Fool's Errand

He regarded me soberly. “Is there anyone who knows more of the Skill than you do?”



“No, my Prince.” I did not add that I'd killed them all. I could not have said why I suddenly added his title. Only that something in his manner demanded it. “Then you are Skillmaster now. By default.” “No.” That I could answer, my tongue moving as swiftly as my thoughts. I took a breath. “I'll teach you,” I said. “But it will be as your father taught me. When I can and what I can. And in secret.”



Without a word, he reached his hand across the table to me, to seal the agreement with a touching of hands. Two things happened as our hands met. “The Wit and the Skill,” he stipulated. As the skin of my palm touched his, the leap of Skillspark between us sang. Please.



His plea was sloppily done, pushed by the Wit, not the Skill. “We'll see,” I said aloud. I was already regretting it. “You may change your mind. I'm neither a good teacher, nor a patient one.”



“But you treat me like a man, not 'the Prince.' As if your expectations of a man were higher than those for a prince.”



I didn't reply. I looked at him, waiting. He spoke hesitantly, as if the answer shamed him. “To my mother, I am a son. But I am also, always, the Prince and Sacrifice for my people. And to all others, always, I am the Prince. Always. I am no one's brother. I am no man's son. I am not anyone's best friend.” He laughed, a small strangled laugh. “People treat me very well as 'my Prince.' But there is always a wall there. No one speaks to me as, well, as me.” He shrugged one shoulder and his mouth twisted to one side wryly. “No one except you has ever told me I was stupid, even when I was most definitely being stupid.”



I understood suddenly why he had so swiftly succumbed to the Piebalds' plot. To be loved, in a familiar, unfearing way. To be someone's best friend, even if that someone was only a cat. I could recall a time when I thought Chade was the only one in the world who would give me that. I recalled how terrifying the threat of losing that had been. I knew that any boy, prince or beggar, needed that from a man. But I wasn't sure I was a wise choice for that. Chade, why couldn't he have chosen Chade? I was still formulating an answer to that when there was a knock at the door.



I opened it to discover Laurel. Reflexively, I looked past her for Lord Golden. He wasn't there. She glanced over her own shoulder with a small frown, and then back to my face. “May I come in?” she asked pointedly.



"Of course, my lady. I just thought



She entered and I closed the door behind her. She considered Prince Dutiful for a moment, and something almost like relief dawned on her face as she made a courtesy to him. She smiled as she greeted him with, “Good morning, my Prince.”



“Good morning, Huntswoman.” His reply was solemn, but he did reply. I glanced at the boy, and realized what she saw. The Prince had come back to himself. His face was somber, his eyes shadowed, but he was with us. He no longer stared within himself to a distance no one else could see.



“It is good to see you so well recovered, my Prince. I came to inquire as to when you wished to depart for Buckkeep. The sun is climbing and the day looks fair, if cold.” “I am pleased to leave that decision to Lord Golden.” “An excellent decision, my Prince.” She glanced about the room and then asked, “Lord Golden is not here?” “He said he was going out,” I replied. My words startled her. It was almost as if a chair had spoken, and then I realized fully my error. In the presence of the Prince, a mere servant like myself would not presume to speak out. I glanced down at my feet so no one would see the chagrin in my eyes. Yet again, I resolved to focus more closely on the role I must play. Had I forgotten all of Chade's earlier training?



She glanced at Dutiful, but when he added nothing to my words, she said slowly, “I see.”



“You are, of course, welcome to wait here for his return, Huntswoman.” His words said one thing, his tone another. I had not heard it done so well since Shrewd was King.



“Thank you, my Prince. But if I may, I think I will seek my own room until I am sent for.”



“As you wish, Huntswoman.” He had turned to look out the window.



“Thank you, my Prince.” She dipped a courtesy to his back. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment as she went to the door, but I read nothing there. When the door had closed behind her, the Prince turned back to me.



“There. Do you see what I mean, Tom Badgerlock?”



“She was not unkind to you, my Prince.”