Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (42 page)

Verity entrusted those to me, I said
uneasily.

Obviously because he feels you are a man whose
judgment he trusts. So, perhaps you shall judge it safe to entrust
them to me?

It is one thing to trust a friend with one's own
possessions. It is another to allow him those another has put in
your safe keeping. I found I had no doubt of my own trust of the
Fool. But. Perhaps it would be wiser to ask Verity first, I
offered.

The less connection between Verity and me, the
better it is for both of us. The Fool spoke flatly.

You do not care for Verity? I was
startled.

I am the King's fool. He is the King-in-Waiting.
Let him wait. When he is king, I shall be his. If he does not get
us all killed before then.

I will hear nothing spoken against Prince
Verity, I told him softly.

No? Then you must walk about with your ears
closely stoppered these days.

I walked to the door, set my hand to the latch.
We must leave now, Fool. I am already late. I kept my voice steady.
His sneer at Verity had cut me as deeply as if aimed at
me.

Do not be the Fool, Fitz. That is my role.
Think. A man can serve only one master. No matter what your lips
may say, Verity is your king. I fault you not for that. Do you
fault me that Shrewd is mine?

I do not fault you. Nor do I make mock of him
before you.

Nor do you come to visit him, no matter how many
times I have urged it.

I was at his door just yesterday. I was turned
away. They said he was not well.

And if that were to happen at Verity's door,
would you take it so meekly?

That made me stop and think. No. I don't suppose
I would.

Why do you give him up so easily? The Fool spoke
softly, like a man grieved. Why does not Verity bestir himself for
his father, instead of luring away Shrewd's men to his
side?

I have not been lured away. Rather Shrewd has
not seen fit to see me. As for Verity, well, I cannot speak for
him. But all know it is Regal that Shrewd favors of his
sons.

Do all know that? Then do all know as well where
Regal's heart is truly set?

Some do, I said briefly. This was dangerous
talk.

Reflect on this. Both of us serve the King we
love best. Yet there is another that we love least. I do not think
we have a conflict of loyalty, Fitz, while we are united in who we
love least. Come. Confess to me that you have scarce had time to
set your eyes upon the scrolls, and I shall remind you that the
time you have not had has fled us all too swiftly. This is not a
task that can wait upon your convenience.

I teetered on the decision. The Fool came
suddenly closer. His eyes were always hard to meet and harder to
read. But the set of his mouth showed me his desperation. I will
trade you. I offer you a bargain you will find nowhere else. A
secret I hold, promised to you, after you have let me search the
scrolls for a secret which may not even be there.

What secret? I asked reluctantly.

My secret. He turned aside from me and stared at
the wall. The mystery of the Fool. Whence comes he and why? He cast
me a sidelong glance and said no more.

The curiosity of a dozen years leaped in me.
Freely given? I asked.

No. Offered as a bargain, as I said.

I considered. Then: I'll see you later. Latch
the door when you leave. And I slipped out.

There were serving folk moving about in the
corridors. I was grievously late. I forced myself into a creaking
trot, and then to a run. I did not slow for the stairs to Verity's
tower, but rushed up their full length, knocked once, and then
entered.

Burrich turned to me, greeting me with a frown.
The Spartan furnishings of the room had already been pushed to one
wall, save for Verity's window chair. Verity was already ensconced
in it. He turned his head to me more slowly, with eyes still full
of distance. There was a drugged look to his eyes and mouth, a
laxness painful to see when one knew what it meant. The Skill
hunger gnawed at him. I feared that what he wished to teach me
would only feed it and increase it. Yet how could either of us say
no? I had learned something yesterday. It had not been a pleasant
lesson, but once learned, it could not be undone. I knew now that I
would do whatever I must to drive the Red-Ships from my shore. I
was not the King, I would never be the King, but the folk of the
Six Duchies were mine, just as they were Chade's. I understood now
why Verity spent himself so recklessly.

I beg pardon that I am late. I was detained. But
I am ready to begin now.

How do you feel? The question came from Burrich,
asked with genuine curiosity. I turned to find him regarding me as
sternly as before, but also with some puzzlement.

Stiff, sir. A bit. The run up the stairs warmed
me up some. Sore, from yesterday. But otherwise I am all
right.

A bit of amusement quirked at his face. No
tremors, FitzChivalry? No darkening at the edge of your vision, no
dizzy spells?

I paused to think for a moment. No.

Be damned. Burrich gave a snort of amusement.
Evidently the cure has been to beat it out of you. I'll remember
that the next time you need a healer.

Over the next hour he seemed intent on applying
his new theory of healing. The heads of the axes were blunt ones,
and he had bundled them both in rags for this first lesson, but
that did not prevent bruises. To be honest, most of them I earned
with my own clumsiness. Burrich was not trying to land any blows
that day, but only to teach me to use the whole weapon, not just
the head of it. To keep Verity with me was effortless, for he
remained in the same room with us. He was silent within me that
day, offering no counsels or observations or warnings, but merely
riding with my eyes. Burrich told me that the ax was not a
sophisticated weapon, but was a very satisfactory one if used
correctly. At the end of the session, he pointed out to me that he
had been gentle with me, in consideration of the wounds I already
bore. Verity dismissed us, and we both went down the stairs rather
more slowly than I had come up.

Be on time tomorrow, Burrich charged me as we
parted at the kitchen door, he going back to his stables, and I to
find breakfast. I ate as I had not in days, with a wolf's appetite,
and wondered at the source of my own sudden vitality. Unlike
Burrich, I did not put it down to any beating I had received.
Molly, I thought, had healed with a touch what all the herbs and
rest in a year could never have put to rights. The day suddenly
stretched long in front of me, full of unbearable minutes of
unendurable hours before nightfall and the kindly dark allowed us
to be together again.

I set her resolutely from my mind and resolved
to fill the day with tasks. A dozen immediately leaped to mind. I
had been neglecting Patience. I had promised my aid with
Kettricken's garden. An explanation was owed to Brother Nighteyes.
A visit was owed King Shrewd. I tried to order them in importance.
Molly kept moving to the top of the list.

I resolutely set her to last. King Shrewd, I
decided. I gathered my crockery from the table and took it back to
the kitchen. The bustle was deafening. It puzzled me for a moment,
until I recalled that tonight was the first night of Winterfest.
Old Cook Sara looked up from the bread she was kneading and
motioned me over. I went and stood beside her as I often had as a
child, admiring the deft way her fingers shaped handfuls of dough
into rolls and set them to rise. She was flour to her dimpled
elbows, and flour smudged one cheek as well. The racket and rush of
the kitchen created a strange sort of privacy. She spoke quietly
through the clatter and chatter, and I had to strain to hear
her.

I just wanted you to know, she grunted as she
folded and pushed a new batch of dough, that I know when a rumor is
nonsense. And I speak it so when anyone tries to tell it here in my
kitchen. They can gossip all they like in the laundry court, and
tattle tales as much as they wish while they spin, but I'll not
have ill said of you here in my kitchen. She glanced up at me with
snapping black eyes. My heart stood still with dread. Rumors? Of
Molly and me?

You've et at my tables, and often enough, stood
aside me and stirred a pot while we chatted when you were small. I
think that maybe I know you better than most. And them what says
you fight like a beast because you're more than half beast are
talking evil nonsense. Them bodies was tore up bad, but I've seen
worse done by men in a rage. When Sal Flatfish's daughter was
raped, she cut up that beast with her fish knife, chop, chop, chop,
right there in the market, just like she was cutting bait to set
her lines. What you done was no worse than that.

I knew an instant of dizzying terror. More than
half beast ... It wasn't so long ago or far away that folk with the
Wit were burned alive. Thank you, I said, fighting for a calm
voice. I added a modicum of truth when I said, Not all of that was
my doing. They were fighting over ... their prey when I came on
them.

Ginna's daughter. You need not hide words from
me, Fitz. I've children of my own, growed now, but if any was to
attack them, why, I'd pray there'd be one like to you to defend
them, no matter how. Or avenge them, if that's all you could
do.

I'm afraid it was, Cook. The shudder that ran
over me was not feigned. I saw again the lines of blood trickled
over a fat little fist. I blinked, but the image stayed. I've got
to hurry off now. I'm to wait on King Shrewd this day.

Are ye? Well, there's a spot of good news, then.
You just run these up with you, then. She trundled over to a
cupboard to take out a covered tray of small pastries baked rich
with soft cheese and currants. She set a pot of hot tea beside them
and a clean cup. She arranged the pastries lovingly. And you see he
eats them, Fitz. His favorites, they are, and if he tastes one, I
know he'll eat them all. And do him good, too.

Mine, too.

I jumped as if poked with a pin. I tried to
cover, it with a cough, as if I had suddenly choked, but Cook still
looked at me oddly. I coughed again, and nodded at her. I'm sure
he'll love them, I said in a choked voice, and bore the tray out of
the kitchen. Several sets of eyes followed me. I smiled pleasantly
and tried to pretend I didn't know why.

I didn't realize you were still with me, I told
Verity. A tiny part of me was reviewing every thought I'd had since
I left his tower, and was thanking Eda that I had not decided to
seek out Nighteyes first, even as I pushed such thoughts aside,
unsure how private they were.

I know. I didn't intend to be spying on you.
Only to show you that when you do not focus so tightly on this, you
are able to do it.

I groped after his Skilling. More your effort
than mine, I pointed out as I climbed the stairs.

You're annoyed with me. Beg pardon. From now on,
l shall be sure you are aware of me whenever I am with you. Shall I
leave you to your day?

My own surliness had left me feeling
embarrassed. No. Not yet. Ride with me a bit more while I visit
King Shrewd. Let's see how far we can carry this.

I sensed his assent. I paused before Shrewd's
door and balanced the tray with one hand as I hastily smoothed my
hair back and tugged my jerkin straight. My hair had begun to be a
problem lately. Jonqui had cut it short during one of my fevers in
the mountains. Now that it was growing out, I didn't know whether
to tie it back in a tail as Burrich and the guardsmen did, or keep
it at my shoulders as if I were a page still. I was much too old to
wear it in the half braid of a child.

Tie it back, boy. I'd say you'd earned the right
to wear it as a warrior, as much as any guardsman. Just don't start
fussing about it and twining it into oiled curls as Regal
does.

I fought the smirk off my face and knocked at
the door.

I waited a bit, then knocked again, more
loudly.

Announce yourself and open it, Verity
suggested.

It's FitzChivalry, sire. I've brought you
something from Cook. I set my hand to the door. It was latched from
within.

That's peculiar. It has never been my father's
way to latch a door. Put a man on it, yes, but not latch it and
ignore someone knocking. Can you slip it?

Probably. But let me try knocking again first. I
all but pounded on the door.

A moment! A moment! someone whispered from
inside. But it was considerably more than that before several
latches were undone and the door opened a hand's width. Wallace
peered out at me like a rat from under a cracked wall. What do you
want? he demanded accusingly.

Audience with the King.

He's asleep. Or was before you came pounding and
shouting. Be off with you.

A moment. I shoved my booted foot into the
closing door. With one free hand, I turned up the collar of my
jerkin to expose the red-stoned pin I was seldom without. The door
was closed firmly on my foot. I put a shoulder against it, leaned
as much as I could without dropping the tray I still carried. This
was given to me by King Shrewd a number of years ago. With it he
gave the promise that whenever I showed it, I would be admitted to
see him.