Читать книгу Fool’s Fate - Робин Хобб - Страница 11

Weaponsmaster Hod ascended to that title after long service as journey-man to Weaponsmaster Crend. Her years in that position were well spent, for she became familiar not only with the use of each weapon, but the manufacture of good blades. Indeed, there are still some who say that her primary talent was in the creation of fine weapons, and that Buckkeep would have been better served to give another the title of Weaponsmaster and keep her at her forge. King Shrewd, however, did not see it that way. Upon Crend’s death, she was immediately moved into his position, and oversaw the training of all Buckkeep’s men-at-arms. She served the Farseer reign well, ultimately giving her life in battle for then King-in-Waiting Verity.

Fedwren’s Chronicles

The Fool’s carefully planned disposal of his possessions sparked in me a sudden desire to sort out my own belongings. That night, instead of packing, I sat on the corner of Chade’s old bed, surrounded by all I owned. If I had been inclined to the Fool’s fatalistic melancholy, perhaps it would have saddened me. Instead, I found myself grinning at the paucity of it. Even Gilly the ferret nosing through my trove seemed unimpressed.

The stack of clothing from the Fool’s chamber, and the marvellous sword with the over-decorated hilt comprised most of it. My clothing from my days in the cottage had largely been consigned to the rag heap near the worktable. I possessed two new uniforms as a Prince’s Guard. One was already carefully packed in a sea chest at the foot of my bed with my other changes of clothing. Concealed beneath them were a number of small packages of poisons, sedatives and restoratives which Chade and I had prepared. On the bed beside me, various small tools, lock picks and other handy oddments were in a small roll that could be concealed inside my shirt. I added it to the sea chest. I sorted through the rest of my strange collection as I waited for Dutiful.

The carving of Nighteyes was on the mantel over the hearth. I would not risk it on the journey with me. There was a charm necklace that Jinna the hedge-witch had made for me, when we were on friendlier terms. I’d never wear it again, and yet I was oddly reluctant to dispose of it. I set it with the clothing Lord Golden had inflicted on me. The little fox pin that Kettricken had given me rode where it always did, inside my shirt above my heart. I had no intention of parting from that. To one side I had placed a few items for Hap. Most were small things I’d made or acquired when he was a child: a spinning top, a jumping jack and the like. I packed them carefully into a box with an acorn carved on the lid. I’d give them to him when I bid him farewell.

In the centre of my bed was the bundle of carved feathers I’d taken from the Others’ beach. Once, I had tried to give them to the Fool, to try in his carved wooden crown. I was certain they would fit. But he had given them a single glance and rejected them. I unrolled the soft leather I’d wrapped them in, considered each of them briefly, and then wrapped them again. For a time I debated what to do with them. Then I tucked them into the corner of the sea chest. Into it also went my needles and various weights of thread for them. Extra shoes and smallclothes. A razor. Mug, bowl and spoon for the ship.

And that was it. There was nothing else to pack, and precious little else in the world that belonged to me. There was my horse, Myblack, but she had little interest in me beyond doing what she must. She preferred her own kind, and would not miss me at all. A stable-boy would exercise her regularly, and as long as Hands was in charge of Buckkeep’s stables I had no fear that she would be neglected or ill-used.

Gilly emerged from the heap of clothing and came romping across the bed to challenge me. ‘Small chance you’ll miss me either,’ I told him as he menaced my hand playfully. There were plenty of mice and rats in the walls of Buckkeep to keep him well fed. He’d probably enjoy having the whole bed to himself. He already believed that the pillow belonged to him. My gaze wandered over the room. Chade had taken possession of all the scrolls I’d brought back from my cabin. He’d sorted them, adding the harmless ones to the Buckkeep library and securing in his cabinets any that told too many truths too plainly. I felt no sense of loss.

I carried the armload of clothing over to one of Chade’s old wardrobes, intending to stuff it all inside. Then my conscience smote me, and I carefully shook out and folded each garment before putting it away. In the process, I realized that, taken individually, many of the garments were not as ostentatious as I had imagined them. I added the warmly-lined cloak to my sea chest. When all of the clothing was stored or packed, I set the jewelled sword on top of the chest. It would go with me. Despite its showy hilt, it was well made and finely balanced. Like the man who had given it to me, its glittering appearance obscured its true purpose.

There was a courteous tap and the wine rack swung out of the way. As Dutiful stepped wearily into the room, Gilly leapt from the bed and sprang to confront him, menacing him with white teeth as he made abortive springs at his feet.

‘Yes, I’m glad to see you, too,’ Dutiful greeted him and swept the little animal up in one hand. He scratched the ferret’s throat gently and then set him down. Gilly immediately attacked his feet. Being careful not to tread upon him, Dutiful came into the room, saying, ‘You had something extra for me to pack?’ With a heavy sigh, he dropped down on the bed beside me. ‘I’m so tired of packing,’ he confided. ‘I hope it’s something small.’

‘It’s on the table.’ I told him. ‘And it’s not small.’

As he walked toward the worktable, I knew a moment of intense regret and would have undone the gift if I could. How could it possibly mean to this boy what it had to me? He looked at it, and then looked up at me, shock on his face. ‘I don’t understand. You’re giving me a sword?’

I stood up. ‘It’s your father’s sword. Verity gave it to me, when last we parted. It’s yours, now,’ I said quietly.

The look that overtook Dutiful’s face in that moment erased any regret I might have felt. He put out a hand toward it, drew it back, and then looked at me. Incredulous wonder shone in his face. I smiled.

‘I said it was yours. Pick it up and get the feel of it. I’ve just cleaned and sharpened it, so be careful.’

He reached his hand down and set it on the hilt. I waited, watching, for him to lift it and discover its exquisite balance. But he drew his hand back.

‘No.’ The word shocked me. Then, ‘Wait here. Please. Just wait.’ And then he turned and fled the room. I heard the scuff of his running footsteps fade in the hidden corridor.

His reaction puzzled me. He had seemed so delighted at first. I walked over and looked again at the blade. Freshly oiled and wiped, it gleamed. It was both beautiful and elegant, yet there was nothing in its design that would interfere with its intended function. It was a tool for killing other men. It had been made for Verity by Hod, the same Weaponsmaster who had taught me to wield both blade and pike. When Verity had gone on his quest, she had gone with him, and died for him. It was a sword worthy of a king. Why had Dutiful rejected it?

I was sitting before the hearth, a cup of hot tea between my two hands, when he returned. He carried a long, wrapped bundle with him. He was talking and untying the leather thongs that bound it as he came through the door. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this a long time ago, when my mother first told me who you were. I guess because it was given to me so long ago, and then my mother put it away for me. Here!’

The wrappings fell away from it and he flourished it aloft. Grinning widely, he suddenly reversed his grip on it, and proffered it to me, the hilt resting on his left forearm. He grinned at me, his eyes blazing with delight and anticipation. ‘Take it, FitzChivalry Farseer. Your father’s sword.’

A shiver ran over me, standing up every hair on my body. I set the teacup aside and came slowly to my feet. ‘Chivalry’s sword?’

‘Yes.’ I had not thought his grin could grow wider, but it did.

I stared at it. Yes. Even without his words, I would have known it. This blade was the elder brother to the one Verity had carried. It resembled the other sword, but this one was slightly more ornate and longer, designed for a man taller than Verity. There was a stylized buck on the cross guard. It was, I suddenly knew, a sword made for a prince who would be king. I knew I could never bear it. I longed for it all the same. ‘Where did you get it?’ I asked breathlessly.

‘Patience had it, of course. She’d left it at Withywoods when she came to Buckkeep. Then, when she was “sorting the clutter” as she put it, after the end of the Red Ship War, when she was moving her household to Tradeford, she came across it. In a closet. “Just as well I never took it to Buckkeep”, she told me when she gave it to me. “Regal would have taken it and sold it. Or kept it for himself.”’

It was so like Patience that I had to smile. A king’s sword, amongst her ‘clutter’.

‘Take it!’ Dutiful commanded me eagerly, and I had to. I had to feel, at least once, how my hand would fit where my father’s had rested. As I took it from him, it felt near weightless. It perched in my hand like a bird. The moment I relieved Dutiful of it, he stepped to the table and took up Verity’s sword. I heard his exclamation of satisfaction, and grinned as he gripped it two-handed and swept it through the air. These blades were proper swords, as fit to shear through flesh as skewer some vulnerable point. For a time, we were both like boys as we moved the blades in a variety of ways, from the small shifts of the hand and wrist that would block and divert an opponent’s thrust to a reckless overhand slash by Dutiful that stopped just short of the scrolls on the tabletop.

Chivalry’s blade fit me. There was satisfaction in that, even as I realized how woefully unworthy my skills were to a weapon such as this. I was little more than competent with a sword. I wondered how the abdicated king would have felt to know that his only son was defter with an axe than with a sword, and more inclined to use poison than either of those. It was a disheartening line of thought, but before I could give in to that blight, Dutiful was at my side, comparing his blade to mine.

‘Chivalry’s is longer!’

‘He was taller than Verity. Yet this blade, I think, is lighter. Verity had the brawn to put behind a heavy stroke, and so I think Hod made his weapon. It will be interesting to see which weapon fits you best when you are grown.’

He took my meaning instantly. ‘Fitz. I gave you that sword to keep. I mean it.’

I nodded. ‘And I thank you for that thought. But I shall have to be satisfied with the intention in place of the reality. This is a king’s sword, Dutiful. It’s not for a guardsman, let alone an assassin, or a bastard. See, look here, on the hilt. The Farseer buck, large and plain. It’s on Verity’s too, but smaller. Even so, I wrapped the hilt in leather to disguise it in the years after the Red Ship Wars. Anyone who had seen it would have known it couldn’t properly belong to me. This would be even more obvious.’ Regretfully and respectfully, I set it down on the worktable.

Dutiful deposited Verity’s blade carefully beside it. A stubborn look came over his face. ‘How can I take my father’s sword from you, if you won’t take Chivalry’s from me? My father gave you that blade. He meant you to have it.’

‘I’m sure he did, at that moment. And for many years, it has served me well. To see it in your hands will serve me even better. I know that Verity would agree with me. For now, Chivalry’s blade we should both set aside. When you are crowned, your nobles will expect to see the King’s sword on your hip.’

Dutiful scowled in thought. ‘Didn’t King Shrewd have a sword? What became of it?’

‘Doubtless he did. As to what became of it, I’ve no idea. Perhaps Patience had the right of it; perhaps Regal sold it or carried it off for other scavengers to steal after he died. In any case, it’s gone. When the time comes for you to ascend the throne, I think you should carry the King’s sword. And when you sail for Aslevjal, I think you should wear your father’s sword.’

‘I shall. But won’t folk wonder where I got it?’

‘I doubt it. We’ll have Chade put out some tale that he has been holding it for you. Folk love stories of that sort. They’ll be happy to accept it.’

He nodded thoughtfully, then said slowly, ‘It takes some of the pleasure from it, that you cannot carry Chivalry’s sword as openly as I shall carry this one.’

‘For me also,’ I replied with painful honesty. ‘Would that I could, Dutiful. But that is simply how it is. I’ve a sword given to me by Lord Golden, also of a quality that exceeds my skill. I’ll carry that. If I ever lift a blade to defend you, it had better be an axe.’

He looked down, pondering. Then he set his hand to the hilt of Chivalry’s sword. ‘Until the day when you give this sword back to me, on the day I am crowned, I wish it to remain here with you.’ He took a breath. ‘And when I take your father’s sword from you, I will return my father’s sword to you.’

That was a gesture I could not refuse.

Soon he left as he had come, taking Verity’s sword with him. I made myself a fresh cup of tea and sat considering my father’s blade. I tried to think what it meant to me, but encountered only a curious absence inside myself. Even my recent discovery that he had not ignored me, but had Skill-watched me through his brother’s eyes did not make up for his physical absence in my life. Perhaps he had loved me, from afar, but Burrich had been the one to discipline me and Chade the one to teach me. I looked at the blade and groped for a sense of connection, for any emotion at all, but could not find one. By the time I had finished my tea, I still had no answer, nor was I completely certain what my question was. But I had resolved that I would find time to see Hap again before I departed.

I went to bed, successfully claiming the pillow from Gilly. Nonetheless, I slept badly, and even that poor rest was interrupted. Nettle edged into my dreams like a child reluctantly seeking comfort. It was a peculiar contrast. In my dream, I was crossing a steep scree slope from my sojourn in the Mountains. I had crossed this avalanche-prone incline carrying the Fool’s lax body. I was not so burdened in my dream, but the mountainside seemed steeper and the fall eternal. Loose pebbles shifted treacherously under my feet. At any moment I might go sliding off the face of the mountain like the small stones rattling past me. My muscles ached with tension and sweat streamed down my back. Then I caught a flash of motion at the corner of my eye. I turned my head slowly, for I dared risk no swift movement. I discovered Nettle sitting calmly uphill from me, watching my agonized progress.

She sat amongst grass and wildflowers. Her gown was green and her hair decked with tiny daisies. Even to my father’s eyes, she looked more woman than child, but she sat like a little girl, her knees drawn up under the chin and her arms clasped around her legs. Her feet were bare and her eyes troubled.

Such was our dichotomy. I still struggled to retain my footing on the unstable slope. In her dream, adjoining mine, she sat in a mountain meadow. Her presence forced me to admit that I dreamed, and yet I could not surrender the exertion of my nightmare. I did not know if I feared I would be swept to my death or thrust into wakefulness. So, ‘What is it?’ I called to her as I continued my inching progress across the mountain’s face. It mattered not how many steps I took: solid ground remained ever distant, while Nettle kept her place above me.

‘My secret,’ she said quietly. ‘It gnaws at me. So I have come to ask your advice.’

She paused but I did not reply. I did not want to know her secret, or to offer advice. I could not commit myself to helping her. Despite the dream, I knew I was leaving Buckkeep soon. Even if I stayed, I could not venture into her life without the risk of destroying it. Better to remain a vague dream-thing on the edge of her reality. Despite my silence, she spoke to me.

‘If someone gives her word to keep silent about a thing, not realizing how much pain it will bring, not just to herself but to others, is she bound to keep her word?’

That was too grave a question to leave unanswered. ‘You know the answer to that,’ I panted. ‘A woman’s word is her word. She keeps it, or it is worth nothing.’

‘But I did not know the trouble it would cause when I gave it. Nim goes about like half a creature. I did not know that Mama would blame Papa, nor that Papa would take to drink over it, blaming himself more deeply than she does.’

I halted. It was dangerous to do so, but I turned to face her. Her words had plummeted me into a deeper danger than the chasm that yawned below me. I spoke carefully. ‘And you think you’ve found a way around the word you gave. To tell me what you promised not to tell them.’

She lowered her forehead to her knees. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. ‘You said you knew Papa, long ago. I do not know who you truly are; but perhaps you know him still. You could speak to him. The last time Swift ran away, you told me when he and Papa were safely on their way home to us. Oh, please, Shadow Wolf! I don’t know what your connection to my family is, but I know it exists. In trying to aid Swift, I have nearly torn us apart. I have no one else to turn to. And I never promised Swift that I would not tell you.’

I looked down at my feet. She had changed me into her image of me. Her dream was devouring mine. Now I was a man-wolf. My black claws dug into the loose gravel. Moving on all fours, with my weight lower, I clawed my way up the slope toward her. When I was close enough to see the dried salt track of tears on her cheeks, I growled, ‘Tell me what?’

It was all the permission she needed. ‘They think Swift ran away to sea, for so we made it seem, he and I. Oh, do not look at me like that! You don’t know what it was like around here! Papa was a perpetual storm cloud and Swift near as bad. Poor Nim slunk around like a whipped dog, ashamed to win praise from Papa because his twin could not share it. And Mama, Mama was like a mad woman, every night demanding to know what ailed them, and both of them refusing to answer. There was no peace in our house any more, no peace at all. So when Swift came to me and asked me to help him slip away, it seemed the wise thing to do.’

‘And what sort of aid did you give him?’

‘I gave him money, money that was mine, to use as I pleased, money I had earned myself helping with the Gossoin’s lambing last spring. Mama often sent him to town, to make deliveries of honey or candles. I thought up the plan for him, that he would start asking neighbours and folk in town about boats and fishing and the sea. And then, at the last, I wrote a letter and signed Papa’s name as I have become accustomed to doing for him. His eyes … Papa can still write, but his hand wanders for he cannot see the letters he is forming. So, of late, I have written things for him, the papers when he sells a horse and such. Everyone says that my hand is just like his; probably because he taught me to make my letters. So …’

‘So you wrote a letter for Swift saying that his father had released him and that he could go forth and do as he pleased with his life.’ I spoke slowly. Every word she spoke burdened me more. Burrich and Molly quarrelled, and he took to drink again. His sight was failing him, and he believed he had driven his son away. Hearing these things rent me, for I knew I could not mend any of them.

‘It can be difficult for a boy to find any sort of work if folk think he is a runaway apprentice or a lad whose work still belongs to his father.’ She spoke the words hesitantly, trying to excuse her forgery. I dared not look at her. ‘Mama packed up six racks of candles and sent Swift into town to deliver them and to bring back the money. When he said goodbye to me, I knew he meant to take that opportunity. He never came back.’ Around her, flowers bloomed and a tiny bee buzzed from one to the next, seeking nectar.

I slowly worked through her words. ‘He stole the candle money to travel on?’ My estimate of Swift dropped.

‘It wasn’t … it wasn’t exactly stealing. He’d always helped with the hives. And he needed it!’

I shook my head slowly. It disappointed me that she found excuses for him. But then, I’d never had a little brother. Perhaps it was a thing all sisters did.

‘Won’t you help me?’ she asked piteously when my silence grew long.

‘I can’t,’ I said helplessly. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘How could I?’ I was completely in her dream now. The meadow grass was firm beneath my feet. A spring day in the hills surrounded me. The bee buzzed past my ear, and I flicked it away. I knew my nightmare still lurked behind me. If I stepped back two paces, I’d be on that treacherous slope again.

‘Talk to Papa for me. Tell him it wasn’t his fault Swift went away.’

‘I can’t talk to your Papa. I’m far, far away. Only in dreams can we reach across distances like this.’

‘Can’t you visit his dreams, as you do mine? Can’t you talk to him there?’

‘No. I can’t.’ Long ago, my father had sealed Burrich off from all other Skill-users. Burrich himself had told me that. Chivalry had been able to draw strength from him for Skilling, and the bond between them meant that Chivalry would be vulnerable through Burrich to other Skill-users. Dimly I wondered; did that mean that at one time Burrich had had some level of Skill-ability? Or did it only mean that the two men were so close that Chivalry could take strength from him for Skilling?

‘Why not? You come to my dreams. And you were friends long ago; you said so. Please. He can’t go on as he is. It’s killing him. And my mother,’ she added softly. ‘I think you owe him this.’

A bee from Nettle’s flowers buzzed past my face and I swiped at it. I decided I needed to end this contact swiftly. She was drawing too many conclusions about her father and me. ‘I cannot come to your father’s dreams, Nettle. But there may be something I can do. I may be able to speak to someone, someone who can find Swift and send him home again.’ Even as I said the words, my heart sank. As annoying as Swift was, I knew what it would mean to the boy to be sent back to Burrich; I hardened my will. It truly wasn’t my problem. Swift was Burrich’s son, and they must sort it out themselves.

‘Then you know where Swift is? You’ve seen him? Is he well, is he safe? A thousand times I’ve thought of him, so young and alone and out in the world. I never should have let him talk me into this! Tell me about him.’

‘He’s fine,’ I said shortly. The bee buzzed past my ear again. I felt it settle on the back of my neck. I tried to paw it off me, but an instant later, I was bowed under the weight of a sizeable animal on my back. I yelped and struggled, but before I could draw breath, I was dangling from the dragon’s jaws. She gave me a shake, not to kill but to caution. I stopped struggling and hung there. Her teeth gripped the scruff of my neck, not piercing either hide or flesh but paralysing me.

As Nettle surged indignantly to her feet, reaching for me, the dragon lifted me higher. I dangled above Nettle and then was swung out over the chasm from my earlier nightmare.

‘Ah-ah!’ the dragon cautioned us both. ‘Resist and I drop him. Wolves do not fly.’ Her words did not come from her mouth and throat, but penetrated my thoughts, a mind-to-mind touch.

Nettle froze. ‘What do you want?’ she growled. Her dark eyes had gone flinty.

‘He knows,’ Tintaglia replied, giving me a small shake. I felt it unhinged every bone in my spine. ‘I want to know all that you know of a black dragon buried in ice. I want to know all you know of an island humans name Aslevjal.’

‘I know nothing of such things!’ Nettle replied angrily. Her hands had knotted into fists. ‘Let him go.’

‘Very well.’ The dragon released me, and for a heart-stopping instant, I plummeted. Then her head shot out on her snake-like neck and she caught me up again. This time her jaws encompassed my ribs. She squeezed me, demonstrating how easily she could crush me. Then she eased the pressure and asked me, ‘And what do you know, little wolf thing?’

‘Nothing!’ I gasped, and then choked out every bit of air in my lungs as she crushed me. It would be quick, I told myself. I would not have to maintain my lie long. She wasn’t a patient creature; she’d kill me swiftly. I glanced back to take a last look at my daughter.

Nettle stood, suddenly larger than she had been. Then she flung her arms wide. Her hair tossed in a wind that only she felt, and then haloed out around her face. She threw her head back. ‘This is a DREAM!’ she shouted. ‘And it is my dream! I cast you out of it!’ The last she spoke as single words, uttered with all the command of a queen. For the first time, I comprehended the strength of my daughter’s Skill. Her ability to shape dreams and command that which happened in them was a manifestation of her Skill-talent.

Tintaglia flung me spinning out over an infinite void. Beneath me I saw not the rocky chasm of my dream, but a vast emptiness without colour or end. I had one whirling glimpse of the dragon writhing as Nettle dwindled her back to the size of a bee. Then I clenched my eyes shut against the dizzying fall. Even as I drew painful breath to scream, Nettle spoke softly by my ear. ‘It’s only a dream, Shadow Wolf. And it belongs to me. In my dreams, you will never come to harm. Open your eyes, now. Awake to your own world.’

An instant before I awoke, I felt the comforting resistance of bedding beneath me and when I opened my eyes to the darkness of my workroom, I was not in panic. Nettle had taken the terror from the nightmare. For a moment, I felt relief. I drew a deep breath, and as I surrendered to sleep once more, I felt a drowsy amazement at my daughter’s odd Skill-strength. But as I tugged my blanket back over my shoulder and reclaimed half the pillow from the ferret, the earlier portion of my dream dragged me back to wakefulness. Swift had lied. Burrich hadn’t discarded him. Worse, his leaving had thrown the family into turmoil.

I lay still, eyes closed, wishing vainly to sleep. Instead, I mapped out what I must do. The boy must be sent home, but I didn’t want to be the one to do it. He’d demand to know how I knew he had lied. So. I’d tell Chade that Burrich had not released Swift from his household. That would involve admitting to Chade that I’d had more Skill-contact with Nettle. Well, it couldn’t be helped, I told myself grumpily. All my secrets seemed intent on leaking out and becoming known.

So I made my resolution and tried to persuade myself that was the best I could do. I tried not to imagine Burrich going back to drinking every night, or Molly driven to distraction not only by her husband’s dive into the bottle but by her son’s vanishing. I tried not to wonder how much Burrich’s vision had faded. Enough that he had either not tried to track his son, or had failed in the effort.

I was up at dawn. I got bread and milk and bacon in the guardroom, and carried it out to the Women’s Garden to eat it. I sat listening to the birdcalls and smelling the new day’s warmth touching the earth. Such things have always been a deep comfort to me. This morning, they affirmed that the goodness of the earth always goes on and made me wish that I could stay to watch the summer grow strong and the fruit swell on the trees.

I felt her before I saw her. Starling wore a morning robe of pale blue. Her hair was loose upon her shoulders, and her graceful narrow feet were in simple sandals. She carried a steaming mug between both her hands. I watched her and wished that things could have been simpler between us. When she noticed me sitting silently on the bench beneath the tree, she gaped in feigned astonishment, then changed her expression to a smile as she came to join me. She sat down, kicked her feet free of her sandals and curled her legs on the bench between us.

‘Well, good morning,’ she greeted me. There was mild surprise in her eyes. ‘I nearly didn’t recognize you, Fitz. You look as if you’ve lost ten years.’

‘Tom,’ I reminded her gently, well knowing that she had dropped my old name to rattle me. ‘And I feel as if you are right. Perhaps the daily routine of a guardsman was what I needed all along.’

She made a sceptical noise in her throat, and took a sip from her mug. When she looked up, she added sourly, ‘I notice you don’t think the same is true for me?’

‘What, that you’d do better as a guardsman?’ I asked her innocently. Then, as she pretended a kick at me, I added, ‘Starling, you always look like Starling to me. Neither older nor younger than I expect you to be, but always Starling.’

She furrowed her brow for a moment, then shrugged and laughed. ‘I never know if you mean the things you say as compliments or not.’ Then she leaned closer to me, sniffing the air near me. ‘Musk? Are you wearing musk these days, Tom Badgerlock? If you are interested in attracting female companionship …?’

‘No, I wear no musk. I’ve just been sleeping with a ferret.’

I had replied with honesty, and her whoop of laughter startled me. A moment later, I was grinning with her as she shook her head at me. She shifted on the bench so that her sun-warmed thigh pressed against mine. ‘That is so like you, Fitz. So like you.’ She gave a sigh of contentment, and then asked lazily, ‘Then, can I surmise that you have ended your mourning and bonded again?’

Her words dimmed the summer morning for me. I cleared my throat and spoke carefully. ‘No. I doubt that I ever will. Nighteyes and I fit together like a knife and a sheath.’ I looked out over the chamomile bed and said quietly, ‘After him, there can be no other. It would be a disservice to whatever creature I joined, for he would be only a substitute, and never genuinely my partner.’

She read more into my words than I intended. She put her arm along the back of the bench. Pillowing her head on it, she looked up at the sky through the tree branches that shaded us. I finished the milk I had brought with me and set the cup aside. I was about to excuse myself for my morning lesson with Swift when she asked, ‘Have you ever thought of taking Molly back, then?’

‘What?’

She lifted her head. ‘You loved the girl. At least, so you’ve always maintained. And she had your child, at great cost to herself. You know that she could have shaken it from her body if she had chosen. That she didn’t means that she felt something deep for you. You should go to her. Take her back.’

‘Molly and I were a long time ago. She is married to Burrich. They built a life together. They have six children of their own,’ I pointed out stiffly.

‘So?’ She brought her gaze to meet mine. ‘I saw him when he came to Buckkeep to fetch Swift home. He was close-mouthed and grim when I greeted him. And he was old. He walks with a hitch and his eyes are clouding.’ She shook her head over him. ‘If you decided to take Molly back from him, he could offer you no competition.’

‘I would never do that!’

She sipped from her mug, looking at me steadily over the rim. ‘I know that,’ she said when she took the cup from her lips. ‘Even though he took her from you.’

‘They both think I’m dead!’ I pointed out to her, my voice harsher than I’d intended.

‘Are you sure you’re not?’ she asked flippantly. Then, at the look on my face, her eyes softened. ‘Oh, Fitz. You never do anything for yourself, do you? Never take what you want.’ She leaned closer to me. ‘Do you think Molly would have thanked you for your decision? Do you truly think you had the right to decide for her?’ She leaned back a little, watching my face. ‘You gave her and the child away as if you were finding a good home for a puppy. Why?’

I’d answered that question so many times I didn’t even need to think. ‘He was the better man for her. That was true then; it’s true now.’

‘Is it? I wonder if Molly would agree.’

‘And how is your husband today?’ I asked her roughly.

Her glance went opaque. ‘Who knows? He’s gone trout fishing in the hills with Lord and Lady Redoaks. As you know, I’ve never enjoyed that kind of outing.’ Then, glancing aside, she added, ‘But their lovely daughter Ivy apparently does. I’ve heard that she leapt at the chance to make the trip.’

She did not need to explain it to me. I took her hand. ‘Starling. I’m sorry.’

She took a breath. ‘Are you? It matters little to me. I’ve his name and his holdings to enjoy. And he leaves me the freedom of my minstrel ways, to come and go as I please.’ She cocked her head at me. ‘I’ve been thinking of joining Dutiful’s entourage for the journey to the Out Islands. What do you think of that?’

My heart lurched at the thought. Oh, no. ‘I think that it would be far worse than going trout fishing. I expect to be uncomfortable and cold for much of it. And Out Island food is terrible. If they give you lard, honey and bone marrow mixed together, you’ve had the height of their cuisine.’

She stood gracefully. ‘Fish paste,’ she said. ‘You’ve forgotten their fish paste. Fish paste on everything.’ She stood looking down on me. Then she reached a hand and pushed several strands of hair back from my face. Her fingertips walked the scar down my face. ‘Some day,’ she said quietly. ‘Some day you’ll realize that we were the perfect match, you and I. That in all of your days and places, I was the only one who truly understood you and loved you despite it.’

I gaped at her. In all our years together, she’d never said the word ‘love’ to me.

She slid her fingers under my chin and closed my mouth for me. ‘We should have breakfast together more often,’ she suggested. Then she strolled away, sipping from her cup as she went, knowing that I watched her go.

‘Well. At least you can make me forget all of my other problems for a time,’ I observed quietly to myself. Then I took my mug back to the kitchen and headed for the Queen’s Gardens. Perhaps it was my conversation with Starling for when I walked out on the tower top and found the boy feeding the doves, I was direct.

‘You lied,’ I said before he could even give me ‘good morning’. ‘Your father never sent you away. You ran off. And you stole money to do it.’

He gaped at me. His face went white. ‘Who … how did …?’

‘How do I know? If I answer that question for you, I’ll answer it for Chade and the Queen as well. Do you want them to know what I know?’

I prayed I had his measure. When he gulped and shook his head suddenly and silently, I knew I had. Given the chance to run home, with no one here the wiser as to how he had shamed himself, he’d take it.

‘Your family is worried sick about you. You’ve no right to leave people who love you in suspense about your fate. Pack up and go, boy, just as you came. Here.’ Impulsively I took my purse from my belt. ‘There’s enough here to see you safely home, and pay back what you took. See that you do.’

He couldn’t meet my eyes. ‘Yessir.’

When he didn’t reach for the purse, I took his hand in mine, turned it palm up and put the sack into it. When I let go of his hand, he still stood staring up at me. I pointed at the door to the stairwell. He turned, stunned, and stumbled toward the door. With his hand on it, he halted. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like for me there,’ he whispered feebly.

‘Yes. I do. Far better than you might imagine. Go home, bow your head to your father’s discipline and serve your family until you reach your majority, as an honest boy should. Didn’t your parents raise you? Didn’t they give you life, put food on your plate, clothes on your back, shoes on your feet? Then it is only right that your labour belongs to them, until you are legally a man. Then you can openly go your own way. You will have years after that to discover your magic, years of your own, rightfully earned, to live as you please. Your Wit can wait until then.’

He halted by the door and leaned his head against it for a moment. ‘No. My magic won’t wait.’

‘It will have to!’ I told him harshly. ‘Now go home, Swift. Leave today.’

He ducked his head, pushed the door open and left, shutting it behind him. I listened to his fading footsteps on the stair and felt his presence fade from my Wit-sense. Then I let out my breath in a long sigh. I had sent him to do a hard thing. I hoped Burrich’s son had the spine to do it. I hoped, without real belief, that the boy’s return would be enough to mend the family. I wandered over to the parapet wall and stood staring down at the rocks below.