“No. ” She spoke firmly.
“I beg your pardon?” Her single word startled me.
“You are going to escort me back to my sitting room. There will be food waiting there. Fitz, you will not leave. Nor will I allow you to waste away. I see every bone in your face, and your hands are skeletal. Come. Walk with me. ”
I did not want to. I wanted to go to my room and sleep forever. Or get on a horse and ride off into the darkening winter night. Instead Kettricken took my arm and we paced through Buckkeep, up the stairs, and to the door of her sitting room, adjacent to her bedchamber. We entered, and she shooed away two ladies waiting for her.
A table of food and tea awaited us. The soup had been covered to stay warm, and the bread was soft and fresh. The tea had mint in it, and chamomile, and a rich spice I did not know. I ate without appetite, because it was easier than resisting her. I drank the warming tea and felt like a hard-ridden horse that had finally reached the stables. My sorrow had not eased, but it was giving way to weariness. Kettricken put another log on the fire. She came back to the table but did not sit down. Instead she walked behind me, set her hands to my shoulders, and kneaded them. I stiffened at her touch. She leaned down to speak by my ear. “There comes a time to stop thinking. For you that time is now. Drop your head forward. ”
And I did. She rubbed my shoulders and my neck and spoke of other times. She made me remember the Mountains and how she had tried to poison me the first time we met. She spoke of our long trek in search of Verity, and recalled to me my wolf and how we had once moved as one. She spoke of the pain of finding Verity, and finding him so changed. And giving him up to his dragon.
The fire burned low, and outside the narrow window the winter day faded. “Get up. You need to sleep. ” She led me to her bedchamber and drew back the rich purple coverlet to expose the clean white linens. “Rest here. No one will come to find you or ask you questions. Just sleep. ”
“In the tea,” I said, and she nodded.
“For your own good,” she replied, “and fitting, after what you did to Riddle. ”
I could not find an argument. I lay down on her clean sheets in the clothing I’d worn for days. She pulled the boots from my feet and covered me over as if I were a child.
In the dead of night I stirred. Wakefulness flowed back into me. I was a cup full of sorrow, but that sorrow was stilled, like a pain that abates as long as one does not move. Slowly it came to me that I was not in my own bed. Kettricken’s scent was all around me. There was warmth and pressure down my back. She slept beside me, against my back with her arms around me. So wrong. So right. I took both her hands in mine and held them against my chest. I felt no desire other than to be held, for someone to sleep beside me and guard my back. She drew a deeper breath and sighed it out on a word. “Verity. ”
Sorrow and loss never die. We can put them away in a chest and lock it tight, but whenever it is opened, even a crack, the aroma of lost sweetness will rise to fill our lungs to heaviness. Verity, lost to the Skill just as Bee was. Sometimes, to share a loss is the closest to balm. I missed my king and wished I had his strength. “Verity,” I agreed softly. “And Bee,” I added. I closed my eyes and sleep pulled me under again.
Before dawn she woke me. She wore her thick winter nightrobe, and her short hair stood out in a gray halo around her pink scalp. “You should go by the secret door,” she said, and I nodded. There was enough troubling Dutiful without scandal between his mother and his cousin. My body ached and I did not put on my boots, but carried them. She followed me to the door of the garderobe. My concealed exit was in the wall of that small chamber. There she caught my arm, turned me, and embraced me again. I kissed her brow, and then her cheek. As I let her go, she leaned up to kiss my mouth. “Do not punish yourself, Fitz. Grieve, but do not punish yourself. And do not run away from us, please. We need you here, now more than ever. ”
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I nodded but did not answer. Did she know what a heavy harness she had just put upon me?
The passage I entered, like all things that touched Kettricken, was clean and bare. There were no mouse droppings, no cobwebs there, and I traversed the distance by touch to Chade’s old den. I entered it as softly as I could, hoping not to wake the Fool.
But he was in a chair before the fire. His hands were held up in front of him, and he moved his fingers against the dancing light of the flames. “There you are,” he greeted me. “I was worried about you when you didn’t come by. ”
I stopped. “You thought I’d run away. ” It was a bit daunting to realize how many of my friends believed I’d do that.
He wagged his head in a dismissive way. “There’s a pattern. ”
“I did that once!”
He folded his lips and said nothing. His fingers continued their dance.
“Can you see your fingers?”
“I see darkness against a lighter background. And it limbers them. Even though it hurts. ” He waggled them again. “Fitz. Words can’t express—”
“No. They can’t. So let us not try. ”
“Very well. ” Subdued.
Bee. Bee. Bee. Bee. Think of something else. “I was glad to see you up and out of this room yesterday. ”
“It was frightening for me. I wanted to come to you. To speak to Elliania. But … well. Not yet. I know that I must push myself. I cannot be a rat in the walls. I need to become lithe and strong again. So we can go back to Clerres, and end that place. Avenge our child. ” Like a suddenly billowing flame, his fury, hatred, and pain erupted in his voice.
I could not take him with me. I told him the truth in a way that seemed a lie. “I have no stomach for plotting just now, Fool. All I can feel right now is sorrow. ” And shame. I knew this stillness. I recalled it from Regal’s torture chamber. One becomes motionless, assessing how badly one is hurt. One asks, Can I move without dying?
“I understand, Fitz. Mourn you must. Your mourning is the seed that will grow into fury. I will wait for you to be ready. Though it grieves me to think of those who suffer there, waiting for us. ”
The eyes he turned toward me were blind but I still felt the rebuke in his gaze. I spoke flatly. “It’s no good, Fool. You are putting the spurs to a dead horse. ”
“You have no hope, then?”
“None. ” I did not want to talk about it.
“I thought that surely you would go after her. ” He sounded as hurt as he was puzzled by my lack of fire.
“I would have if I could. I took the elfbark tea to be proof against their fogging magic. It has blanketed my Skill. I can no more go through a Skill-stone now than you can. ”
His fingers paused in their dancing. He rubbed the scarred tips of those fingers together and said, “Ah, but once I could. ”
“And now neither of us can. ”
“But your limitation will pass. Your Skill will return. ”
“I believe it will, though even that is not certain. Some of the older scrolls speak of quenching forever the Skill in those who used it for ill purposes. And they used elfbark to do it. ”
“How much did you take?”
“Two doses. One of weak elfbark here. And one of delvenbark as I got closer. I believe it will pass. What I cannot predict is how long it will take. ”
He was silent for a time. “I had intended that the first part of our journey to Clerres would be made through the stones, as when Prilkop and I traveled there. ” He was subdued.
“It seems you have it all planned out. ”
The firelight glinted oddly on his skin as he shook his head. “No. I have planned only the possible. The impossible I have yet to map out. ”
“Truly?”
“Yes. We will leave from the dungeons of Buckkeep. I have learned from Ash that several times he was ordered to await the return of Lord Chade in a certain corridor. Once he crept forward, peered around a corner, and saw his master emerge from a s
tone wall. A wall with a rune on it. ”
“It goes to Aslevjal. ”
The Fool made a sound of exasperation. “You might at least pretend to be surprised. ”
It came to me like a curtain parting. He was trying to distract me from my mourning. Trying to lift me from a pain we shared. I tried to find something new to tell him. “It was part of Chade’s downfall. His curiosity. He traveled by the stones too often, creeping off to Aslevjal to prowl the corridors there in search of more Skill-knowledge. Nor did he follow the precaution of waiting at least three days between journeys. He would go and return in a single night, and sometimes do so for several nights in succession. ”
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“No amount of curiosity could lure me back to that place,” he said, and there was a shadow of old dread in his voice. The fire crackled and we both recalled our torments there.
“Yet you would go back there as the first part of your journey to Clerres?”
“I would. Such is my determination. Such is my need. ”
I said nothing. The fire spoke in the silence, hissing and popping when it hit a pocket of sap.
“Very well, then,” he said at last. “If you will not plan this with me, then what will you do, Fitz? What are your plans for the rest of your life?” He made a small dismissive sound and asked, “What will you do tomorrow?”
His question was a dash of cold water in my face. What would I do? I had no woman to care for and protect, no child to raise. “I just woke up. I don’t even know what I’ll do today. ”
He frowned. “It’s morning? Not late at night?”
“Morning. Dawn. ” Another day of Bee being gone. Tonight would be another night of the same. And tomorrow would be another empty dawn. What would I do with my life now? I knew. But it was not a choice I intended to share with anyone.
I became aware of her an instant before the tapestry moved. I was looking at it as the corner lifted and Spark appeared in her tidy dress of Buckkeep blue. She wore a little white cap on her head today, edged with lace and decorated all round with horn buttons steeped blue. A pretty girl who would grow to be a lovely woman.
As Bee never would.
“Excuse me, sir. I went by your room with a breakfast tray and left it there for you. But …”
She hesitated and I knew her difficulty. I hadn’t been there and my bed hadn’t been slept in.
“I’m here. I’ll find my breakfast when I go down. Don’t be concerned, Spark. ”
“Oh, it wasn’t the food, sir. I was given a message by the steward, to be given to you as soon as you were awake. ”
“And?”
“The king will be meeting with the Duke of Farrow this morning, in his private chambers. He desires you wait in the antechamber so he can speak with you afterward. ”
“Very well. Thank you, Spark. ”
“You’re very welcome, sir, I’m sure. ” She hesitated. She was going to offer me her condolences. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want to hear anyone say again how sorry they were that Bee was gone. She saw my face and just nodded. To the Fool she said, “Sir, did you want your breakfast now, or in a while?”
The Fool made a sound between amusement and disgust. “Actually, I’m just off to bed. Perhaps later, Spark?”
“Certainly, sir. ” She dropped an effortless curtsy, and I thought I glimpsed a brief smile, as if this were a new skill and one that pleased her. Then she whisked herself away.
“Well, Dutiful has saved you for today. But I warn you, Fitz: If you don’t decide what you will do with the rest of your life, someone else will decide it for you. ”
“Scarcely a new situation for me,” I reminded him. “I’d best go and wait for Dutiful to see me. ”
“You’d best head to the steams before you go to meet the king. I actually smelled you before I heard you. ”
“Oh. ” I scowled as I realized I was still wearing the clothes I’d had on when I left Ringhill Keep. And I’d slept in Kettricken’s bed in them.
“One thing still bothers me,” the Fool said suddenly. He had leaned back in his chair, and his fingers were once more dancing between him and the fire’s light. The pale fingers gleamed almost golden.
“What’s that?”
“Shine told you that Dwalia led them into the Skill-pillar. Not Vindeliar, who I suppose has some measure of Skill or a similar magic. But Dwalia. I knew her. She is a Servant, through and through. Not a drop of White in her, and certainly not Skilled. How did she do it?”
What did it matter? She’d done it. I cast my mind back for the details of Shine’s account. “Shine said that Dwalia made them all hold hands. Then she put on a glove before she touched the stone. A very thin glove with silver fingertips …”
We both understood in the same instant. I stared as he turned his scarred fingers toward himself as if he could see the sliced surfaces. “I wondered why they took them,” he observed. “Now we know. ”
They had sliced the Skill from his fingertips, sewn it into a glove, and used it to take my child into the stone. I had to gasp to remember how to breathe. I felt a surge of revulsion and then, for a blink, fury cracked through my sorrow.
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I had to look aside from him for a time. When I looked back, he was rubbing the tips of his scarred fingers together, as if recalling when they were silvered with magic.
Chapter Thirty
Prince FitzChivalry
In contrast with the days of King Shrewd, when Skillmaster Galen judged that the Skill and all knowledge of its use be confined to as few practitioners as possible, Lady Nettle, from the beginning of her service as Skillmistress, suggested that even those with lesser levels of ability be retained and given whatever tasks they could do. Under her leadership, the summons to Skill-students has been sounded every ten years and coteries formed as soon as practitioners reached journeyman status.
Thus over a dozen coteries now exist in service to the Farseer reign, and nearly a score of Solos. Each of the watchtowers along the coast and Chalcedean borders includes a Skilled one among their troops, and every duchy has a coterie devoted to its needs. Skilled ones have been included in diplomatic parties sent to the Out Islands, Bingtown, and Jamaillia. The ability to swiftly communicate information about threats to the kingdom has facilitated the dispatching of troops. Flood-destroyed bridges, highwaymen, and pirates are but a few of the menaces that have been swiftly met because quick communication was available.
—Scribe Tattersall, An Account of Skillmistress Nettle’s Use of the Skill
In my room I found my cooling breakfast and clothing laid out for me. I stared at the food with no appetite, then moved it around a bit so it would appear I had eaten some. Even as I did it, I wondered why I bothered. Did I think Spark or Ash would report that I wasn’t eating? To whom? Ridiculous.
I went down to the Buckkeep steams, my clean clothing under my arm. The steams were a grand tradition in Buckkeep, a place where roaring flames met icy water. There was a chamber for washing, a chamber for steaming and sweating, and then a place to wash off that sweat and clothe oneself. There was a section for guardsmen and servants. And another set of chambers that I had never visited, for nobility, including the royal family. Today I ventured there.
I was both disturbed and annoyed to find there was an attendant waiting to take my garments, both clean and dirty, to pour warm water over me in the bathing pool and offer me soap and a scrubbing cloth, to douse me again, to rinse me, and then to offer to dash the water onto the red-hot sides of the iron firebox to create steam for me. I greeted his earnest ministrations with silence for the most part. I tried not to be surly and resentful. It was difficult. The steams had once been a place where I could be alone with my thoughts, or enjoy the rough camaraderie of the guardsmen. Gone.
Clean and dry, I assured the man I could clothe myself and waved him out of the small dressing chamber. There
was a bench there, and even a looking-glass and brushes. I put myself into reasonable order.
The antechamber of Dutiful’s audience chamber was a comfortable room with a fire in the hearth and benches and chairs with cushions. Large paintings of hunting scenes in gilt frames enlivened the stone walls. One could smoke or have a cup of tea. Two servants stood ready to bring whatever the waiting guest might request. I was not the only person waiting for time with Dutiful. One elderly woman in a button-cluttered gown and an elaborate hat was already deep in her cups. A simply clad fellow had spread several scrolls out on a table and was adding notes to them as he waited. Two young nobles were seated at opposite ends of a bench and glaring at each other. A dispute for Dutiful to resolve.
Eventually, the door opened and the Duke of Farrow emerged with his advisor. He was greeted by his two serving men, afforded me a hasty bow, and hurried on his way. I was surprised, as were the others who were waiting, when the page immediately indicated that I should enter. One cleared his throat loudly, but the page ignored him cheerily and escorted me in.
This chamber was elaborately appointed and featured a more martial aspect than the antechamber had. The paintings were of battles and heroes, and the spaces between were occupied by weapons won in conquest. There was a throne for the king situated in the middle of the room, on a dais. At the other end of the room there was an area with a small table and comfortable chairs arranged around it. It was close to a cozy hearth, and light refreshments were set out on the table.
That was not where Dutiful was.
He sat on his throne, robed and crowned, and I could not mistake that my audience was with King Dutiful of the Six Duchies, not my cousin. I advanced slowly into the room. When I glanced back, the page had vanished. But there was no welcoming smile on Dutiful’s face to put me at ease, and no casual greeting.
When I reached what I judged was the proper distance, I bowed. “My king. ”
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“Prince FitzChivalry. ” The height of the throne was such that, even seated, Dutiful was looking down at me. I waited. He spoke quietly. “You found Shine Fallstar and brought her home. My mother has taken charge of her. Her restoration to Lord Chade has brought him much comfort and eased his condition. Thank you for that service. ”