Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (61 page)

We sat for a long time together, staring into
the fire silently. When I finally returned to my bed that night, I
was assailed by nightmares of Verity attacked and battling for his
life while I stood by and watched. I could not kill any of his
attackers, for my king had not said I could.

Twelve days later, Duke Brawndy of
Bea
rn
s arrived. He came
down the coast road, at the head of enough men to be impressive
without being an open threat. He had mustered as much pomp and
panoply as his dukedom could afford. His daughters rode at his
side, save for the eldest, who had remained behind to do all that
could be done for Ferry. I spent most of the early afternoon in the
stables, and then in the guardroom, listening to the talk of the
lesser members of his entourage. Hands acquitted himself well at
seeing that there was space and care for their beasts, and as
always, our kitchens and barracks made themselves hospitable
places. Still, there was plenty of hard talk among the folk from
Bea
rn
s. They spoke
bluntly of what they had seen at Ferry, and how their summons for
help had gone unheeded. It shamed our soldiers that there was
little they could say to defend what King Shrewd had apparently
done. And when a soldier cannot defend what his leader has done, he
must either agree with the criticism or find another area in which
to disagree. So there were fistfights between
Bea
rn
s men and Buckkeep
troops, isolated incidents for the most part, and over trivial
differences. But such things did not usually happen under the
discipline at Buckkeep, and so they were all the more unsettling.
It underscored to me the confusion among our own troops.

I dressed carefully for dinner that evening,
unsure as to who I might encounter or what might be expected of me.
I had glimpsed Celerity twice that day, and each time slipped away
before I could be noticed. I expected she would be my dinner
partner, and dreaded it. Now was no time to give anyone from
Bea
rn
s any sort of
affront, but I did not wish to encourage her. I could have saved my
worrying. I found myself seated far down the table, among the
lesser nobility, and the younger ones at that. I spent an
uncomfortable evening as a minor novelty. Several of the girls at
the table attempted to be flirtatious. This was a new experience
for me and not one I relished. It made me realize just how great an
influx of folk had swollen the Buckkeep court that winter. Most of
them were from the Inland Duchies, sniffing after scraps from
Regal's plate, but as these young women plainly indicated, they
would be happy to court political influence wherever they could.
The effort to follow their attempts at witty banter and respond on
a level of at least moderate politeness made it nearly impossible
for me to give any attention to what was going on at the High
Table. King Shrewd was there, seated between Queen-in-Waiting
Kettricken and Prince Regal. Duke Brawndy and his daughters
Celerity and Faith were seated closest to them. The rest of the
table was filled with Regal's pets. Duke Ram of Tilth and his Lady
Placid, and their two sons were the most noteworthy. Regal's cousin
Lord Bright was there as well; the young heir to the Duke of Farrow
was new to court.

From where I sat, I could see little, and hear
even less. I felt Verity's churning frustration at the situation,
but there was nothing I could do about it. The King looked more
weary than dazed that evening, which I took to be positive.
Kettricken, seated beside him, was near colorless save for two
spots of pink on her cheeks. She did not seem to be eating much,
and seemed graver and more silent than usual. Prince Regal, in
contrast, was both social and merry. With Duke Ram and Lady Placid
and their boys. He did not quite ignore Brawndy and his daughters,
but his merriment clearly grated on the visitors' mood.

Duke Brawndy was a large man, and well muscled
even in his old age. Shocks of white hair in his black warrior's
tail attested to old battle injuries, as did a hand missing a few
fingers. His daughters sat just downtable from him, indigo-eyed
women whose high cheekbones told of his late queen's Near Island
ancestry. Faith and Celerity wore their hair cut short and sleek in
the northern style. The quick ways they turned their heads to
observe everyone at the table reminded me of hawks on a wrist.
These were not the gentled nobility of the Inland Duchies that
Regal was used to dealing with. Of all the Six Duchies, the folk of
Bearns came closest to being warriors still.

Regal was courting disaster to make light of
their grievances. I knew they would not expect to discuss Raiders
at the table, but his festive tone was completely at odds with
their mission here. I wondered if he knew how badly he offended
them. Kettricken obviously did. More than once I saw her clench her
jaw, or cast her eyes downward at one of Regal's witticisms. He was
drinking too heavily as well, and it began to show in his
extravagant hand gestures, and the loudness of his laughter. I
wished desperately I could hear what he was finding so humorous in
his own words. ,

Dinner seemed interminable. Celerity rapidly
located me at table. After that, I was hard put to avoid the
measuring looks she sent my way. I nodded affably to her the first
time our eyes locked; I could tell she was puzzled by where I had
been seated. I dared not ignore every look she sent my way. Regal
was offensive enough without my appearing to snub
Bea
rn
s's daughter as
well. I felt I teetered on a fence. I was grateful when King Shrewd
rose and Queen Kettricken insisted on taking his arm to help him
from the room. Regal frowned a trifle drunkenly to see the party
disperse so soon, but made no effort to persuade Duke Brawndy and
his daughters to stay at table. They excused themselves rather
stiffly as soon as Shrewd had departed. I likewise made excuse of a
headache and left my giggling companions for the solitude of my
room. As I opened my door and went into my bedchamber, I felt
myself the most powerless person in the Keep. Nameless the dog boy
indeed.

I see dinner was absolutely fascinating for you,
the Fool observed. I sighed. I didn't ask how he had gotten in. No
point to asking questions that would not be answered. He was
sitting on my hearth, silhouetted against the dancing flames of a
small fire he had kindled there. There was a peculiar stillness to
him, no jingling of bells, no tumbling mocking words.

Dinner was insufferable, I told him. I did not
bother with candles. My headache had not been entirely a fiction. I
sat, then lay back on my bed with a sigh. I do not know what
Buckkeep is coming to, nor what I can do about it.

Perhaps what you have already done is enough?
the Fool ventured.

I've done nothing noteworthy lately, I informed
him. Unless you count knowing when to stop talking back to
Regal.

Ah. That's a skill we're all learning, then, he
agreed morosely. He drew his knees up to his chin, rested his arms
atop them. He took a breath. Have you no news, then, that you'd
care to share with a Fool? A very discreet Fool?

I've no news to share with you that you would
not already know, and probably sooner than I did. The darkness of
the room was restful. My headache was easing.

Ah. He paused delicately. Shall I, perhaps, ask
a question? To be answered or not as you see fit?

Save your breath and ask it. You know you shall,
whether I give you permission or no.

Indeed, there you are right. Well then. The
question. Ah, I surprise myself, I blush, I do. FitzChivalry, have
you made a fitz of your own?

I sat up slowly on my bed and stared at him. He
did not move nor flinch. What did you ask me? I demanded
quietly.

He spoke softly, almost apologetically now. I
must know. Is Molly carrying your child?

I sprang at him from the bed, caught him by the
throat, and dragged him up to his feet. I drew back my fist, and
then stopped, shocked by what the firelight revealed on his
face.

Batter away, he suggested quietly. New bruises
will not show much atop the old ones. I can creep about unseen for
a few more days.

I snatched my hand back from him. Strange, how
the act I had been about to commit now seemed so monstrous when I
discovered someone else had already done it. As soon as I released
him, he turned away from me, as if his discolored and swollen face
shamed him. Perhaps the pallor of his skin and his delicate bone
structure made it all the more horrifying to me. It was as if
someone had done this to a child. I knelt by the fire and began to
build it up.

Didn't get a good enough look? the Fool asked
acidly. I'll warn you, it gets no better by giving more light to
it.

Sit on my clothes chest and take your shirt off,
I told him brusquely. He didn't move. I ignored that. I had a small
kettle for tea water. This I set to heat. I lit a branch of candles
and set them atop the table, and then took out my small store of
herbs. I did not keep that many in my room; I wished now I had
Burrich's full store to draw on, but I was sure that if I left to
go to the stables, the Fool would be gone when I returned. Still,
those I kept in my room were mostly for bruises and cuts and the
types of injuries my other profession exposed me to most often.
They would do.

When the water was warm, I poured some into my
washbasin and added a generous handful of herbs, crushing them as I
did so. I found an outgrown shirt in my clothing chest and tore it
into rags. Come into the light. This I phrased as a request. After
a moment he did so, but moving hesitantly and shyly. I looked at
him briefly, then took him by the shoulders and sat him down atop
my clothing chest. What happened to you? I asked, awed by the
damage to his face. His lips were cut and swollen, and one eye
swollen near closed.

I've been going about Buckkeep, asking
bad-tempered individuals if they've fathered bastards lately. His
one good eye met my glare straight on. Red webbed the white of it.
I found I could neither be angry with him, nor laugh.

You should know enough medicine to take better
care of something like this. Sit still now. I made the rag into a
compress, held it gently but firmly to his face. After a moment he
relaxed. I sponged away some dried blood. There wasn't much; he had
obviously cleaned himself up after this beating, but some of the
cuts had continued to ooze blood. I ran my fingers lightly down the
lines of his jaw, and around his eye sockets. At least no bone
seemed damaged. Who did this to you? I asked him.

I walked into a series of doors. Or the same one
several times. It depends on which door you ask. He spoke glibly
for someone with mashed lips.

That was a serious question, I told
him.

As was mine.

I glared at him again and he dropped his eyes.
For a moment neither of us spoke as I searched out a pot of salve
Burrich had given me for cuts and scrapes. I'd really like to know
the answer, I reminded him as I took the lid off the pot. The
familiar biting scent rose to my nostrils, and I suddenly missed
Burrich with an amazing intensity.

As would I. He flinched slightly under my touch
as I applied the salve. I knew it stung. I also knew it
worked.

Why do you ask such a question of me? I finally
demanded.

He considered a moment. Because it is easier to
ask of you than to ask Kettricken if she carries Verity's child. As
far as I can determine, Regal has shared his favors only with
himself of late, so that dismisses him. You or Verity, then, must
be the father.

I looked at him blankly. He shook his head sadly
for me. Cannot you feel it? he asked in a near whisper. He stared
off in the distance dramatically. Forces shift. Shadows flutter.
Suddenly there is a rippling in the possibilities. A reordering of
the futures, as destinies multiply. All paths diverge, and diverge
again. He looked back to me. I smiled at him, thinking he jested,
but his mouth was sober. There is an heir to the Farseer line, he
said quietly. I am certain of it.

Have you ever missed a step in the dark? There
is that sudden feeling of teetering on the edge, and no knowledge
of how far you may fall. I said, far too firmly, I have fathered no
child.

The Fool regarded me with a skeptical eye. Ah,
he said with false heartiness. Of course not. Then it, must be
Kettricken who is carrying.

It must, I agreed, but my heart sank. If
Kettricken were pregnant, she would have no reason to conceal it.
Whereas Molly would. And I had not been to see Molly in several
nights. Perhaps she had news for me. I felt suddenly dizzied, but I
forced myself to take a long calming breath. Take your shirt off, I
told the Fool. Let's see your chest.

I've seen it, thank you, and I assure you it's
fine. When they popped the bag over my head, I presume it was to
provide a target. They were most conscientious about striking
nowhere else.

The brutality of what they had done to him
sickened me into silence. Who? I finally managed to ask.

With a bag over my head? Come now. Can you see
through a bag?

No. But you must have suspicions.

He canted his head at me in disbelief. If you do
not know what those suspicions are already, then you are the one
with your head in a bag. Let me cut a bit of a hole for you. `We
know you are false to the King, that you spy for Verity the
pretender. Send him no more messages, for if you do, we shall know
of it.' He turned to stare into the fire, swung his heels briefly,
thunk, thunk, thunk, against my clothing chest.