Report for my master
Befriending the scarred man has not been as difficult as we thought it might be. I have realized that part of my reluctance for this assignment was that I feared his appearance. My greatest hurdle, I now perceive, was that I needed to overcome my fear of him before I could lull his fear of me.
It has not been easy to observe him while remaining unobserved as you requested. His blindness seems to have enhanced his other senses. Sometimes, if I arrive before he awakens, I can spend some little time before he is aware of me, but thrice now he has turned his face unerringly toward me and asked ‘Who is there?’ And his fearfulness is such a sad thing to behold that I have not had the will to pretend I am absent. Once, when I crept into the chamber, I found him fallen by the bed and unable to rise. In his distress and pain, he was unaware of me and struggled for some time. I judged that, although he still possesses some strength, he is in such pain that he is unable to raise his body from certain positions. I tried to be an observer only, but when I could stand it no longer, I scuffed my feet as if I had just entered and immediately called out to him that I would be happy to help. It was still difficult for me to put my hands on him and harder still for me to allow him to grip onto me to help him rise. But I overcame my dislike of his touch, and I think it gained me a great deal of regard and trust from him that I did so.
He has not been as reticent to speak to me as you said he might, but instead has shared many tales of his boyhood as King Shrewd’s jester, and stories of himself and Prince FitzChivalry when they were boys. He has also told me tales of his journey to the Mountain Kingdom with Queen Kettricken and his days there when all believed that King Verity was dead and the true Farseer lineage come to an end. And I have heard of the days he spent in the Mountains helping to seek the king, and of his times with Prince FitzChivalry there. Truly, they are tales of heroism and courage beyond any I could have imagined. And I have undertaken to write them down in a separate document, for I think there may be events there that even you have not heard about previously.
For now, I judge I have completed this assignment. I have gained his trust and his confidence. I know that was the sole aim of this exercise, but I will tell you also that I feel I have gained a friend. And for that, my good master, I thank you as much as I thank you for my other instruction.
As you bade me, I have kept my secret and neither seems to have perceived it. The test will be, of course, when they meet me in my true guise. Will either recognize me? I will wager the blind will perceive more than the sighted one.
The Apprentice
After I’d left the Fool with Motley, I had returned to my room, intending to think. But instead, exhausted by the Skill-healing, I had slept. And when at last I awoke, I had no idea what time of day it was.
I rubbed the sleep from my face, wincing at the tenderness around my eyes, then went to the looking-glass and discovered that indeed I looked as bad as I felt. I had feared to find darkness and bruising. Instead my face was puffy and swollen, with a few spatters of ink still. Well, I supposed that was better than looking as if I’d had both eyes blacked in a tavern brawl. I went to the window, opened the shutters and looked out on the setting sun. I felt rested, hungry and reclusive. The idea of leaving my room and venturing out into Buckkeep Castle to find food daunted me.
What was my role to be, now that I was FitzChivalry once more? Even now that I was rested, my efforts to put what had happened into political, social and familial context had failed. In truth, I’d been expecting that someone would summon me. I’d expected a missive from Kettricken, or a Skill-nudge from Chade or Nettle or Dutiful, but there had been nothing. Slowly it came to me that perhaps my relatives were waiting to hear from me.
I damped a towel in my ewer and put the cool bandage over my swollen face. Then I sat down on the edge of my bed, composed myself, stiffened my resolve and reached out to Nettle.
How are you? A question that might have been banal at any other time was now freighted with significance.
How are you? she echoed me. You’ve been so quiet!
I’m stunned, still.
Are you happy it happened?
I had to think about that for a long moment. I think I am. But I’m probably as frightened as I am happy. And you?
It changes so many things in such profound ways. We shared a time of quiet awareness of each other. Her thoughts touched me hesitantly. Yesterday. I am so sorry for the things I said. Today, when I think of how I struck at you, I’m appalled. Mother, when she was carrying, would have bursts like that. Lightning strikes of wild emotions. Burrich would send me out with the older boys and he would stay and face her and weather her storm. It always ended with her weeping in his arms. I felt so annoyed with her, for being so emotional and weak. Wryly she added, Why does understanding come so late to us?
Poor Burrich.
I felt her amusement. And poor Riddle, I suppose?
He can withstand it. As Burrich did. And so can I, Nettle. Your mother and I had a few moments like that when she was carrying Bee. It almost comforts me to imagine that they weren’t entirely my fault!
Actually, I’m certain they were. She was gently mocking me, I realized with surprise. And enjoyment.
You’re probably right, I admitted. I pulled my thoughts away from Molly before my sorrow could rise. Then I thought again of Bee. Now was not the time to insist to Nettle that I could be a good father and that I was determined to keep Bee at my side, because all of that would be balanced on the issue of what happened next to the resurrected FitzChivalry Farseer. Back to the matter at hand. At some point, we must gather to speak of what has happened. The quiet had begun to seem ominous to me.
We did. We wondered why you did not join us, and Lord Chade said that it was probably a very large shock for you. He urged us to give you time to reach your own decisions.
No one summoned me.
A moment of startled silence. No one summoned me, either. Not Chade, nor Dutiful. We simply gathered in Verity’s Tower early this morning and tried to make sense of what must come next.
Oh. I pondered that for a moment. Not including myself was not the same as being excluded. Of course they would meet there and at that hour. I pulled my thoughts back on course. Who was there?
Who you might expect. The king and queen, Lord Chade, Lady Kettricken, myself. Lady Rosemary. Riddle of course.
Of course? That last name had not seemed obvious to me at all. And what was decided?
About you? Nothing. We had much else to discuss. Your situation is worth an entire meeting on its own.
So, what was discussed?
I wish you had been there. Summarizing is not going to convey all the currents and tides that moved there. Lord Chade came thinking he might rebuke the queen for her headlong action and thinking that perhaps I had influenced her. Queen Elliania rapidly cleared those thoughts from his mind and I am pleased to say that both her husband and Lady Kettricken sided with her. Lady Kettricken then spoke of Riddle’s long service to Chade, to you, to the crown in general, and said that as it was completely within her power to do so, he is now Lord Riddle of Spruce Keep.
I’ve never heard of Spruce Keep.
Evidently it exists on the older maps of the Mountain Kingdom, with a different name in the Mountain tongue. It’s deserted now, and probably has been for several generations. The fortification there may not be standing at all, any more. But as the Mountain Queen pointed out, it matters little what is there. He now has title to it. Evidently it was one of her brother’s holdings and has sat empty since before his death. And she says that ‘lord’ is not an appropriate translation of the Mountain concept of what that title would be, but that also matters little. Riddle has the appropriate attitude of being willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others.
I sat and silently pondered that. Bitter mixed with the sweet. Kettricken was right. In the Mountains, the rulers were not named king or queen, but Sacrifice. And they were expected to be willing to do anything, even to accepting death, in the service of those they ruled. Had not Riddle done that, and more than once? And yet he had been judged too common to marry a Farseer daughter, even one that was a bastard. Denied for years. And in a night, solved. Why had it taken so long? Anger rumbled through me like thunder in the distance. Useless anger. Let it go.
Will you wed officially now?
It will be recognized that we are wed.
She was safe. My daughter and her unborn child were safe. The level of relief that washed through me must have reached Nettle.
You were that concerned for me?
It has long bothered me that you were not allowed to wed as you wished. And when Riddle told me there would be a child, well. I have been a bastard Farseer in Buckkeep Castle, Nettle. I would not wish it on anyone.
Have you eaten today?
Some breakfast. A crow took the rest.
What?
A long tale. One that involves Web.
Are you hungry? Come eat with us.
Where?
The high table. In the Great Hall. Suppressed amusement.
I may. I pulled my thoughts back into my own mind and stared at the wall. How could I do this? Just leave my room, walk down the stairs, enter the Great Hall and seat myself at the high table. Would a place be waiting for me? Would people stare at me and whisper behind their hands?
Impulsively, I Skilled to Chade. Was it hard to come out of the labyrinth and into the light?
Whatever are you talking about? Fitz, are you well?
Nettle invited me to join you for dinner. At the high table.
My heart beat twelve times before he responded. It is what will be expected, yes. Your absence today has been rather dramatic and suspenseful for some. A few nobles who had planned to depart early today, now that Winterfest is over, have delayed their departures. I think they hope for a second glimpse of the mysteriously young and alive FitzChivalry Farseer. Given all that happened last night, it will cause far more speculation if you do not appear at dinner. And your question makes sense to me now. For me, the only difficulty was to ease back into society rather than exploding into it. I was a rat lurking behind the walls for many years. Longing for society, for light and moving air. My transition was less abrupt and strange than yours will be. But as I told you last night, Fitz, it is time and past time. I will expect to see you at dinner.
I veiled my thoughts from him. Anxiety twisted my guts.
Dress appropriately, he suggested.
What? I felt a rush of dismay.
I could almost hear his sigh. Fitz. Straighten your thoughts. Tonight you will be FitzChivalry Farseer, the Witted Bastard, abruptly revealed as the hidden hero of the Red-Ship War. It’s your new role here at Buckkeep Castle, just as Lord Chade is mine. And Dutiful is the king. We all parade our roles, Fitz. Sometimes, in the comforts of our own chambers, we are who we are with old friends. Or at least who our old friends expect us to be. So, think well on it, and live up to the expectations of the folk of Buckkeep Castle, both noble and humble. It is not a time for you to be unremarkable. Prepare.
I found your note. And the crown.
Do not wear that!
I laughed out loud. It had not even crossed my thoughts to do so! I just wanted to thank you. And to let you know I understand.
He sent me no words, only a shared emotion that I had no name for. Snapping my teeth after meat I could not kill, Nighteyes might have named it. The poignant regret of nearly claiming something. I wondered what Chade had dreamed of claiming.
He departed from my mind. I sat, blinking. Slowly it came to me that Chade was completely right. So, my role was the mysterious returning Witted Bastard, wronged all those years ago. What part of that was untrue? So why was I so acutely uncomfortable at being that? I put my elbows on my knees and lowered my face into my hands, and then jerked upright when my fingers touched my swollen eyes. I got up and fetched my looking-glass and studied my reflection again. Could I have chosen a worse time to look peculiar?
I looked down at the clothing that Ash had chosen for me that morning. Then I scooped an armful of extra clothing from the travelling trunk, triggered the door and went back up to the lair. I did not have much time. I took the stairs two at a time and was speaking before I entered the room. ‘Fool, I need your help!’
Then I felt foolish. For both Ash and the Fool turned toward me. They had been seated at the table, feeding things to the crow. She had made a remarkable mess of bread bits and scattered grain and was now holding down a chicken bone as she stripped meat from it.
‘Sir?’ Ash responded as the Fool turned to me and said, ‘Fitz?’
I did not have time for subtleties. ‘I’m not sure my clothing is right. I’m to join the king and queen at the high table, with Lord Chade and Lady Nettle. There will be others there, looking on. And I must present myself as FitzChivalry Farseer, the Witted Bastard, returned from his sojourn among the Elderlings. Last night was one thing. They were taken by surprise. But tonight, Chade has said I must give them—’
‘The hero,’ the Fool said quietly. ‘Not the prince. The hero.’ He turned to Ash and spoke as if I were incompetent to answer. ‘What is he wearing?’
Ash bristled, just a trifle. ‘The clothing I chose for him earlier in the day.’
‘I’m blind,’ the Fool reminded him tartly.
‘Oh. I beg pardon, sir. He has on a brown vest decorated with buttons of horn, over a white shirt, the sleeves cut full, with a dozen or so buttons on long cuffs. The collar is open at the throat. He is wearing no jewellery. His trousers are a darker brown, with a line of buttons, also horn, down the outer seams. He’s wearing heeled shoes with a plain but lifted toe.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And his face is splotched with mud.’
‘It’s ink!’ I objected.
‘As if that matters,’ the boy muttered.
The Fool interrupted. ‘The buttons. How recent a fashion are they here?’
‘A few folk were wearing them last summer, but now everyone—’
‘Fitz, come here. Stand before me.’
I did as he told me, amazed to see that he almost looked animated. I wondered when anyone had last demanded his help. When he felt me standing before him, he lifted his hands and ran them over my garments as if I were a horse he was considering buying. He felt the fabrics, touched the rows of buttons, tugged at my collar and then touched my chin.
‘Don’t shave,’ he instructed me abruptly, as if I had been poised with razor in hand. ‘Ash. Can you cut the buttons from the trousers and leave no trace they were ever there?’
‘I think so.’ The boy sounded a bit sullen.
‘Come, Ash,’ the Fool cajoled him. ‘You grew up in a bawdyhouse, where daily women presented themselves to be what men fancied. This is the same thing. We must give them what they want to see. Not a fashionable gentlemen dressed to impress, but a hero returned from the outskirts of society. He has been hidden amongst us since he returned from the Elderlings, living as a humble rural landholder. Slice the buttons off the trousers! We must make him look as if he has not mingled in court society for close to two score years. Yet we must also make it appear that he has tried to dress to the style. I know that Chade knows well how to play this sort of a game. We will need powder and paint, to emphasize the old break in his nose and the scar on his face. Some jewellery, but nothing too fine. Silver suits him better than gold.’
‘My fox pin,’ I said quietly.
‘Perfect,’ the Fool agreed. ‘Ash?’
‘A hat. Almost no one goes bareheaded any more. But simpler. Without feathers, perhaps.’
‘Excellent. Go fetch. I think you’ve the head for this game. Indulge yourself.’
As easily as that, he had stroked the boy’s pride smooth. The lad flashed a smile at me as he rose and then vanished, headed toward the crawlway that would exit into Lady Thyme’s chamber.
‘The fox pin,’ the Fool demanded of me.
‘And there is now a silver narwhal button that the queen gave me last night,’ I remembered.
I took the button from my pocket and the fox pin from inside my shirt, where habit had placed it when I dressed. His crippled hands worked awkwardly at the collar of my shirt, folding the fabric and then securing it with the pin so that it suddenly looked and felt like a different garment to me. By the time he had finished and I had scrubbed the last of the ink spots from my face, Ash was back with a full armload of belts, vests, paint, powder and a very sharp knife. The lad sheared the buttons from my trousers and then plucked the loose threads away. He was good with face paint; I almost asked if he had applied it for his mother, and then bit back the question. He traded my belt for a heavier one, and my belt-knife for a more substantial blade, one that verged on being a short sword. The hat that he produced for me had undoubtedly been one for a lady, sixty or seventy years ago. Ruthlessly, he stripped the feathers from it before handing it over to the Fool, who felt it carefully, and then commanded the boy to restore two small feathers and add a leather strap with a showy buckle to the crown. The silver button they threaded with heavy twine and fastened to my wrist. ‘We should order a fine silver chain for that,’ the Fool suggested and the boy grinned, dug in a small box and produced one.
‘Excellent choice!’ the Fool praised him as he fingered the fishscale links, and in a trice they had redone the narwhal.
By the time they finished, they were both chortling and congratulating one another. Ash seemed to have lost all uneasiness around the Fool; indeed, they seemed to have established a swift camaraderie. ‘The final touch for the Witted Bastard,’ the Fool exclaimed. ‘Motley. Will you ride on his shoulder and be his Wit-beast for the evening?’
‘No,’ I said, appalled, even as the bird cocked her head at me and responded, ‘Fitz-Chivalry!’
‘She can’t, Fool. She’s not my companion. It will offend Web if I pretend she is. And I have no way to reassure her that she is safe in such a crowded and noisy space.’
‘Ah, well.’ The Fool understood immediately, even if he could not conceal his disappointment.
Ash had tilted his head and was looking at me speculatively. ‘What?’ I asked, thinking that he’d found something awry in my garments.
He glanced away from the Fool but tipped a nod toward him. ‘He says he was there. With you, in the Mountains, when you woke the dragons and sent them to aid King Verity.’
I was startled both by the lad being brave enough to ask such a question and the idea that the Fool would have spoken so freely to him of our time together. ‘It’s true,’ I managed to say.
‘But the minstrel didn’t mention him at all last night.’
The Fool gave an abrupt caw of laughter, and the crow immediately mimicked him.
‘And that is true also,’ I agreed.
‘But Lady Starling said she sang true.’
‘Everything she sang was true. I will leave it to you as to whether the truth can exist with details omitted, or if those lacks make a lie of it.’
‘He told me that he rode a dragon behind a girl who had been carved from the same stone as the dragon and that they flew up into the sky and saw some of the battles.’ The lad was getting bolder. The Fool gave me a sightless glance.
‘I myself saw him fly away on the back of a dragon. Girl-on-a-Dragon we called her. And if he has favoured you with an account of battles he saw, well, then you know more of it now than I’ve ever heard.’
A slow smile spread over the boy’s face. ‘Then he’s a hero, too.’
I nodded. ‘Without him, Queen Kettricken would never have reached the Mountains alive. And I would have died of an arrow wound before ever we went on our quest to seek King Verity. So yes, he is a hero, too.’ I glanced over at the Fool. His face was very still, his fingers perched on the table’s edge.
‘She left out a lot.’
‘She did.’
‘Why?’
Before I could respond, the Fool intervened. ‘Perhaps some day you should ask her that.’ I did not miss the lilt of amusement in his voice as he imagined such an encounter.
‘I have to go.’ A thought came to me and I dared it. ‘Fool, you should dress and come with me. I think you are strong enough to manage it, at least for an hour or so.’
‘No.’ His response was swift and strong.
I regretted my words instantly. The old light that had shone so briefly in his face, his pleasure in helping me and telling Ash stories, had vanished as if it had never been. The fear was back and he cringed back in his chair. I looked at him and wondered how he had ever managed to muster his courage to travel so far to find me, alone, hurt and blind. Had he expended the last of his spirit to do so, and would he never recover to be once more the Fool I had known?
‘You don’t have to,’ I said quietly.
He spoke swiftly, his words tumbling out. ‘I’m still in danger, Fitz. I know you think I’m foolish. I know you can’t possibly believe that here, in Buckkeep Castle, they could not only come after me but take me back. But they could. I know this as clearly as I know … as I know that you are my friend. There are very few things I know any more, Fitz. Few things I am certain about, but you are one of them. And the other is that the danger to me is real.’ His voice had become softer and softer as he spoke. On his last words, he folded his hands and looked down at them as if he could see them. Folded, they no longer resembled hands. There were knots of white and lumps of red and speckles of scars. I looked away from them.
‘I’ll stay with him, sir,’ Ash said quietly. I hadn’t asked him to, and wouldn’t have thought of it, but the moment he volunteered, I was grateful.
‘I know you have to go,’ the Fool said. Quiet desperation was in his voice.
‘I do.’ I’d felt several nudges from Chade, and Nettle was now pressing against my thoughts. It was important that I appear. Dutiful and Elliania were delaying their entrance until I could walk in with them. Much longer and it would appear that we slighted our nobles.
I’m coming now, I Skilled back to them and then closed my thoughts to them. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ I assured the Fool, and ‘Soon!’ the crow echoed me. She hopped closer to the Fool and tilted her head as if she were trying to look into his face.
‘Motley’s worried about you,’ Ash said as gently as if he were coaxing a child. ‘She’s trying to look into your face.’
I did not think it would work. I was not sure of what I felt as the Fool’s clenched hands slowly opened. He beckoned to the bird and she hopped closer. ‘Here’s a bit of bread for her,’ Ash whispered, and dropped a torn crust into the Fool’s hand. He closed his fingers on it, forcing the bird to stand near and take it in chunks as he held it.
‘Soon,’ I promised the Fool, and rose and left the table. I was halfway down the steps when Ash caught up with me.
‘Sir, sir,’ he called in a carrying whisper. ‘Let me adjust your collar.’ But when he was closer to me, he spoke other words by my ear, for me alone to hear. ‘He is not as strong as he tries to show himself to you. Earlier today, I found him on the floor near the hearth, trying to rise. It was hard for him to make himself take my hand. Harder for him to endure the pain as I helped him back to his feet. You see him walk, and he can rise from a bedside or a chair. But once on the floor, he could not lift himself.’ And again in his whisper, he added, ‘There, that’s much better.’
‘Thank you,’ I told him, letting my voice carry as he did. I caught his hand and gripped it briefly; I knew he understood my unvoiced gratitude. Hard news for me to hear, and harder to know that my friend concealed his infirmity from me. I went the rest of the way down the stairs to my old room with a heavy heart.
No sooner had I closed the hidden door behind me than I heard a forceful rap at the chamber door. ‘A moment,’ I called, and Riddle spoke through the door, saying, ‘That’s a moment more than I’m to give you.’ As I opened the door, he told me, ‘I’ve been sent to fetch you and bring you down to dinner regardless of objections or appearance. But actually, I’ll think you’ve done very well with yourself.’
‘And you,’ I returned his barbed compliment, for truly Riddle looked little like his normal self. His white shirt was cuffed and collared in purple. Kettricken’s Mountain colours. His trousers were black. He was allowed to wear simple boots. I felt envy.
He lifted his chin and showed me his profile. ‘You don’t think I look more noble-blooded already? It’s Kesir Riddle now, which Kettricken explains would translate more as “servant” than “lord” given the Mountain Kingdom philosophy on the duties of rulers. But tonight they will call me Kesir Riddle and I will sit at the high table.’
‘Were you sent to escort me there, lest I fail to arrive on time? Or am I to be seen with you to impart my paternal approval of your marriage to my daughter?’
‘Both, perhaps. Though I will admit it seems a bit odd that you should be in that role when you actually appear to be younger than I am.’
I had just shut the door behind me and locked it, or I think I would have insisted he stand beside me before the looking-glass. I turned my gaze on him and studied him in silence. Riddle was Riddle, and so I had seen him through the years. While he was scarcely a greybeard, when I surveyed him I noted the lines that now framed his mouth and that his hair was retreating from his brow. He grinned suddenly.
‘You’ve missed your moment to charitably disagree with me, Tom. Oh. It’s time to abandon that, too, isn’t it? Come, Prince FitzChivalry Farseer. It’s time to descend and face the hordes of well-wishers.’ He linked his arm through mine and marched me off with him as if he were escorting me to the gallows. As we walked the corridor and descended the stair, I pulled my awareness in. Prince FitzChivalry Farseer. Hero. Humble hero, coming out of a long exile in Withywoods after spending decades amongst the mythical Elderlings. I was the son of Chivalry Farseer, nephew to Verity. Cousin to King Dutiful. Defender of the crown. What would the folk, common and noble, want to see in this hand-crafted hero?
By the time we were striding past folk in the halls, I knew that I was taciturn, but not too grave. I would be as interested in people as Web was, and whenever possible I would turn the conversation to who they were and what they had done. I would talk little and listen well. Modesty about my exploits would serve me until Chade and I could take counsel and decide exactly which ones were for public discussion.
Ah, that evening. I had made us all tardy, and I realized belatedly that I had significantly heightened Nettle’s anxiety by doing so. I walked at her left side and Riddle on her right, and as we processed through the corridors to the Great Hall, she whispered to me that I must come to the dawn meetings in Verity’s tower if I was to understand what was happening in Buckkeep Castle. For tonight, follow Chade’s lead and if in doubt, Skill to her for direction. I successfully concealed my amusement at her dictatorial tone by watching Riddle endeavouring to master his nervousness.
The Great Hall had been rearranged for the occasion. There was the high table, on its dais so all might watch the king and queen dine. A second, lower, dais had been erected before it for chosen favourites and the dukes and duchesses in attendance. I found it reassuring as it might act as a sort of barricade for any lesser assassin who might try to eliminate me. In the centre of the hall, there was a third dais, bedecked with evergreen and holly thick with berries, as if we were just now commencing to celebrate Winterfest. Starling was seated there, before her harp, in the most extravagant minstrel’s garb that I had ever seen. As we entered, she struck a series of chords connected by stair steps of notes. She continued to play as we were seated, softening her volume as a page announced each of us as we took our places on the dais. I was introduced after Nettle and before Riddle, so the ripple of talk at my name muffled any astonishment there might have been to hear him named not only as a landed noble but wed to Lady Nettle.
The food was brought to us swiftly. I am sure it was excellent, though I barely noticed. I ate little and drank less and looked around with wide eyes as if I had never seen the Great Hall before. And in truth, I had not ever seen it from that vantage point. As the dishes were being cleared and wine and brandy brought, Starling struck up her harp more aggressively, and soon launched into a second rendition of last night’s song. I noted that she had modified it somewhat, and wondered if that had been Chade or Kettricken’s work. This night, there was mention of King Shrewd’s jester and how he had aided Kettricken’s escape and accompanied her on her flight to her father’s house. The Fool was given credit for rescuing me when I was injured and restoring me to Kettricken’s side. He was even mentioned as aiding me to wake the stone dragons that had risen to Verity’s aid. It pleased me to hear him given his due before such an august company and I wished he had been there to hear it.
I was even more astonished at the end, when after her final notes had nearly finished vanishing to a whisper, she suddenly struck up a reverential air. From the far end of the hall came Lady Rosemary, bearing what appeared to be a jewel-studded casket. As she approached, Starling sang of Verity’s regard for me, and how he had left me a final token of that respect, to be claimed by me if ever I returned to Buckkeep Castle. I divined what was in the box even before Lady Rosemary presented it to the king and queen. Dutiful opened the chest and lifted from it the steel circlet. It had been polished and it shone. With trembling hands he took out his father’s scroll. I knew with heartfelt certainty that he had never seen or read it before, for his voice shook as he read Verity’s words. He carried the crown with his lady beside him until he stood in the centre of the room near Starling’s harp. As she played, he called me forth, to kneel before him while he set it on my brow. ‘Prince FitzChivalry Farseer, son of King-in-Waiting Chivalry Farseer,’ he publicly named me.
And so I was crowned twice that day.
Then he bade me rise and embraced me. A roar of acclaim rose and for a time faces and sounds seemed to recede around me. Then, ‘Don’t faint!’ my king exhorted me quietly, and I drew a deep breath lest that happen. I followed them back to the high dais, the circlet cold and heavy on my brow.
A long evening followed. The tables were cleared and carried away. Kettricken’s guard was formed up around me, to honour me, as every duchy was named and their nobility summoned to greet me. Duchess Celerity was hardest for me to face, but she had said her words the evening before, and so she but took my hands and wished me well as her husband offered me a stiff bow.
The Duke and Duchess of Tilth presented another difficulty, as they escorted their daughter, a sturdy girl of perhaps seventeen years, and introduced her as Lady Meticulous, ‘unspoken for’ as yet. They told me that she enjoyed riding and hawking and extended an immediate invitation that I might join them on the morrow for a winter hunt. The girl looked at me with such frank and undismayed appraisal that I barely managed to respond that I had a previous engagement and regrettably could not join them. The duchess immediately suggested that perhaps I would be free the next day. I was horribly grateful when Nettle leaned over to say that as she had not seen me for some time, she hoped to occupy most of my days for the next month.
‘Ah, then we shall have to invite you to Tilth in the spring,’ the girl’s father observed brightly as his wife folded her lips in disappointment, and I managed to nod acquiescence to that.
I do not know how many hours we were there. People came, presented themselves, commented on past connections, many of them extremely tenuous, and then moved on. The noise of conversation in the hall was a constant. I looked up to see that Starling had her own circle of admirers asking questions about her adventures. Both she and her husband appeared to be basking in the crowd’s adoration. As I was not. I envied them their ability to relax and be flattered. I watched the crowd with an assassin’s eyes, noting faces and names, alert for signs of hidden hostility, storing information and connections until I thought my brain would burst. The stares and glares that I noted were not many, but I suspected that for every minor noble who openly disdained the Witted Bastard there would be six who would smile to my face while imagining putting a knife in my back.
The smile on my face felt stiff and aching long before King Dutiful declared that we were all sated with too much good food, good wine and good fortune and that we would now retire. We left as we had arrived, a formal exit from the Great Hall accompanied by the Buckkeep Blue Guard all the way to his private chamber.
It was a large and comfortable room with many cushioned chairs, a wide hearth with a hearty fire in it, and a table laden with yet more refreshments and a selection of brandy and wines. Even when King Dutiful had assured the serving staff that we were fine and dismissed them, I still felt somewhat constrained by the company. They were my closest friends and my family, and it took me a few silent moments to identify my problem. I had been a different person to every single one of them. What role was I expected to play this night? And if I decided to simply be myself, which self was that? The killer Chade had trained, Dutiful’s protector and mentor, Riddle’s brother-in-arms, Nettle’s negligent father? All me and all not me.
Kettricken looked directly at me and heaved a great sigh. ‘Oh, my friend, I’m so glad it’s all over,’ she said, and went to a chair and sat down.
‘It’s never over,’ Dutiful observed wearily.
‘But the worst of it is,’ his mother asserted. ‘For years it has been like a barbed thorn in my heart that Fitz did so much, sacrificed so much, and only a few knew of it. Now they know at least some of what he did. Now he can come home to us, can eat meals with us and walk in the gardens and ride in the hunt, and answer to his rightful name. And his little girl will soon arrive here and come to know the rest of her family!’
‘Then will we reveal that Badgerlock is also Fitz? It may bring the rest of his deeds to light if we do, for there are many who know that Badgerlock and Riddle were among those who accompanied Prince Dutiful to Aslevjal. Will people be offended that Lady Molly of Withywoods was married to the Witted Bastard and they lived right under their noses all those years?’ Nettle posed her query to all of us.
‘But,’ Kettricken said, and then fell unhappily silent.
‘Let people make up their own explanations,’ Riddle chuckled. ‘I imagine there will be many who will claim to have known all along, and they will be the ones least likely to ask questions.’
I shot him a gaze of pure admiration. I looked to Chade to see him share that approval, but the old man looked distracted and displeased.
‘It will all be sorted out,’ Dutiful said comfortingly, ‘but it will take time. And simply because Fitz can now move openly within Buckkeep Castle does not mean that he will joyfully give up his quiet life and private ways.’ Regretfully, he added, ‘Or that all will be glad to see the Witted Bastard return to Buckkeep and polite society.’
Chade abruptly interrupted. ‘Nettle, I must ask you to apply your Skill for me. It’s Sildwell. I sent him with messages and gifts to Withywoods. He was to Skill to me when he arrived safely. All this evening, I’ve felt him pecking at my thoughts like a woodpecker on a tree, but his Skill ebbs and flows as if blown by the wind.’
‘Sildwell? The apprentice who left the Silver Coterie?’ She looked startled and my heart sank a bit. What had Chade been up to?
‘Yes. As he seemed unable to get along with his fellows in the coterie and you gave him leave to depart, I thought to train him as a messenger, one that could occasionally employ his Skill-talents as well. He’s a tough young man and an excellent horseman.’
‘His Skill was erratic,’ Nettle observed somewhat acerbically. ‘And his manners appalling.’
‘Practice may improve both of those things,’ Chade replied. ‘In any case, I sent him off to Withywoods with messages and small gifts for FitzVigilant and Bee and so on. And he seems to be trying to tell me he has reached Withywoods but he cannot find Bee. And FitzVigilant has been injured. Or burned. I cannot make out what he is trying to convey to me. If you would reach to him?’
‘He can’t find Bee?’ I interrupted.
Nettle shook her head at me, her mouth pinched with disapproval. ‘Take no alarm. Sildwell is disorganized and ill-mannered. And possibly drunk. There were a number of reasons I chose to discontinue his Skill-training. Let’s not panic.’
I took a breath. Chade was scowling. He’d been caught going behind Nettle’s back to co-opt a former apprentice as his personal Skilled messenger. I wondered if he’d intended more than that. I noticed he’d mentioned Lant but said nothing of Shun. Was she a bigger secret than I’d realized?
Nettle took a seat on the divan. ‘Let’s resolve this swiftly and put everyone’s mind at ease. Dutiful, will you join us? Fitz?’
Although a joining of Skill-strength did not require physical proximity, each of us moved to be seated beside her. Chade came to stand behind her. As I took my place and opened my Skill to theirs, it felt rather like wading into a river. No. Being a stream merging with a river. Together, we rushed out toward the messenger.
I knew nothing of Sildwell, so I let the others guide us. We reached, I felt the connection, and then it failed and faded. I had never felt such a thing in the Skill. I tried not to let my puzzlement be a distraction. Nettle gathered us as if she were plaiting a rope and again she reached.
Skillmistress! Sildwell seemed as startled as he was relieved. I cannot … And he was gone, like a voice swept away by wind or the glimpse of someone in a heavy snowfall. Fog … stables fire … no one knows of … strange folk.
Fire in my stables? Fear leapt in me and I shoved it down relentlessly. I glanced at Chade. His eyes were wide with fear. I reached behind Nettle, took his hand and squeezed it. Small and tight, I sent a thought to him. Don’t distract the others. First we discover the truth. I felt his assent but his fear did not abate. I tried to wall in mine. Nettle was taking control of Sildwell. I felt her reach and try to shape him into himself.
Apprentice Sildwell. Gather yourself. Focus. Choose one thought to convey. Be calm. Form the thought in your mind. Hold it. Polish it. Now. Slowly. Extend the thought to me.
So calm and structured. As she instructed Sildwell, I felt Nettle reinforce his awareness of himself as a solid and separate entity from the Skill-current that we all navigated. She abruptly spoke aloud to me. ‘Da. Calm yourself. I need your strength right now. Lord Chade. Now is not the time for this panic.’ Then, I felt her dismiss us and put her focus back on the youngster. I tried to help her as she attempted to wrap him in confidence. And, Now, she invited him.
There is no Lady Bee here. Some folk died in a fire. They all are strange. Then, as if something else flowed and washed against us, his thoughts were swept away. All was fog, as if we were on a grey sea in a grey fog in a constant wash of grey rain. Frightening … That thought broke through stronger than the others, and then there was nothing. No sense of anyone, anywhere in the Skill-current.
Chade’s grip on my hand had tightened. In that physical touch, our rising fears became one thing. I could hear his shuddering breath.
Later. Rest now. Nettle arrowed the thought at Sildwell with a fierce strength, but it was an arrow sent toward a target that no one could see.
We were abruptly seated on a divan in the comfortable chamber in Buckkeep. I shot to my feet. ‘I’m going now.’
‘Yes,’ Chade confirmed. He gripped the back of the divan with both hands.
‘What was that?’ Dutiful demanded of all of us. I scarcely heard him. Dread was rising in me like cold water in a flood. Something was terribly wrong at Withywoods. A fire in the stables? Lant injured? Bee was there, as good as alone if Lant were injured. So far away from me. ‘I’m leaving,’ I repeated. My voice had no strength. Chade nodded and reached for me.
‘Perhaps a dragon,’ Nettle said softly. ‘We know that the Stone Dragons often distorted memory and perception when they over flew a battle.’
‘The confoundment,’ Elliania confirmed. ‘Many of our warriors spoke of it. The battle would be lost and over, and few had more than fragmentary memories of what had happened.’
‘And the living dragon Tintaglia was able to bend our thoughts and change our Skilling,’ Nettle recalled slowly. ‘Dragons have visited Bearns. It may be that one had descended on Withywoods. We should wake Thick and see if he can reach through the fog and get some sense out of Sildwell.’
Chade gripped my arm, leaned heavily on me for a moment. ‘To my room. I have everything you need there.’ He suddenly pulled himself up straight. ‘There is no time to lose.’
As we moved toward the door, his strength seemed to come back to him. ‘Da?’ Nettle asked in consternation.
‘I go to Withywoods tonight, via the stones. Riddle, arrange a horse for me, please.’
‘Don’t you think that—’
I didn’t want to waste words or time. I spoke over my shoulder. ‘No Lady Bee there? A fire? Regardless of his Skill-ability, all is not well there. I should never have left her there alone.’ I reached the door, Chade beside me.
‘FitzVigilant is with her,’ Nettle reminded me. ‘He’s young but he has a good heart, Fitz. He would not let harm come to her. I think something or someone has befuddled Sildwell. His talent was always uneven.’ She tried to speak calmly but her voice was a notch too high.
‘He said Lant was injured. Or burned? If he’s injured he can’t protect anyone. I’m going now. By the pillars.’ The unease I had felt was building to a panic in my chest. I tried to push it down. Be calm. No wild imaginings. Just get there and find out what was real. But the messenger’s words stabbed me with a thousand fears. A fire. Bee missing. Had the fire spread to the manor? Had she hidden in the walls and died there, unseen? I dragged in a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable. And calm. ‘Once I am there, I will let you know what has happened.’
Nettle opened her mouth to object but Riddle spoke quickly. ‘Fitz is right. Let him go. Fitz. Do you want me with you?’
I did. He had Skill-strength to lend and was good with a sword and I had no idea what I was going into. But I would not again leave a daughter unguarded. ‘No. But thank you, my friend. Guard what we love here and my mind will be easier for that.’
I had one glimpse of Nettle’s grateful face and then the door closed behind us.
‘Let’s get you on your way,’ Chade insisted. From somewhere he had summoned the strength of a much younger man. He hastened down the corridor and up the grand stairs. He took them two at a time and I kept pace with him.
‘Chade?’ I began and ‘Not yet,’ he replied breathlessly. His stride lengthened. He ran and I followed. He slammed into his room, startling his valet and a servant stoking the hearth-fire. He dismissed them both abruptly, and they went with much bowing to me, a performance that made me uncomfortable until Chade shut the door on them. Once we were alone, he threw open his wardrobe. ‘Your feet are smaller than mine. Can you manage in my boots still?’
‘I imagine so,’ I said, and he pulled out a heavy pair of riding boots. A thick cloak and a woollen shirt followed, billowing as he threw them toward me.
‘Change while I talk,’ he instructed me, and his voice was fraught with emotion. I was already dragging on the boots.
‘I had bits of Skilling from Sildwell before I asked Nettle to help me. All of it was disturbing. He could find no sign of Lady Bee or Lady Shun. “They are unknown here” he said at one point. Or seemed to say, through a fog and a roaring. He described a “great fire” and I think he told me that your folk there seemed unconcerned by it. You experienced what it was like, trying to receive his thoughts.’
‘When?’ I demanded. How dare he hide that from me! ‘How long ago?’
He stared at me, his anger rising to meet mine. ‘Moments before I asked Nettle for help. Did you think I would wait?’ He handed me a very plain sword in a leather sheath. There was dust on it, and the belt that held it was stiff. I buckled it around me without comment. I drew it out, looked at it, and sheathed it again. Plain but very well made.
‘Give me that,’ Chade suggested, and I realized I was still wearing the sword crown. I pulled it free and handed it to him. He tossed it on his bed. I dragged the woollen shirt over my head and shoved my arms out of the sleeves. As I swept the cloak over my shoulders, I told him, ‘Tell the Fool why I’ve gone. He’ll understand.’
‘Skill to me as soon as you arrive there. Please.’
‘I shall.’
I did not care who turned as I passed or who stared after me as I pounded down the great stair and through the halls of Buckkeep Castle and out into the courtyard where a boy held the reins of a fine roan mare. Her eyes were bright with intelligence, her long legs straight and strong. ‘Thank you,’ I called as I seized her reins and mounted. As I wheeled her toward the gate, the lad shouted something about Lord Derrick’s horse, and I saw that a long-legged black was being led toward the steps. I’d taken the wrong horse. But too late. Nothing would turn me back now.
‘Go!’ I told her, voice and heels, and leaned forward.