Читать книгу The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3 - Робин Хобб - Страница 23

Now this is the way it must be for the ones who construct the maps and charts. A map of land must be made from the hide of a land beast, and it should show no more than can be helped of the sea. A chart can only be drawn on a sea creature’s hide, and though land must be marked on it, it is sin to show the features of that land on a chart that is devoted to the sea. To do otherwise is to offend the god who made the world as it is.

Our islands are as the god made them. Thus he wrote on the seas of the world, long ago. They are his runes, and so when they are drawn within the chart of the great seas, they must be drawn in the blood of a land beast. And if you would make a mark for good harbour or plentiful fish or hidden shoals or any other feature that belongs to the seas, these marks must be made with the blood of a sea creature. For this is how the god made the world, and who is a man to try to draw it otherwise?

Our islands are the runes of the god. Not all is made clear to us, for we are but men and it is not for us to know every rune the god can write, nor what it is he has spelled across the face of the sea. Some islands he cloaks in ice from us, and this we are to respect. Draw then the ice that cloaks the rune, and this must be drawn in the blood of a creature of that ice, but not one that flies. The blood of a seal is good for this, but the blood of a white bear best of all.

If one wishes to draw the sky’s face, then is the time to use the blood of a bird for ink, and draw but lightly on the skin of a gull.

These are very old laws. Every woman with a good mother knows them already. I write them down only because our sons’ sons and their offspring are grown foolish and unwary of the god’s will. They will bring disaster on us all if we do not remind them that we have been taught better, and that these laws are from the god’s own lips.

The Making of Guides – Chade Fallstar’s translation of an Outisland scroll

I was relieved to be on better terms with Jinna again. We spent no time in her bed that night, nor did I kiss her goodbye. But both those things were a relief to my mind if not to my clamouring body. When I left her that night, I resolved to treat our patched friendship gently and to keep it within bounds I felt I could deal with. I think she still felt this was untrusting on my part, but, so I have ever been. At least, so Chade has often told me.

There followed a trying three days for me. The rest of my life remained unsettled. I didn’t hear from Hap. I dreaded that my lad was sleeping out in the snow somewhere, even as I disgustedly told myself he was a sharper boy than that. The Queen and Chade were meeting daily with the leaders of the Six Duchies, in deep discussion about Bingtown’s offer of an alliance. They did not summon me to share their thoughts. The Bingtown delegation was very visible within Buckkeep Castle, assiduously courting the individual dukes and duchesses with gifts and attentions of every kind. On our part, the banquets and entertainment proceeded with an eye to soothing the ruffled feelings of the Outislanders and to being gracious to our Bingtown guests. The success of those evenings was mixed. Strangely enough, Arkon Bloodblade and his Outisland traders seemed fascinated with the Bingtown folk, and openly talked with them about expanding trade alliances based on the betrothal between Prince Dutiful and their Narcheska. Yet both Elliania and Peottre Blackwater were largely absent from the festivities. On the few occasions when Elliania did make an appearance, she was grave and quiet.

Both the Narcheska and Peottre carefully avoided the Bingtown Traders in every way that they could. She exhibited a marked aversion to the scaled boy, Selden Vestrit of the Rain Wild Traders. Once I saw her physically recoil as he walked past her. But I was not certain that it was her choice, for afterwards she sat very stiff in her chair while the beads of sweat broke out on her brow. It was not long after that both she and Peottre excused themselves from attending a puppet play on the grounds that the Narcheska was weary and Peottre must attend to their packing. This was a scarcely-veiled reminder of the imminent departure of the Outisland contingent. The Bingtown Traders and their offer could hardly have arrived at a worse time for us.

‘A week later, and they would have been gone when the Bingtown folk arrived. Yes, and I don’t doubt that we could have mended the Prince’s little stumble with the Narcheska, and sent them off happy. Now it appears that we stack our refusal to break off talk with Bingtown on top of the Prince’s slighting of the Narcheska. It throws everything into doubt.’

This was Chade’s curmudgeonly observation as we sat over wine one evening. He was out of sorts for a number of reasons. Starling had tried to give him a note to pass to me. She had done it privately, but even so, it was indiscreet in the extreme for her to acknowledge that she knew he and I were connected. Somehow, that was my fault. When he had refused, she had said, ‘Then just tell him that I’m sorry. I’d quarrelled with my husband, and I wanted the comfort of his friendship. I’d been drinking at the keep before I started down to town to finish my drink. I know I shouldn’t have said those things.’

While I was still gaping, he’d asked delicately if Starling and I had any sort of ‘an arrangement’ and when I angrily replied that it was no one else’s business if we did, but we didn’t, he had surprised me by saying that only a foolish man would deliberately provoke a minstrel to anger.

‘I didn’t provoke her to anger. All of this is because I’ve refused to have her in my bed since I discovered she was married. I think I have a right to decide with whom I’ll sleep. Don’t you?’

I’d expected him to be shocked at this revelation. Almost, I hoped that it would be enough to embarrass him and make him resolve not to pry into my personal affairs any more. He only slapped his forehead. ‘Of course. Well, she should have expected you to shake her out of your sheets once you discovered she was married, but … Fitz, do you understand what it means to her? Think.’

Had he not been so intent on teaching me something, I think I would have been offended. Yet his air was so familiar I could not accept his question as anything other than the opening to a lesson. Thus he had often spoken to me when trying to teach me to see all the possible motivations for a man to do something, rather than just the first ones that sprang to mind. ‘She is ashamed because my finding out she was married and yet still sleeping with me has lowered my opinion of her?’

‘No. Think, boy. Did it really lower your opinion of her?’

Reluctantly, I shook my head. ‘I only felt stupid. Chade, in some way I was not even surprised. Starling has always allowed herself to do such things. I’ve known that since I first met her. I didn’t expect her to change her minstrel ways. I simply didn’t want to be a party to it.’

He sighed. ‘Fitz, Fitz. Your biggest blind spot is that you cannot imagine anyone seeing you in a different way from how you see yourself. What are you, who are you to Starling?’

I shrugged a shoulder. ‘Fitz. The bastard. Someone she has known for fifteen years.’

A very small smile played across his face. He spoke softly. ‘No. You are FitzChivalry Farseer. The unacknowledged prince. She’d made a song about you before she’d even met you. Why? Because you’d captured her imagination. The bastard Farseer. Had Chivalry acknowledged you, you’d have had a chance at the throne. Denied and ignored by your father, you were still loyal, still the hero of the battle at Antler Island Tower. You died in ignominy in Regal’s dungeons, and rose as a vengeful ghost to plague Regal through his days as a pretender. She accompanied you on a quest to save your King, and though it did not come out as any of us intended, still there was triumph at the end. And she not only witnessed it, she was a part of it.’

‘It seems a fine tale, to hear you tell it that way, with none of the dirt and pain and misfortune.’

‘It is a fine tale, even with the dirt and pain and misfortune. A fine and glorious tale, one that would make any minstrel’s reputation for life, did she ever sing it. Yet it is one Starling can never sing. Because it has been forbidden to her. Her great adventure, her wonderful song, locked up as a secret. Still, at least she knew she was a part of it, and she was a part of the royal bastard’s life. She became his lover, a party to his secrets. I think she expected that when you returned to Buckkeep some day you would again be at the centre of intrigue and wondrous events. And she expected to be part of that also, to turn heads and bask in that shared glory. The Witted Bastard’s minstrel mistress. If she could not sing the song herself, at least she was guaranteed a place in that tale, if it should ever be told. And don’t doubt that she has composed it somewhere, as a song or a poem. She saw herself as a part of your tale, touched by your wild glory. Then, you took that from her. You not only walked away from her, you returned to Buckkeep as an ignominious servant. You are not only ending your tale on a disappointing note; you are making her of no consequence by doing it. She is a minstrel, Fitz. How did you think she’d react to that? Gracefully?’

I saw her suddenly in a different light. Her cruelty to Hap, her offence at me. ‘I don’t think of myself like that, Chade.’

‘I know you don’t,’ he said more gently. ‘But do you see that she could? And that you crashed her dreams down around her?’

I nodded slowly. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it. I won’t take a married woman into my bed. And I can’t come back as FitzChivalry Farseer. I’d still face a noose around my neck if I did.’

‘That’s most likely true. I agree that you cannot be known as FitzChivalry again. As to the other … well. Let me remind you that Starling knows a great many things. We are all vulnerable to her. I expect you to maintain her goodwill towards us.’

Before I could think of a reply to that, he demanded to know why I had cancelled all of the Prince’s Skill-lessons until after the Bingtown representatives had left. The Prince had already asked that question. I said to Chade what I’d told Dutiful: that I feared the scaled boy in the Bingtown party had some sensitivity to the Skill, and that until the Traders departed, we would limit our lessons to translating scrolls together. The Prince was not patient with these more mundane studies. My suspicion of the veiled Trader intrigued both him and Chade. Thrice Chade had chewed over Selden Vestrit’s conversation with me. Neither of us could find any meat in it. I was learning that sometimes it was easier to keep Chade uninformed than to give him bits of information he could not confirm. Such as telling him of the Narcheska’s tattoos.

I know he spent some hours of his own time at the spyhole without glimpsing her tattoos. As she had not made any complaint about her health, he could not send the healer to her rooms to confirm what I had seen. Elliania had pointedly refused several invitations to ride or game with the Prince, so Dutiful could make no observations on whether or not she seemed to be in pain. And the Queen dared not make too many pressing invitations lest it appear that the Six Duchies desired the betrothal to proceed more than the Outislands did. In the end, all they had was my account of what I had seen. It baffled all of us, as did her handmaid, Henja.

The woman remained a complete cipher to us. Her references to a Lady were unclear, unless she referred to an older female relative with authority over Elliania. Discreet inquiries in that area availed us nothing. Chade’s spies had failed us as well. Twice Henja had been followed down into Buckkeep Town. Each time she had vanished from their scrutiny, once in a market crowd, and once simply by turning a corner. We had no idea who she saw there, or even if it was of any significance. The arcane punishment of the searing tattoos bespoke a magic that neither of us knew. Perhaps we should have felt glad of an unseen power urging the Narcheska to make strong her betrothal to the Prince. Instead, we both were dismayed by the dark cruelty of it. ‘Are you sure Lord Golden could not cast some light on this?’ Chade demanded abruptly. ‘I recall him telling several people at a dinner that he had once made quite a hobby of studying the Outisland history and culture.’

I shrugged eloquently.

Chade snorted. ‘Have you asked him yet?’

‘No,’ I replied shortly. Then, as he lowered his brows at me, I added, ‘I told you. He has taken to his bed and scarcely comes out. Even his meals are taken in to him. He has the curtains drawn, both across his windows and about his bed.’

‘But you don’t think he is ill?’

‘He hasn’t said he is ill, but that is the impression he lets his serving-boy chatter about the keep. Sometimes I think that was half his reason for taking Char on, so that the boy could be fed the rumours he wishes to spread. I think that the truth is that he wishes to avoid any public appearances until after the Bingtown folk have departed. He lived there for some time, and while he was there he was certainly not known as the Fool, nor as Lord Golden. I think he fears that if one of them recognized them, it could cause difficulties for him at court.’

‘Well. I suppose that’s sensible then. But it’s damned inconvenient for me. Look, Fitz, can’t you just go in and talk to him? See if he has any ideas about this Selden Vestrit being Skilled?’

‘As he has no Skill himself, I don’t think he could possibly have detected that aura from Vestrit.’

Chade set down his wine cup. ‘But you haven’t asked him, have you?’

I lifted my cup and drank from it to gain a moment. ‘No,’ I said as I set it down. ‘I haven’t.’

He peered at me. After a moment, he said in amazement, ‘You two have had a falling out of some sort, haven’t you?’

‘I’d rather not discuss it,’ I said stiffly.

‘Hmph. Wonderful timing on everyone’s part. Let’s mix the Bingtown Traders with the Outislanders, and in the midst of it you can offend the Queen’s favourite minstrel, and then have some silly squabble with the Fool that renders you both all but useless.’ He leaned back in his chair in disgust as if we had done it solely to inconvenience him.

‘I doubt he would have any insights on this,’ I replied. I had not been able to bring myself to say more than a dozen words to him in the last three days, but I was not going to share that with Chade. If the Fool had noticed my coldness, he had ignored it. He had given Tom Badgerlock an order to turn away all guests at the door until he was feeling more like himself, and so I had. I spent as little time in the chambers we shared as possible. Yet several times when I returned to the room I saw small signs that someone had called while I was gone, and it was not just Char tidying things. I recognized Jek’s spicy perfume lingering in our chambers.

‘Well. That’s as may be.’ He scowled at me. ‘Whatever it is, you’d best patch it up soon. You’re not worth a tinker’s damn when something like this has your back up.’

I took a breath to keep my temper down. ‘It’s not the only thing I’ve had on my mind lately,’ I excused myself.

‘No. We’ve all had far too much on our minds. What did your boy want, the other day when he came up to the castle? Is all well with him?’

‘Not exactly.’ I had been shocked when one of the kitchen boys had tapped at the door to tell me that a young man was asking for me in the kitchen yard. I hastened down to find Hap standing outside in the courtyard, looking both angry and sheepish. He wouldn’t come in, even to the guards’ room, though I assured him none of them would mind. They’d become accustomed to seeing me there of late. He didn’t want to take much of my time, for he knew I was occupied with tasks of my own. And at that my guilt began to build, for I had been busy of late, often too busy to see him when I knew I should have. By the time he worked up the courage to tell me that Jinna had turned him out and why, my resolve was already wavering.

He looked past my shoulder as he spoke to the lowering sky. ‘So, with no coin of my own, I’ve been sleeping wherever I could find a bit of shelter the last two nights. But I can’t do that the rest of winter. So I’ve no choice save to move into the apprentice house with the others. Only … it seems so awkward for me to ask after Master Gindast has suggested it so often and I’ve always refused it.’

This was news to me. ‘He has suggested it? Why? Seems he saves himself a bit of money, not having to give you your breakfast nor supper.’

Hap squirmed unhappily. He took a breath. ‘He suggests it whenever my work is poor. He says if I slept a proper night and rose with the others, if I were on time to work and on time to bed, I would do better.’ He glanced away. There was a gruff pride as he added, ‘He says he can see that I could do better, far better at my work, if I weren’t so sleepy in the mornings. I’ve always insisted I could manage my own hours. And I have. Oh, I’ve been late a time or two, but I’ve been there every day since I came to Buckkeep Town. I have.’

He said this as if I might doubt it. I kept to myself that I had wondered if he had been faithful to his master’s hours.

I had let some little time lag. ‘So, then? What is the difficulty now? It seems that as he has asked you several times, he’d be pleased to see you take his suggestion.’

Hap was silent. He went a bit pinker about the ears. I waited. Then he steeled himself to it. ‘I wonder if perhaps you couldn’t go by and tell him you had decided it was best for me. It just seems simpler that way. Less awkward.’

I had spoken slowly, wondering if the words were wise. ‘Less like you knuckling under to his suggestion, perhaps? Or less like Jinna turning you out because she didn’t want trouble on her doorstep?’

Hap flushed a deep scarlet and I knew I had struck true. He started to turn away. I put a hand on his shoulder and when he tried to shrug it off, I tightened my grip. He startled when he could not twist free of it. So my daily practices on the weapons court had counted for something. I could hold a squirming lad against his will now. Such an accomplishment. I waited until he stopped struggling. He hadn’t tried to hit me, but neither had he turned back to face me. I spoke quietly, for his ears only, not for those who had turned to stare at our little contest. ‘Go to Gindast yourself, son. You might save face with the other apprentices by saying your father had forced you to move in with them. But in the long run, Gindast will respect you more if you go to him and say you’ve thought it over and decided it would be for the best if you lived there. And you might recall that Jinna has been kind, not just to you but to both of us, far beyond what any coin would buy and far beyond what either of us deserves from her. Don’t shun her because she wanted no trouble in her home. Trouble shouldn’t be the price of her being our friend.’

Then I had loosened my hold and allowed him to shrug free of me and stalk off. I didn’t know what he had done. I hadn’t gone to check on him. I had to let him sort that much of his life out for himself. He had food and shelter if he chose to accept them on the terms offered. More than that I could not do for him. I dragged my thoughts back to my conversation with Chade.

‘Hap’s had some difficulties adjusting to life in town,’ I admitted to the old assassin. ‘On our holding, he was used to setting his own hours, as long as his chores were done. It was a simpler life. Less of a daily grind, and more choices for him.’

‘Less beer and fewer girls, too, I imagine,’ Chade added, and I suspected that, as usual, he knew far more about everything than he was letting on. But he smiled as he said it, and I let it pass. Not only because he meant no insult to Hap or me by it, but because it was a relief to me to see the old man as sharp as he had ever been. It seemed that the thicker the intrigue in Buckkeep Castle, the more Chade throve on it. ‘Well. I hope you know that whatever your Hap gets into, you can turn to me for help. If it’s needed. Without a price on it.’

‘I know that,’ I had replied, if a bit gruffly, and he had let me go. We both had to prepare ourselves for the afternoon’s event. Chade had to dress appropriately for the formal farewell ceremony for the Outislanders. He was hoping desperately that tonight’s honours and gifts would heal the cracks and rifts, and that they would depart on the morrow with the betrothal confirmed. As for me, I had to gather my supplies and make my way to my spy-post to watch from that vantage and store up any titbits that might escape Chade’s eyes.

He departed to his chambers to make himself ready. My own preparations were far different. I gathered a supply of candles, a pillow from his bed and a blanket, a bottle of wine and some victuals. I expected to crouch in my hiding place for several hours, and I was determined that this time I would be comfortable. Winter had clenched its grip on the castle over the last few days, and the hidden tunnels and corridors were chill and comfortless.

I bundled it all together, removing Gilly several times from my efforts. The ferret had become a social little fellow of late, greeting me with whiskers twitching and sniffing whenever we encountered one another in the hidden network. As much as he enjoyed his hunting and despite the numerous trophies he left about to demonstrate his prowess, he surprised me often by begging for raisins or bits of bread. These he seemed to relish hiding behind the scroll rack or under the chairs more than he did eating them. His mind darted like a hummingbird, inquisitive and restless. Like most animals, he was completely uninterested in bonding with a human. Our Wit-sense of one another brushed often but never engaged. Still, he was companionably intrigued in what I did, and followed me curiously as I made my way through the cramped passages.

I arrived in plenty of time to witness the farewell banquet. I set my cushion upon a rickety stool that I had gathered on the way, put my food on the dusty floor beside me and my candle and extra tapers beyond it. I seated myself, wrapped the blanket about my shoulders and settled myself by the peephole. This one offered a good vantage, I decided with approval. From here, I could see the high dais and almost a third of the hall.

The winter finery of the Great Hall had been renewed. Evergreen boughs and garlands trimmed the entrances and hearths, and the minstrels played softly as folk entered and sought their places. All in all it reminded me very much of the Betrothal Ceremony, witnessed from a different angle. Embroidered cloths covered the long tables, and bread and fruit preserves and wine glasses awaited the guests. Southern incense, a gift from the Bingtown Traders, sweetened the air of the hall. There was a bit less ceremony as the dukes and duchesses entered this time. I suspected that even the nobility had become a bit weary of all the festivities and pomp of late. The Bingtown delegation, I noted with interest, came in with the lesser aristocrats and was seated well away from the Outislanders’ dais. I wondered if the distance would be enough to prevent sparks flying.

What I had begun to think of as Arkon Bloodblade’s contingent entered next. They seemed in high spirits, and were once more decked in their extravagant versions of Buckkeep garb. Heavy furs had been replaced with satin and velvet, lace had been used indiscriminately and the colours seemed to favour the red and orange section of the spectrum. Strange to say, it suited them well, both the men and the women. The barbaric excess in adopting our modes of dress made them the Outislanders’ own style. And that they had chosen to emulate some of our ways indicated to me that the doors would soon open wide to trade of all sorts. If Arkon Bloodblade had his way.

Peottre Blackwater and Elliania were not with them.

They still had not entered by the time the Queen and the Prince made their way to the high dais, with Chade trailing demurely behind them. I saw the Queen’s eyes widen with dismay, but she did not let it reach her smile. Prince Dutiful kept a lordly reserve, apparently not noticing that his intended had not yet seen fit to join the ceremony designed to honour her departure. When the Farseers had assumed their places, an awkward little delay ensued. Ordinarily, the Queen would have ordered the servants to pour the wine and begun with a toast to her honoured guests. It had just reached the point at which folk had begun to mutter when Peottre Blackwater appeared at the entrance to the hall. He had retained his Outisland skins and chains but the richness of the furs and the gold that weighted his forearms bespoke his very best. He stood in the doorway until the startled murmur at his appearance had stilled. Then he stepped silently aside and the Narcheska entered. The narwhal symbol of her matriarchal line was picked out in ivory beads on her leather vest. It was trimmed with white fur, probably snowfox. She wore a sealskin skirt and slippers. Her arms and fingers were innocent of all jewellery. Her hair flowed unfettered as night down her back, and upon her head she wore a curious blue ornament, almost like a crown. It reminded me of something but I could not quite recall what.

She stood for a moment in the entrance. Her gaze met Kettricken’s and held it. Head up, she paced the length of the room towards the high dais with Peottre Blackwater coming slowly behind her. He let her lead him by enough that his presence did not distract from hers, but as always, he was close enough to protect her should any seek to do her harm. Never once did she look away from the Queen as she trod the length of the hall. Even when she ascended the steps to the dais, their gazes remained locked. When finally she stood before Kettricken, she made her a solemn curtsey, yet she did not bow her head nor avert her gaze as she did so.

‘I am so pleased you have joined us,’ Kettricken said graciously in a low voice. There was genuine welcome in her tone.

I thought for a moment that I saw a flicker of doubt pass over the Narcheska’s face. But then her resolve seemed to harden. When she spoke, her young voice was clear, her enunciation crisp and her voice pitched to carry. They were not private words she spoke. ‘I am here, Queen Kettricken of the Six Duchies. But I fear I have begun to have doubts that I will ever truly join you, as wife to your son.’ She turned then, and her gaze slowly swept the assembly. Her father was sitting very straight. I surmised that her words were a surprise to him, one he sought to cover. The initial look of shock on the Queen’s face had been replaced with a cold and courteous mask.

‘Your words disappoint me, Narcheska Elliania Blackwater of the God Runes.’ That was all Kettricken said. She spoke no question that would have invited a reply. I saw Elliania hesitate, fumbling for a way to begin her planned speech. I suspected she had expected more of a reaction; a demand for an explanation. Lacking that introduction, she had no choice but to tone her words to meet the Queen’s attitude of polite regret.

‘I find that this betrothal does not meet my expectations, which are those of my mothers’ house. I was told that I would come here to promise my hand to a king. Instead I find my hand offered to a youngster who is but a prince, not even the King-in-Waiting, as you term one who learns the duties of his crown. This is not to my satisfaction.’

Kettricken did not reply immediately. She let the girl’s words die away. When she did speak, it was with simplicity, as if she were explaining something to a child who might be too young to understand it. The effect was that of a mature and patient woman addressing a wayward young girl. ‘It is unfortunate that you were not taught our customs in this matter, Narcheska Elliania. Prince Dutiful must be at least seventeen before he may be declared the King-in-Waiting. After that, it is up to his dukes to decide when he may be crowned as a full king. I do not expect it will take long for him to earn that responsibility.’ She lifted her eyes and scanned her dukes and duchesses as she spoke. She honoured them when she acknowledged their role and they were sensible of that. Most of them nodded sagely to her words. It was smoothly done.

I think Elliania sensed her moment slipping away from her. Her voice was just the least bit shrill and she spoke perhaps a second too soon when she said, ‘Nevertheless. If I accept my betrothal to Prince Dutiful now, none can deny that I am taking the chance of binding my fate to a prince who may never be declared King.’

As she drew breath, Kettricken quietly interjected, ‘That is most unlikely, Narcheska Elliania.’

I felt, almost as if it were my own, Dutiful’s prodded pride. A Farseer temper lurked behind his cool Mountain exterior. The Skill-link between us throbbed with his rising anger.

Steady. Let the Queen handle this. I kept my thread of suggestion small and tight between us.

I suppose I must, he replied recklessly. However little I like it. Just as I must tolerate this arranged marriage at all.

In the heat of his provocation, his control was more absent than sloppy. I winced at it and glanced towards the veiled Bingtown Trader. Selden Vestrit sat very straight, and perhaps his intentness was only the interest in the proceedings that he shared with all the other Bingtown Traders. Yet he seemed entirely too still, as if he listened with every pore of his body. I feared him.

‘Nevertheless!’ the Narcheska said again, and this time her accent flawed the word more sharply. I could see her losing her aplomb, but she ploughed ahead stubbornly. Doubtless this speech had been practised endlessly in her room, but now it was delivered without finesse or gestures. It was only words, pebbles hurled in desperation. Doubtless many thought it was to save herself from the betrothal. My suspicions were different.

‘Nevertheless, if I am to accept this custom of yours as good, and give my promise of marriage to a prince who may never become a king, then it seems to me fair and good that in return I ask him to honour a custom of my land and people.’

There were too many faces to watch for responses from everyone. One I made sure of was Arkon Bloodblade. I was certain that his daughter’s speech was a complete surprise to him. Yet at her naming this condition, he seemed pleased. But then, I reflected, he was obviously a man who enjoyed a challenge and a gamble, as well as putting on a show. He was content to let her stir the pot while he waited to see what would bob to the top. Perhaps it would be to his advantage. Several of the people seated alongside him did not look so sanguine. They exchanged apprehensive glances, fearing the girl’s effrontery would endanger the betrothal and cripple their trade negotiations.

The blood had started to rise in Prince Dutiful’s face. I could see and feel him fighting to maintain a serene demeanour. Kettricken held her calm almost effortlessly.

‘Perhaps that might be acceptable,’ she said quietly, and again it sounded as if she were indulging a child. ‘Would you care to explain this custom to us?’

Narcheska Elliania seemed to know that she was not showing well. She pulled herself straighter, and took a breath before she spoke. ‘In my land, in the God Runes, it is customary that if a man seeks to marry a woman, and the woman’s mothers are uncertain of his blood or his character, then the mothers may propose a challenge to him whereby he can prove himself worthy.’

And there it was. Insult bald enough that no duchy would have blamed their queen if she had immediately voided the betrothal and alliance. No, they would not have blamed her, yet in the faces of more than one pride warred with the possible loss of trade profits. Eyes flickered as dukes and duchesses silently conferred with one another, faces set in stillness, mouths flat. But before the Queen could even draw breath to compose a reply, the Narcheska added to her words.

‘As I stand before you without the benefit of my mothers to speak for me, I would myself propose a challenge that would prove the Prince worthy of me.’

I had known Kettricken in the days when she was the daughter of the Mountain Sacrifice, before she was Queen of the Six Duchies. I had known her in the days when she was transforming herself from a girl barely a woman into both woman and queen. Others might have been at her side longer, or spent more recent years with her, but I think my early knowledge of her let me read her as no one else could. I saw in the tiny movement of her lips how disappointed she was. All the months of effort spent crawling towards an alliance between the Six Duchies and the Outislands were erased in the rush of an impetuous girl’s words. For Kettricken could not allow the worthiness of her son to be questioned. When Elliania looked askance at Dutiful, she looked askance at the entire Kingdom of the Six Duchies. It could not be tolerated, not because of maternal pride, but because of the danger of debasing the value of the Six Duchies alliance. I held my breath, waiting to hear how Kettricken would sever the negotiations. So focused was I on the Queen’s face that I only caught from the tail of my eye the furtive grab that Chade made at the young prince’s shoulder as Dutiful surged to his feet.

‘I will accept your challenge.’ The Prince’s voice rang out, young and strong. Violating all protocol he stepped clear of his chair and moved to face the Narcheska as if this were truly a confrontation between lovers. His action seemed to exclude the Queen, as if she had no say in the matter at all. ‘I will do it, not to prove myself worthy of your hand, Narcheska. I will not do it to prove anything about myself to you, or to anyone else. But I will do it because I would not see the days of negotiation towards a peace between our peoples put into jeopardy over a prideful girl’s doubts of me.’

She was equal to his scalded pride. ‘It matters little to me why you do it,’ she said, and suddenly her crisp diction and precise pronunciation were back. ‘So long as the task is performed.’

‘And the task?’ he demanded.

‘Prince Dutiful,’ said the Queen. Any son would have recognized the meaning of those words. In the naming of his name, she commanded him to be silent and step back. But the Prince did not seem even to hear them. His entire attention was focused on the girl who had humiliated him and then spurned his efforts at apology.

Elliania took a breath. When she spoke again I recognized plainly the polished diction of a prepared speech. Like a courser who finds solid ground beneath her feet, she sprang to the chase.

‘You know little of our God Runes, Prince, and less of our legends. For legend many will term the dragon Icefyre, though I assure you he is real. As real as your Six Duchies dragons were, when they flew over our villages, snatching memories and sense from those who lived there.’

Bitter words that could only wake bitter memories in the Six Duchies folk who heard them. How dared she complain of what our dragons had done to her people, after the years of raids and Forging had provoked us to it? She walked on very thin ice, black water seeping up in her footprints. I think that only the sheer drama of the moment saved her. She would have been shouted down, had not all ardently wished to know what this Icefyre was. Even the Bingtown Traders had suddenly come to a more pointed attention.

‘Our “legend” is that Icefyre, the black dragon of the God Runes, sleeps deep in the heart of a glacier on Aslevjal Isle. His slumber is a magic one, preserving the fires of his life until some deep need of the God Runes folk awakens him. Then, he will rip himself free of the glacier and come to our aid.’ She paused and slowly scanned the whole room. Her voice was cool and emotionless when she observed, ‘Surely, he should have done so when your dragons flew over us? Surely that was an hour of great need for us. Yet our hero failed to arise. And, for that, as for any hero who forsakes his duty, he deserves to die.’ She turned back to Dutiful. ‘Bring me Icefyre’s head. Then I will know that, unlike him, you are a worthy hero. And I will wed you and be your wife in all ways, even if you never become the King of the Six Duchies.’

I felt Dutiful’s instantaneous reaction. NO I forbade him, and for the first time since I had accidentally Skill-imprinted on him the command not to fight me, I hoped with all my heart that it was well and truly still in place.

And it was. I felt him hit that barrier like a rabbit finding the length of the snare. Like a rabbit, he struggled against the choking restriction of my command. But unlike a rabbit, I felt him, even in his panic and outrage, consider the type of stricture it was. He acted as swift as thought. He lifted his head, and almost like a tracing finger, I felt him follow the noose back to me.

He severed it. Not easily. In the moment before I lost my contact with him, I could feel the sweat burst from his skin. For me, it was like being slammed brow-first onto an anvil. I reeled with the impact, but had no time for considering the pain. For I was suddenly aware that the veiled Trader’s pale blue eye-light was visible through his lacy veil. And he stared, not at the Prince, but at the peephole where I cowered, out of sight. I would have given much to see his expression just then. Even as I prayed it was some bizarre coincidence, I longed to huddle down, to shut my own eyes and hide until his gaze had swept past me.

But I could not. I had a duty, not just as a Farseer but as Chade’s extra eyes. I kept my gaze fixed on the room. My head pounded with pain, and Selden Vestrit continued to stare at the wall that should have shielded me. Then Dutiful spoke.

His voice boomed forth, Verity’s voice, a man’s voice. ‘I accept the challenge!’

So swift it all had happened. I heard Kettricken’s gasp. She had not had time to think of nor phrase a refusal. A stunned silence followed Dutiful’s words. Outislanders, including Arkon Bloodblade, exchanged worried glances at the thought of a Six Duchies prince slaying their dragon. At the Six Duchies tables, the palpable thought was that Dutiful did not need to meet this foreign challenge. I saw Chade wince. Yet a moment later, the old assassin’s eyes opened wide and I saw hope gleam in them. For cheers erupted, not just from the Six Duchies tables but from the Outislanders as well. The enthusiasm for a young man roaring like a bull that he would meet a challenge overpowered every shred of common sense that any man in the room might have held. Even I felt a surge of pride in my chest for this young Farseer prince. He could have refused the challenge, and rightfully so, with no loss to his honour. But he instead had stepped up to it, to defy the Outislanders’ slighting assumption that he was less than worthy of their Narcheska’s hand. At the Outislander table, I suspected that wagers were already being laid that the boy would fail. But even if he failed, his willingness to step up to Elliania’s challenge to him had increased their regard for him. Perhaps they were not marrying their Narcheska off to a farmer prince at all. Perhaps there was a bit of hot blood in his veins.

And for the first time I noted the looks of consternation, even horror, amongst the Bingtown Traders. The veiled Trader was no longer staring at my wall. Selden Vestrit gestured frantically, speaking urgently to the others at his table, trying to make himself heard through the roar of sound that filled the Great Hall.

I caught a glimpse of Starling Birdsong. She had leapt to a tabletop, and her head pivoted like a beleaguered wind-vane as she tried to take in every aspect of the scene, mark every man’s reaction and harvest every comment. There would be a song to be made from all this, and it would be hers.

‘And!’ Prince Dutiful shouted into the din. Something in the set of the lines around his eyes warned me.

‘Eda, mercy,’ I prayed, but knew no god or goddess would stop him. There was a wild and stubborn gleam in his eyes, and I feared whatever it was he was about to say. At his shout, the uproar in the Great Hall quieted abruptly. When he spoke again, his words were pitched for the Narcheska. Nonetheless, in the brimming silence in the room, they carried clearly.

‘And I’ve a challenge of my own. For if I must prove myself worthy to wed the Narcheska Elliania, who has no prospects of being Queen of anything, save that she give her hand to me, then I think she must first prove herself worthy of being a queen of the Six Duchies.’

Now it was Peottre’s turn to startle and then grow pale, for the words were scarcely out of the Prince’s mouth before Elliania replied, ‘Call me this challenge, then!’

‘I shall!’ The Prince took a breath. The eyes of the two youngsters were locked. They might have stood in the midst of a desert for all the care they took for the rest of us. The glance between them was not fixed, but alive, as if for the first time they saw one another as they clinched in this battle of wills. ‘My father, as you may know, was “only” the King-in-Waiting when he embarked on a quest to save the Six Duchies. With little more than his own courage to guide him, he set forth to find the Elderlings that would rise to our aid and end the war your people had forced upon us.’ The Prince paused, almost, I think, to see if his words had struck home, but Elliania remained icily silent in her stern contemplation of him. He cut on. ‘When months passed and no word was heard from him, my mother, who by then was the besieged but rightful Queen of the Six Duchies, set out after him. With but a handful of companions she sought and found my father, and aided him in waking the dragons of the Six Duchies.’ Again, that pause. Again, Elliania refused to put words in it. ‘It seems fitting to me, that as she proved herself by joining my father’s quest to wake the dragons, so you should play a similar role in my quest to slay your country’s dragon. Go with me, Narcheska Elliania. Share the hardship and witness the deed you have laid upon me. And if, in truth, there be no dragon to slay, witness that.’ Dutiful spun suddenly to the room and shouted, ‘Let no man here ever say it was the will of the Six Duchies alone that slew Icefyre. Let your Narcheska who has commanded this deed see it through beside me.’ He turned back to her and his voice dropped to a sugary whisper. ‘If she dares.’

Her lip curled in disdain. ‘I dare.’

If she had said more, the words would have gone unheard, for the hall erupted in noise. Peottre stood as pale and still as if he had been turned to ice, but every other Outislander, including Elliania’s father, was pounding on the table. A sudden rhythmic chant in their own tongue burst from them, a song of determination and blood-lust more fit to the rowers on a raiding ship than to treaty negotiators in a foreign hall. The lords and ladies of the Six Duchies shouted as they attempted to be heard. The comments seemed to run the gauntlet that the Narcheska deserved the Prince’s scornful challenge to that she had responded bravely and perhaps there was indeed a worthy queen inside the Outislander girl.

Amidst it all, my queen stood still and tall, silently regarding her son. I saw Chade’s mouth move as if he offered some quiet bit of counsel to her. She sighed. I suspected I knew what he had said. Too late to change it; the Six Duchies must follow through on the Prince’s thrust. To one side of them, Peottre was struggling to mask his deep dismay. And before them the Prince and the Narcheska still stood, their eyes locked in duel.

The Queen spoke, her voice low, the first words intended only to quell the sound in the hall. ‘My guests and my lords and ladies. Hear me, please.’

The uproar died slowly, ending with the thumping at the Outislander table that gradually slowed and ceased. Kettricken took a deep breath and I saw resolve firm her features. She turned, not to Arkon Bloodblade and his table, but to where she knew the true power resided now. She looked towards the Narcheska, but I knew her focus was actually on Peottre Black-water. ‘It seems we now have a firm agreement. Prince Dutiful is hereby affianced to the Narcheska Elliania Blackwater of the God Runes. Providing that Prince Dutiful can bring to her the head of the black dragon Icefyre. And providing that Narcheska Elliania accompany him to witness the doing of this task.’

‘BE IT SO!’ roared out Arkon Bloodblade, unaware that the decision had never been his to make.

Peottre nodded twice, grave and silent. And to my queen, the Narcheska Elliania turned and lifted her chin. ‘Be it so,’ she agreed quietly, and the deed was done.

‘Bring in the food and wine!’ the Queen commanded suddenly. It was not at all the proper way the meal should have been commanded, but I suspected she needed to sit down, and that a glass of wine to fortify her would be welcome. I was trembling myself, not just in fear of what must eventually come of this but from the thundering pain that Dutiful had inflicted on me in the course of severing my power over him. The minstrels struck up suddenly at a signal from Chade as the serving-folk flooded into the hall. All resumed their seats, even Starling the Minstrel, stepping gracefully from the tabletop into her husband’s waiting arms. He swung her to the floor, infected with the court’s heady elation. It seemed whatever their quarrel had been, it was mended now.

As if Dutiful sensed me wondering at how he had freed himself of my Skill-command, the Prince swept suddenly into my skull. Tom Badgerlock. You will answer to me later for this. As abruptly, he was gone. When I falteringly reached after him, he was simply unavailable to me. I knew he was there, but I could not find a handle to open his mind to mine. I drew a deep breath. This did not bode well. He was angry with me, and quite likely the trust between us was badly damaged. It would not make teaching him any easier. I pulled my blanket more tightly around my shoulders.

Below, in the hall, only the Bingtown Traders were subdued. Their talk was quiet and confined to their own group. Even so, it did not prevent them from filling their plates and their glasses generously. Alone amongst them, Selden Vestrit sat, seemingly in deep thought. His plate and his glass were empty and he seemed to stare at nothing.

But at every other table, the talk was lively and the eating as ravenous as if they were men-at-arms fresh returned from battle. The excitement in the hall was palpable, as was the sense of triumph. It was done. For now, at least, the Six Duchies and the Outislands had a firm understanding with one another. The Queen had done it, well, yes, and the Prince, and the glances that were tossed his way seemed more appraising of him than previously. Obviously, this lad was proving himself spirited, to both his lords and ladies, and to the Outislander folk.

The guests in the hall settled down to their meat and drink. A minstrel struck up a lively tune, and the talk subsided as folk began to eat. I opened the bottle of wine I had brought with me. From my folded napkin, I took bread and meat and cheese. The ferret miraculously appeared at my elbow, his tiny paws on my knee. I broke off a piece of meat for him.

‘A toast!’ someone shouted in the hall. ‘To the Prince and the Narcheska!’

A lusty cheer followed the words.

I raised my bottle, grinned grimly, and drank.