wishes to see FitzChivalry Farseer’s younger daughter. To witness her name sealed to her and make a claim to her. A minstrel will ride with her party. She will show him only what she wants him to see, but once he has seen, he will never deny the truth. He is a man that she trusts not to sing until he’s told to, and then to sing only the truth.’

It was Molly’s turn to cast her eyes aside and say nothing. My heart chilled to know that Nettle, too, had seen clearly the reason for Kettricken’s visit.

There remained between Molly and Kettricken a strange bond that was both affection and jealousy. Queen Kettricken had always treated Molly and Burrich and their children with impeccable fairness. But Molly had never forgotten nor forgiven that she had been left to believe that I was dead, first to mourn me and then to accept another man in my place, and all the while the queen knew that the Farseer Bastard lived. It was as much my doing as Kettricken’s, but I believe Molly found it harder to forgive a woman. Especially a woman who knew what it was to live in the painful belief that her lover was dead.

And so the rift remained, acknowledged by both women as a gap that could never be closed. Kettricken was the sort of woman who would believe she deserved that bitter twist to her friendship with my wife.

Nettle gave a curt nod, and left the room, already calling for Tavia to give her a hand to get some guest rooms into order, for Lady Kettricken of the Mountains would be arriving, perhaps before the day was out. Nettle set as little stock by formality with the servants as her mother did. She passed me in the hall and gave me a glance full of rebuke before shouting for Revel as well. I slipped past her and into the nursery. ‘She’ll be opening the windows and shaking out the comforters herself,’ Molly said to me, and I knew she was proud of her pragmatic daughter.

‘Sometimes she reminds me of Verity.’ I smiled as I entered. ‘She doesn’t ask anyone to do anything that she’d hesitate to do herself. And if she thinks a task needs doing, she doesn’t wait.’

‘You knew Kettricken was coming and you didn’t tell me,’ Molly greeted me.

I had. I looked at her silently. I had told myself that not telling her something was different from lying to her. She didn’t agree. Her anger was frozen fire in her voice as she said quietly, ‘It doesn’t make it easier for me when I don’t have time to prepare.’

‘I thought it through carefully. There is nothing we can do to prepare for this, except meet it head on today. I saw no use in worrying you ahead of time. The servants are adept at quickly readying the rooms.’

Her voice was low. ‘I wasn’t speaking of readying the rooms. I was talking of preparing myself. My thoughts. My bearing.’ She shook her head at me and then spoke more clearly. ‘Fitz, Fitz. All goes well between us, until your Farseer legacy intrudes. Then you return to the close-mouthed deceitful ways that doomed us once before. Will you ever be free of that? Ever know a time when your first impulse is not to conceal what you know?’

Her words struck me like arrows and I shuddered with their impact. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, and hated the words. Truly I regretted that I had hidden information from her and wondered, as she did, why I always fell prey to the drive to keep knowledge to myself. There echoed through me a warning I had received long ago, from Chade. The old man had cautioned me that I could wear out the words ‘I’m sorry’, could apologize so often that it meant nothing to anyone, not even myself. I wondered if I had reached that point with Molly. ‘Molly,’ I began.

‘Fitz,’ she said firmly. ‘Just stop.’

I fell silent. She gathered our baby closer to her. ‘Listen to me. I share your worries. This is not a time for us to be at odds. Later, we will speak of it. After Kettricken has left. But not before then, and certainly not in front of Nettle. If the old queen comes to look at our child, then we must be ready to face that together. And insist to her that we will know what is best for Bee as she grows.’

I knew her anger was not vanquished but restrained. And I knew that I deserved it. ‘Thank you,’ I said quietly, and that lit the sparks again in her eyes. Then, almost sadly, she shook her head and smiled at me. ‘They took that piece of you away from me, long before I even claimed you as my own. Not your fault, Fitz. Not your fault. Though sometimes I think that you could take it back, if you tried hard enough.’ She settled our baby against her shoulder and then looked at me as if she had banished anger to the OutIslands.

The rest of that day, Nettle had the staff in an uproar. Only Revel seemed to delight in the challenge of entertaining royalty at a moment’s notice. No less than eight times he came to consult with me on menus and bedchambers. When he appeared at my door again, to ask if he might hire some musicians from Withy for evening entertainment, I heartlessly referred him to Nettle.

But the end result was that we had had one quiet evening as a family, a time for all three adults to share a meal and stay up late talking. Between Nettle and Revel, everything that could be arranged or planned had been done. When evening deepened, we gathered in the nursery and had our food brought to us there. We ate and talked, and ate and talked. Nettle held the baby and studied Bee’s face as she stared past her shoulder.

Nettle gave us news from Buckkeep, but Molly was most hungry to hear of her boys. Nettle gave us fresh news of her brothers. Steady had not been at Buckkeep but visiting Hearth. She had sent him word. Swift was travelling with Web; she’d sent a message but had no idea when it would find them. Chivalry was prospering. He’d built on the fine foundation of horseflesh that Burrich had left to him. Recently, he had acquired the holding next to his, increasing his pasture and giving himself room to build a larger stable. And so on, naming each brother all scattered across the Six Duchies now. Molly listened and rocked Bee as she held her close. I watched her and thought I guessed her heart; this was her last child, the one who would be at her side as she grew old. I watched Nettle’s gaze travel from me to her mother and then to Bee. Pity, I read in her face. Pity for all of us, for in her estimation, Bee would either die soon or live the life of a stunted thing, limited in both mind and body. She did not speak the thought aloud but Burrich had raised her well, to look at a young thing and judge its chances. But I thought to myself that I had the advantage of experience. Bee might well and truly be a runt but she had the spark to survive. She would live. What sort of a life, none could yet tell, but Bee would live.

In the morning, a herald arrived to announce that Kettricken would soon be there. By the time the old queen arrived that afternoon, the guest rooms were ready, a simple meal of good food was simmering and baking, and Bee was freshly attired in garments hastily taken in to fit her. Nettle came herself to tell Molly and me of the arrival of Kettricken and her guard. She found us in the nursery. Molly had dressed Bee twice, and changed her own garments three times. Each time, I had assured her that she looked lovely to me, but she had decided that the first dress was too youthful, and the second ‘made me look like a doddering granny’. The third try was something I had never seen her wear before. She wore long loose trousers, so full that they appeared at first to be a skirt. A garment like a knee-length vest was worn over a loose-sleeved white blouse and a wide belt sashed her waist. The vest, trousers and sash were all in different shades of blue, and Molly netted her hair back into a sack made of blue ribbons. ‘How do I look?’ she asked me when she returned to the nursery, and I was not sure what to reply.

‘I like the slippers,’ I said cautiously. They were red, with black bead embroidery and very pointed toes.

Molly laughed. ‘Nettle brought these clothes for me. It’s a Jamaillian style, now favoured at Buckkeep.’ She turned slowly, inviting me to admire the garments. ‘It’s very comfortable. Nettle begged me to wear it, so I would not look too provincial. And you know, Fitz, I think I shall.’

I myself wore a simple jerkin of brown over a shirt of Buckkeep blue, brown trousers and black knee-boots. The fox pin that Kettricken had given me still sparkled at my collar. For a moment I wondered if I looked provincial, then decided I did not care.

Nettle came into the room, smiled and lifted her brows at her mother, well pleased with her appearance. She was similarly garbed in rich browns and amber yellow. Then she glanced down into Bee’s cradle and visibly startled. Blunt as she ever was, she said, ‘Even though the other clothes were too big, they made her look larger. Mother, she is so tiny, she’s almost … grotesque.’ Despite her words, she picked up her sister and held Bee in her arms, looking into her face. The baby gazed past her shoulder. Yet as Nettle studied her, Bee suddenly began to toss her little hands and then her mouth opened wide, she drew a deep breath and she began a shrill wail of protest.

At her first wail, Molly went to take her. ‘What’s wrong, my little Bee? What’s wrong?’ The moment Molly took her from Nettle, the child went limp in her hands and her wailing became a snuffling sobbing. Molly held her and patted her and she quickly quieted. She looked at Nettle apologetically. ‘Don’t be hurt. She does the same thing to her father. I think she’s just old enough to realize I’m her mother and to think that I should always be holding her.’

I gave Nettle a small, rueful smile. ‘I’m almost relieved. I was beginning to think it was just me she disliked.’

Molly and Nettle shot me twin looks of outrage. ‘Bee does not dislike Nettle!’ Molly insisted. ‘She just …’ Her words dwindled away and her eyes widened slightly. Then, as direct as Nettle herself, she looked at her elder daughter and asked, ‘Did you do something to her? With your mind?’

‘I … no! Well, not intentionally. Sometimes …’ She let her words trail off. ‘It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t have it. I touch people when I’m close to them. Not always on purpose. It’s like …’ She groped for a comparison. ‘Like smelling someone. Even if it might seem rude, I can’t really help it. I’ve become aware of people in that way.’

Molly weighed her words as she began the slow shifting of her weight from foot to foot that she always affected when she held the child. ‘Then, your sister is Skilled? As you are?’

Nettle laughed and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t tell something like that just from holding her. Besides, she’s just a baby.’ Her words trailed off slightly as she reflected on her own talent for Skill and how early it had awakened in her. She glanced over at me, and then I felt her send a seeking tendril of Skill toward the baby. I caught my breath. Should I stop her? I watched as Bee curled more tightly against her mother and buried her face in Molly’s neck. Did she sense her sister reaching for her? I watched Nettle’s face. Puzzlement and then resignation. She didn’t sense any Skill in the baby.

My curiosity piqued, I sent a thread of Skill toward Bee, moving with utmost caution, but all I found was Molly. She had no Skill at all, but reaching toward her filled my senses with her. I found myself smiling fondly at her.

Then Nettle cleared her throat and I became aware of the room and my daughters and wife again. Molly drew a deeper breath and squared her shoulders. ‘Well. I will go to meet Kettricken and welcome her. Do you think I should bring Bee with me?’

Nettle shook her head hastily. ‘No. No, I think it is best that you choose the moment for the Mountain Queen to meet her, and that it be private at first. Can her wet nurse stay with her while we—’ And then her voice ran down. She laughed. ‘I’ve been too long at court, haven’t I? A whole day here and of course I’ve seen no one tend her except you. Does she have a wet-nurse? Or a nurse or a caretaker of any kind?’

Molly made an amused sound in her throat and shook her head. ‘No more than you had,’ she replied.

‘Could you ask one of the kitchen girls? Or one of the maids?’ Nettle was well aware that her mother kept no personal servant. ‘I’d never have enough tasks to keep her busy,’ she had always told her daughter.

Molly shook her head. ‘They are busy with their proper tasks. No. She will be fine here in her nursery. She’s a placid child.’ She returned Bee to her cradle and covered her warmly.

‘It feels odd to leave her here alone,’ Nettle objected uncomfortably as Molly drew a lacy covering over the cradle.

‘Not really,’ Molly replied calmly. She moved about the room, letting down layer after layer of curtains. It became twilight, the warm firelight the only illumination in the chamber. And as she turned to look at her elder daughter, she sighed and said, ‘You have been too long at court. You should find a way to have time to yourself. Come here, or go visit one of your brothers. Get away from the suspicions and that careful dance you always seem to be treading. Look. She’s already dozing off. She’ll be fine here.’

‘I’m certain she’ll be fine here alone, Nettle,’ I lied agreeably. I ventured closer and looked down into the cradle. Bee’s eyes were almost completely closed.

‘Come,’ Molly said, taking my hand. ‘We’d best go meet the queen.’ I let her lead me from the room.

Steward Revel did a far better job of being the lord of the manor than I could ever attempt. We did not go to the entrance hall, where I was sure he was sorting our guests into levels of importance. The guards and lesser servants would be bustled off to simple but clean rooms and offered an immediate opportunity either to visit the Withywoods steams or warm their faces and hands with hot water before descending to a casual and hearty meal of soups, bread, butter, cheese, ale and wine. Revel had nothing but sympathy for frequently hard-used servants. While they visited Withywoods, they would be treated as the guests of our own servants. I was sure they would welcome his hospitality after the morning’s chilly ride through the freshly fallen snow.

With the expertise of a general marshalling his troops, he had recruited temporary help from the village. Any lesser nobility would be entrusted to these willing but less experienced hands as luggage was carried to rooms, washwater fetched, fires built up and any other small chores accomplished. To our experienced staff would go the honour of waiting on the highest echelon of guests, with Revel putting himself and his right hand, Dixon, at the full service of Lady Kettricken. All of these arrangements had been tediously explained to me the day before. I had nodded endlessly and authorized everything he suggested.

Molly, Nettle and I hurried to the Great Hall where Revel had decreed we would welcome our guests. I entered to find that the room had been transformed overnight. The panelled walls gleamed with a fresh wiping of some fragrant oil, a large and welcoming fire burned in the hearth, and a long table had been brought in and decorated with vases of flowers. My ladies peremptorily stationed me there to await our refreshed guests, as they made a final dash to the kitchens to be sure all was in readiness. I waited until I could no longer hear their slippers pattering hastily down the hallway. Then I stepped out into the hall and heartlessly detained one of our temporary serving-boys.

‘Lad, I’ve forgotten something in my rooms. Just stay here for me, and if anyone arrives, assure them that Lady Molly and Nettle will both return very shortly, and that I shall be down soon.’

His eyes widened. ‘Sir, mayn’t I fetch whatever it is you’ve forgotten? I don’t know how to talk to a queen, sir, even if she isn’t the queen any more.’

I smiled ruthlessly at him. ‘And that, my lad, is exactly why you are the perfect person for this task. If you greet her with the same warmth and respect you’d accord your own grandmother, that will be more than sufficient.’

‘But, sir!’ I didn’t realize he had freckles until he went so pale they stood out on his face.

I laughed genially and pitied him in my heart. ‘Only a moment, only a moment.’ And I left him, striding off down the hall with a fine clacking of boots.

The moment I turned the corner of the corridor, I stooped, removed my boots and then ran as light-footedly as if I were the serving-boy himself. This would be the time I would choose, were it my mission. Was I being foolish? Had I, like Nettle, lived too long at Buckkeep among the multiple layers of intrigue there? There was only one way to find out. I swung the door of the nursery open just wide enough for me to enter. I slid into the room and froze beside the door. I eased it shut behind me. My Wit told me I was alone in here except for my daughter. Nonetheless, no board shifted under my tread, and my shadow never crossed the firelight as I carried my boots to the corner and concealed them there. A quick glance into the cradle as I passed it. She was there, but I did not think she was asleep. Quiet, I begged her. Stay quiet. I ghosted into the most shadowy corner behind the two pansy screens and composed myself, setting my feet and finding my balance. Not a sigh of breath, not a shift of weight on the old floor timbers. I raised all my walls, blocking my Skill and my Wit into my own mind. I became an empty place in the darkness.

The fire spat sap. A log settled with a soft thud. Outside, wind-driven snowflakes kissed the glass panes of the window. I could not hear my own breathing. I waited. I waited. I was a suspicious fool. A slave to old fears. I waited. The guests would be there. I’d be missed. Nettle and Molly would be furious with me. I waited.

The door eased open; someone weaselled inside and then pushed the door silently closed again. I couldn’t see him. I smelled perfumed oil and heard the rustle of rich fabrics. Then a slight figure detached itself from the shadows and flowed toward my child’s cradle. He did not touch it nor lift the veil, but leaned closer to peer at my baby.

The youngster was well dressed in a silk shirt with an embroidered vest. He wore a silver necklace and two silver rings in each ear. The perfume was his hair pomade: his black curls glistened in the firelight. He stared down at Bee. I imagined her looking up at him, wondering if he meant her harm. He was completely absorbed in his scrutiny of her. I moved. When he lifted his hand to move the lace that veiled her, my shining blade swooped in to his throat. I pressed the flat of it hard against his flesh.

‘Step back,’ I advised him softly, ‘and I’ll let you live. At least for a little while.’

The boy’s intake of breath sounded like a sob. He held his hands open and pleading before him as the pressure of my slender knife moved him away from the cradle. I guided him backwards. One step, two, three. His voice shook as he said, ‘Lord Chade said you would catch me. But Lady Rosemary insisted on sending me.’

I cocked his head like a listening wolf, trying to decide if I heard truth. ‘An interesting gambit. Those names could be seen as chinks in my armour. Another man might laugh and release you, send you back to your masters with a warning that you need more training.’

‘I’ve only been with them three months.’ There was relief in his voice.

‘I said, “another man”,’ I reminded him in a deadly voice. ‘Not me.’ I put myself between the assassin and my baby’s cradle. ‘Strip,’ I ordered him. ‘Down to skin. Now.’

‘I—’ The boy choked. His eyes flew wide open and he all but crossed his arms over himself. His voice went a notch higher. ‘Sir! This is unbecoming of you. No. I will not.’

‘You will,’ I informed him. ‘For I won’t be satisfied until you do. And I have no reason not to raise an alarm and then take affront at your being here. The Farseer throne sends an assassin-spy not only into my house, but into my child’s room? Tell me, boy, what do I have to lose? And what will Lady Kettricken have to do to erase this embarrassment? Will Lord Chade and Lady Rosemary admit you are theirs? Or did they warn you that they would distance themselves if you were caught?’

The youngster was breathing raggedly. His hands were shaking, I was certain, and he struggled with an endless row of tiny pearl buttons. Pearls! On their newest assassin! What was Chade thinking these days? If he had not been in my child’s room, I might have found such foolishness amusing. But nothing was humorous in this attempt. My blood moved cold in my veins.

I heard the rustle of silk and then a soft thud as he dropped his shirt to the floor. ‘An interesting sound for a shirt to make as it falls,’ I observed. ‘The rest, please. Without delay. I’m sure we would both like to have this over with as soon as possible.’ He had to bend down to peel his trousers and stockings off. A trick of the firelight caught the gleam of tears on his cheeks. Better his tears than Molly’s or mine, I thought. ‘To the skin,’ I reminded him, and his smallclothes joined the heap on the floor. A short time later, I added, ‘You look chilly. Go stand by the fire. And don’t move.’

The lad moved with alacrity. He turned his back to me, and then twisted back to watch me. He was hugging himself despite the fire behind him while I systematically went through his garments. Tiny pocket seams gave way with small ripping sounds. My blade made a ‘shush’ as it slid though fine silk. I was proud of that. It takes a sharp blade to part silk. Then I was finished.

‘Only seven?’ I asked him. I lifted my eyes to watch him as I let my hands check each garment and boot again. I set my plunder out in a short row on the floor before me. ‘Let’s see. Two poisons to mix with liquid, one toxic dust, a sleeping powder and an emetic. So much for the hidden pockets. A tiny shoe knife, scarcely worthy of the name, a set of lock picks, and a block of soft wax … for what? Ah, impressions of keys. Of course. Now, what’s this?’

‘That is what I was to leave in her crib.’ His voice was stiff, thickened with tears. ‘For you to find. As a proof that I’d been here.’

Ice encased my heart. I gestured at the assassin with my knife, moving him further away from my cradle. I moved with him, keeping the same distance. Whatever was in the packet, I would not chance opening it near Bee’s cradle. I brought it to a small table touched by firelight.

It was a little packet of good paper. I sliced the side carefully with my blade, and then tipped it. A very fine chain slid out of it first. I tapped it and the rest emerged. ‘A very pretty necklace. And expensive, I’d hazard.’ I held the chain up. Firelight glinted red from it. ‘It’s the Farseer buck, in silver. But he has his head lowered to charge. Interesting.’ I watched the boy’s face as it dangled from his hand. Did he know what it was? The sigil of FitzChivalry Farseer, the long-dead bastard of the royal family.

He didn’t. ‘It’s a gift for her. From Lord Chade Fallstar.’

‘Of course it is.’ My voice was flat. I returned to his garments, hooked my toe under the heap and kicked them to him. ‘You can get dressed.’

‘And my things?’ the youngster asked sullenly. He spoke over his shoulder as he tugged on his under-things. I stooped to the floor and the tools of his trade disappeared up my sleeve. I heard the rustle of fabric as he pulled on his shirt and trousers.

‘What things?’ I asked pleasantly. ‘Your boots and stockings? There on the floor. Put them on. Then get out of this room. And stay out of this wing of my home. Or I’ll kill you.’

‘I wasn’t sent to do the baby harm. Only to see it, to leave the gift, and to report back what I’d seen. Lord Chade warned her that you’d catch me but Lady Rosemary insisted. It was a test. One I’ve failed.’

‘Failed twice, I assume. I doubt they gave you permission to name their names to anyone.’

The boy was quiet. ‘They said it was just a test.’ His voice broke on the words. ‘And I’ve failed it. Twice.’

‘You’re assuming that you were the one they were testing. Dressed? Good. Get out. No. Wait. What’s your name?’

He held his tongue. I sighed and took a step toward him.

‘Lant.’

I waited.

The boy took a breath that was half a sob. ‘FitzVigilant.’

I pondered a moment, sifting names of minor nobility. ‘Of Farrow?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And how old are you?’

The boy drew himself up straighter. ‘Twelve, sir.’

‘Twelve? Eleven, I might have believed. But ten is more likely, isn’t it?’

The lad’s dark eyes flashed fury. The tears were running freely down his cheeks. Oh, Chade. Is this your future assassin? He looked down and said simply, ‘Sir.’

I sighed. Had I ever been that young? ‘Go, boy. Now.’

The spy fled with no pretence at stealth. He did not quite slam the door behind him, but he shut it quite firmly. I listened to the sound of his pattering steps as he fled. When it became softer, I stepped to the door, listened, opened it and stepped out. Then I closed the door again, retrieved my boots, and came to Bee’s cradle. ‘For now, he’s gone,’ I told my child and shook my head. ‘Chade, you old spider, what are you playing at? Was that truly the best you could send my way? Or was he the decoy?’

I moved efficiently about the room, checking the window latch and looking everywhere an assassin might conceivably hide. When I had made that round, I returned to the cradle and lifted the lacy drapery away. I found a lamp, lit it and moved it to the stand by the cradle. I worked as if my staring baby were made of spun sugar as I lifted each blanket away and carefully shook it. Her garments looked untouched. Would I chance that? I had begun removing her clothing to check for anything that this spy or a previous one might have been able to put on her when Molly entered the room.

‘There you are! I’ve half a dozen serving-boys scouring Withywoods for you. Our guests are waiting to go in for a meal. You’ve missed their minstrel singing a very long song to thank us for our welcome.’

‘Glad of that,’ I admitted. The tiny ribbons on Bee’s gown were defying me.

‘Fitz?’ Molly swept into the room. ‘What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? The meal is nearly ready.’

I lied to her. Again. ‘I came in to be sure she was fine and she was crying. I thought she might be wet.’

‘Crying? And I didn’t hear her?’

‘It wasn’t loud. I wouldn’t have heard her except that I was passing the door.’

Molly immediately took charge of her. I clenched my teeth, fearing that there might still be something hidden in her garments that could hurt either her or her mother. Molly expertly opened her clothes, checked her napkin and then looked at me in consternation. ‘She’s fine.’ I watched intently as Molly refastened the ribbon ties I had loosened.

‘I don’t want to leave her here alone,’ I said abruptly.

Molly stared at me. Then she shook her head. ‘Nor I,’ she admitted. ‘But I didn’t want to take her with us to greet our guests. I want to choose when and how Queen Kettricken first sees her.’

‘Lady Kettricken,’ I reminded her. ‘Queen of the Six Duchies no more.’

‘Only in name,’ Molly harrumphed. ‘The Narcheska is in Buckkeep Castle only a few months of every year. And King Dutiful spends too much time away from the throne. She rules the Six Duchies, Fitz, and the Mountain Kingdom.’

‘Well. Someone must hold the reins of power when King Dutiful is not there. Better Kettricken than Chade unchecked,’ I replied. Could she hear the divided loyalties in my voice? Hear my unspoken thought that if Kettricken had not assumed those duties, they might have fallen on me? Certainly Chade had hoped to harness me for that role, and Kettricken and King Dutiful would have been happy to allow it. I had known Kettricken since I was a youth, and once we had been as close as only conspirators could be. But tonight she had brought a spy into my house, one that had come in stealth to my daughter’s cradle. Did she know of young FitzVigilant’s mission? Or had Chade and Lady Rosemary acted alone, out of concern for the Farseer throne and lineage? Well did I know that, to Chade, the best interests of the throne came far ahead of the best interests of any individual Farseer. That I had learned at the old assassin’s knee.

Molly broke into my thoughts. ‘Nettle will be leading our guests into the dining room soon. We have to be there.’

I made a decision. ‘Let’s take her with us. Cradle and all.’

‘Fitz, I don’t think …’

But I had already stooped and lifted my cradle. It was not large but neither was it light. I tried to make it look easy as I edged out the door with it and started down the hall. Behind me, Molly followed with Bee clasped to her breast.

The dining hall was not often used. The ceilings were high and the two large hearths at either end of the room struggled to warm such a large space. Molly and I had formed the habit of taking most of our meals in a much smaller room, but tonight the fires had been set and the chandeliers lit. The long table, prepared for fifteen, could easily have seated forty. The dark wooden table had an embroidered runner down the centre, and silver candelabra holding graceful white tapers, the work of Molly’s own hands. Carved wooden bowls in the shape of Eda’s cupped hands held red and yellow apples, fat raisins in bunches and gleaming brown nuts. The candles cast a warm glow over the table but their light could not reach the distant ceiling or the far corners of the room.

We arrived simultaneously with the guests. Molly and I stood and greeted them as they filed past. I put more effort into making holding the cradle look effortless, and was grateful finally to follow them into the room. I made no comment as I set the cradle where the hearth would warm it but it would not be more than six paces from my chair. Molly swiftly settled Bee inside it and then draped the lace hanger above her that would keep away draughts and casual glances. We moved to the head of the table, once more acknowledged our guests and took our places.

Lady Kettricken was to my right. Nettle occupied the other seat of honour at Molly’s left hand. If any thought the seating arrangement odd, no one spoke of it. I located the young spy seated on the left side of the table and as far from me as possible. He had changed his garments, which was not surprising, as I had not been excessively careful when I was slitting seams and pockets open. He appeared fascinated by the edge of the table. The captain of Kettricken’s guard had accompanied her on this visit and he was seated with us, attired in his purple and white. She had brought a healer with her, one of noble blood, Lady Solace and her husband, Lord Diggery. Kettricken’s other followers were unknown to me except by name. Lord Stoutheart was a bluff and hearty man, white-haired and red-nosed. Lady Hope was plump and pleasant, a chatty woman who laughed frequently.

Kettricken lifted her hand and set it on mine. I turned to her with a smile, and as always, I knew that brief moment of surprise. To me, she was always a young woman, golden-haired and blue-eyed, with an open mien and a tranquil air about her. I saw a woman with silver hair, her brow lined with care. Her eyes were as blue as Bee’s. Her spine was straight, her head upright. She was like a graceful glass vessel that brimmed with power and certainty. She was no longer the foreign Mountain princess struggling to negotiate the currents of power at a strange court. She had become the current of power that others must navigate. She spoke for Molly and me alone. ‘I am so glad for you.’

I nodded, and gestured to Revel to begin serving. I made no comment on Bee or how we had brought her into the dining room. Kettricken understood, and did not broach the topic. The meal commenced. It was served with considerably less formality than a dinner at Buckkeep Castle, yet more pomp than we usually observed at Withywoods. Nettle had instructed Revel to keep the visit simple, and though he had chafed at this, he had almost complied. So dishes were passed and I served the wine, and the conversation was casual and sometimes merry. We learned that Lady Solace often travelled with Kettricken now, for she had begun to have problems with her joints. At the end of the day, she welcomed her handmaid’s oil rubs as well as the hot drinks she concocted. Lord Stoutheart and Lady Hope had joined them simply because they were bound for their own homes for the winter after a pleasant visit at Buckkeep Castle. Withywood was on the route that they must travel. Indeed, the bulk of the servants and guards accompanying Kettricken were not her own people but Lord Stoutheart’s.

The smells of the food and the pleasant clatter of eating might have lulled another man. I took this time as my opportunity to study my guests. I considered Lady Solace’s presence as genuinely the product of Kettricken’s wish, but reserved judgement on Lord Stoutheart and Lady Hope. I wondered if the youthful assassin had come as part of Kettricken’s retinue. If he had, did Kettricken know the full of what he was or had the royal assassins added him as an anonymous member of her party? Perhaps he had been slipped in by Lady Rosemary as a stable-boy for the travelling party. I had often served in that capacity when Chade wanted eyes or ears somewhere he himself could not go. But the lad had been well dressed, not in a stablehand’s leathers, but in silk and linen. I watched Lant as he picked at his food and wondered again if he was a lure to distract me. I was glad we had not left Bee alone in the room, and decided I would inspect the entire nursery before I put her to bed there tonight. No, I abruptly decided. I would put the cradle by my bed and watch over Bee myself.

The relief I felt at that decision was palpable. I found my tongue and became more talkative and jocular, and Molly, Nettle and Kettricken all smiled to see me so. The conversation was lively, ranging from the late apple crop to the hunting prospects near Withywoods and Buckkeep Castle, to news of old friends who lived in the Mountain Kingdom. Kettricken asked after Molly’s children, and relayed the latest news from the princes. The minstrel and his two assistants arrived with their small drums and pipes, and added music to our enjoyment. The meal lasted long and the hour was late when the last dish was finally cleared from the table.

‘Shall we move to a cosier room?’ Molly suggested, for the large dining hall was inevitably draughty and cool on a stormy night.

‘Let’s,’ I agreed, and Kettricken replied, ‘A warmer room will be a pleasanter place for me to meet your little daughter.’

She did not ask, she assumed. I smiled at that. We were old partners at this sort of gaming. She had recognized my gambit, respected it, and now advanced her own. Nonetheless, I resolved that I would win this round against her for Bee as I had not won for Nettle. As Molly and I and our guests rose, I smiled but did not verbally respond to Kettricken’s words. I reached the cradle quickly and held the gauzy drapery aside to allow Molly to gather Bee up. She draped a blanket around the baby as she did so, and then waited confidently for me to once more lift my cradle. I managed it without a groan. A quick glance told me that Nettle had detained the former queen with some minor conversation, and that she then motioned for her to precede her out of the room. Molly and I came last, following our guests as Nettle led the way to a sitting room.

A stranger might have assumed this room was my den. In addition to comfortable seating and a roaring fire in the hearth, the walls were lined with shelves and held many books bound in the Jamaillian style. Above them, on racks, were older scrolls and vellums. There was a desk in the corner near the heavily draped window, and on it was an inkpot and blank paper. It was all for show. On these shelves, a spy might find a journal of the birds I had seen in the last four years, or notes on the operation of Withywoods. There were enough estate records and papers in this room to make at least a casual thief believe he had found my lair. But he would find no sign here of FitzChivalry Farseer or of the work I did for Chade.

Once again the cradle was carefully placed but as Molly moved to install Bee in it, Kettricken swept past Nettle to her side. ‘May I hold her?’ she asked, and there was such simple warmth in her request that no one could have refused it. Perhaps only I saw how Molly’s smile stiffened as she offered our bundled child to the former queen. As she took Bee into her arms, blanket and all, Kettricken’s brows lifted in subtle surprise. Nettle moved closer; I felt my older daughter’s Skill thrumming wariness. I think it was a pack instinct to protect the smallest that operated on a level so profoundly deep that she was scarcely aware of how she joined her Skill to mine. The moment could not be avoided. Molly lifted the light covering that had hidden our baby’s face.

I watched Kettricken’s expression as she looked down into Bee’s answering stare. For the baby was silent but awake, meeting her gaze with eyes as blue as her own. Kettricken gave so tiny a gasp that perhaps no one else remarked it. Her smile did not fade but it grew stiffer. She took two steps to a chair and sank into it. Then, as if determined to prove something to herself, she loosened the blanket that wrapped Bee.

My daughter was dressed in a confection of silk and lace such as none of Molly’s other children had ever worn. Even taken in to fit our tiny babe, for Molly had sewn it months before the birth, it only emphasized how tiny she was. Bee’s hands were curled onto her chest, and Kettricken stared at the fingers as small as a bird’s toes. As if daring herself, she touched Bee’s left hand with her forefinger.

The other guests had drawn closer, expecting that they, too, would be allowed to see her. Kettricken glanced up, not at me, but at Lady Solace, her healer. The woman had moved to the old queen’s shoulder to look at the child, and now as her gaze met Kettricken’s, I knew what her resigned countenance conveyed. I had seen it in the eyes of our household women. In her healer’s opinion, Bee was not a child who would remain long in this world. Whatever Kettricken thought of her pale hair and blue eyes, she said nothing of it. The old queen gently folded the blankets around her and covered her face again. The action chilled me for her fingers were as gentle as if she were shrouding a dead child. ‘She’s so tiny,’ she said as she offered Bee back to her mother. She offered sympathy. Somehow her words conveyed that she understood why Bee had not been announced to a world where she would stay only briefly.

As I watched Molly’s arms enfold her, I sensed her relief to have Bee safely back in her embrace. Molly’s back was straight as a guardsman’s, her eyes calm and her voice level as she added, ‘But perfect.’

‘And she’s growing every day,’ I lied heartily.

Silence followed my words and I wished I could call them back. Every woman worked out their import in her own mind, but only the healer spoke. ‘How tiny was she when she was born? Did she come early?’ The room stilled, awaiting a response.

But Molly only gathered Bee to her and walked over to stand by the fireplace. She rocked and patted her as she stood silently, and as if rebuked, the guests receded to take chairs. Even Kettricken found a comfortable seat and only Lady Solace remained standing. She studied Molly and suddenly observed, ‘You seem to have recovered very swiftly from your confinement, Lady Molly.’ An unspoken question. Is the baby truly hers?

‘I had an easy time of it,’ Molly replied modestly, and glanced aside from the men present in the room. I could feel how avid Lady Solace was to ask more questions; she had the healer’s drive to know every root of a problem and then apply her skills to solving it. Molly sensed that, too, and it made her uneasy. When she looked at our child, she saw nothing amiss, save that Bee was much smaller than all her other babies had been. But in the healer’s inquisitive glance, Molly read that the woman saw Bee as damaged or sickly. Were she given over into that woman’s care, she would attempt to fix our babe as if Bee were a broken toy. I felt a rush of antipathy toward the woman; how dared she see my Bee as less than perfect! And beneath that, a cold river of trepidation that she might, somehow, be right. The urge to get her safely away from the healer’s anxious eyes raced through me. I did not wish to hear anything the woman might say about Bee. My glance met Molly’s. She held our baby closer and then smiled.

‘You are so kind to be concerned for me. It is so thoughtful of you, for of course, I do tire easily. It is not easy to be a new mother at my age.’ Molly smiled round at her guests. ‘Thank you so kindly for understanding that my daughter will take up my duties as hostess, for I know you will understand my need to retire early. But please, do not feel you must emulate me. I know that my husband has longed for company, and seldom gets a chance to spend hours in conversation with old friends. I shall trouble him only to move Bee’s cradle for me, and then I shall send him right back to you.’

I hoped I covered my surprise. It was not just that she had made such a sudden decision but the imperious way in which Molly informed all gathered that she had done so. I had a glimpse of Nettle’s face; she was already calculating how to repair the social damage. In the set of her mouth I saw two things; she shared her mother’s fear that Lady Solace might find something wrong with Bee and her cold tide of certainty that the healer would be right.

But I had a cradle to lift. Again. And a long flight of stairs before me. I stitched a smile to my face and took up my load. Our guests treated us to a chorus of swift good-nights. Molly preceded me and I came behind, my pride creaking as much as my back. As soon as the door closed behind us, Molly whispered, ‘She sleeps in our room tonight, by my bedside.’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

‘I don’t like how that woman looked at Bee.’

‘Lady Solace?’

Molly was silent, seething now. She knew I wanted to be assured that she had taken no offence at Kettricken’s comment, but she would not give me that. She had been offended by Lady Solace and as Kettricken had brought her into our home, she extended her affront to the former queen. She knew it divided my loyalty, but offered me no relief. She walked briskly down the hall and then up the wide steps to our bedchamber on the next floor. I followed her more slowly, the cradle weighing more with every step. By the time I set it down in our bedchamber, Molly had settled Bee in the centre of our bed, and I knew she would sleep between us. Ah, just as well. I moved swiftly around the room, pretending to close the hangings tighter and build the fire higher, but actually checking alcoves and draperies for intruders. I kept my peace while she freed Bee of her finery and clothed her in a soft little nightshirt. It dwarfed her. As Molly folded the excess length around her feet, I asked her quietly, ‘You’ll be all right here if I go back down to our guests?’

‘I’m latching the door behind you,’ she told me.

I met her gaze. My mate’s stare assured me that our cub would be safe with her. ‘That would be wise,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll knock and speak through the door when I come up to bed.’

‘Well. That’s reassuring,’ she said quietly, and then, despite ourselves, we both laughed.

‘I’m sure I’m being silly to worry so,’ I lied to her.

‘I’m sure you’re being silly to think I’d believe you,’ she responded, and followed me to the door. After it closed behind me, I heard Molly struggle a moment with a stiff, seldom-used bolt. I heard it slide home, metal against metal. It was a good sound.

Kettricken and her companions stayed only a night. We did not bring Bee in to breakfast the next morning, and no one asked to see her. The minstrel was never summoned to look on her, in public or in private. Kettricken never mentioned that Bee should be documented as the true child of FitzChivalry Farseer. She was never entered into the formal lineage of possible heirs to the throne. Her life would not be like her sister’s; that was clear enough. Kettricken had evaluated my child and found her wanting. I could not decide if I felt angered by her dismissal of Bee or deeply grateful.

For there was another side to that coin. If Kettricken had acknowledged my child, even privately, it would have been a veil of protection around her. That she had not claimed Bee as part of the Farseer dynasty put her outside the circle and left her as I had been left for so many years; a Farseer who was both an asset and a liability to the throne.

Kettricken announced that she must leave shortly after noon, and that her friends were also travelling on to their home. The looks she gave me were deeply sympathetic. I think she assumed Molly and I wished to be left in privacy with our dwindling baby, to have what time we could with her before she was gone. It would have been a kind gesture, if Bee were truly failing. As it was, it was hard to bid her a fond farewell, for her departure almost seemed as if she were wishing a swift death on my daughter.

Nettle stayed on for a week. She saw Bee daily, and I think she slowly realized that although Bee was not thriving and growing, neither was she dwindling. She stayed as she was, eating and drinking, her bright blue eyes taking in everything, her Wit-spark strong in my awareness. At last, Nettle announced she must return to Buckkeep and her duties there. Before she left, she found a quiet moment to berate me for not telling her sooner of Bee’s birth, and to plead that if there was any change in the health of child or Molly, I Skill to her immediately. I promised her that without difficulty.

I did not Skill to Chade about his failed spy. I needed time to think. Bee was safe. Jest or test or threat, whatever it was, it was over. I had seen little of young Lant during Kettricken’s stay, but I did stand outside to be sure he was with her when she rode away. In the days that followed, I heard nothing from Chade about him.

In the weeks that followed, Molly’s sons came and went in ones and twos, some with wife and children, others alone. They inspected Bee with the fond and accepting equanimity of much older siblings. There she was, another baby, very small, but their mother seemed happy and Tom Badgerlock seemed content with his lot, so there was nothing for them to fret about here, and a great deal to worry about at their respective homes. The house seemed to grow quieter after the company had left, as if winter had truly settled into the bones of the land.

I enjoyed my lady wife and my child.

And I pondered my next move.