Royal Assassin (48 page)

Finally, as winter drew to a close, chance afforded me an opportunity to speak privately with Shrewd. I had gone to his chambers on one of my days away from the boat, to report to him on our training progress. Shrewd was in better health than usual and was sitting up in his chair by the fire. Wallace was not about that day. Instead, there was a young woman, ostensibly tidying the chamber, but almost certainly spying for Regal. The Fool, too, was underfoot as always, and taking a keen pleasure in making her uncomfortable. I had grown up with the Fool, and had always accepted his white skin and colorless eyes as simply the way he was. The woman obviously felt differently. She began, it must be admitted, peering at the Fool whenever she thought he might not be paying attention. But as soon as he noted it, he began to peek back at her, and each time affected a more lascivious glance than the last. She became more and more nervous, and when finally she must pass by us with her bucket, and the Fool sent Ratsy on his scepter to peek up under her skirts, she leaped back with a shriek, dousing herself and the floor she had just scrubbed with dirty water. Shrewd rebuked the Fool, who groveled extravagantly and remorselessly, and then dismissed the woman to get dry clothes on. I sprang to my opportunity.

She was scarcely clear of the room before I spoke. “My liege, there is something I have been wishing to petition you about, for some time.”

Some note in my voice must have alerted both fool and king, for I instantly had their undivided attention. I glared at the Fool, and he knew plainly I wished him to withdraw, but
instead he leaned closer, actually resting his head against Shrewd’s knee as he simpered at me infuriatingly. I refused to let it rattle me. I looked at the King beseechingly.

“You may speak, FitzChivalry,” he said formally.

I drew a breath. “My liege, I would ask your permission to marry.”

The Fool’s eyes grew round with surprise. But my king smiled as indulgently as if I were a child begging a sweetmeat. “So. Finally, it has come. But surely you mean to court her first?”

My heart was thundering in my chest. My king looked entirely too knowing. But pleased, very pleased. I dared to hope. “May it please my king, I fear I have already begun to court her. Yet know I did not intend to do so presumptuously. It just … came about.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Yes. Some things do. Though when you did not speak out sooner, I wondered what your intentions were, and if the lady had deceived herself.”

My mouth went dry. I could not breathe. How much did he know? He smiled at my terror.

“I have no objections. In fact, I am well pleased with your choice….”

The smile that broke out on my face was amazingly echoed by one on the Fool’s countenance. I drew a trembling breath, until Shrewd continued, “But her father has reservations. He has told me that he would like to delay this, at least until her older sisters are pledged.”

“What?” I could barely utter the word. Confusion whirled in me. Shrewd smiled benignly.

“Your lady, it seems, is as good as her name. Celerity asked her father for permission to court you the very day you left for Buckkeep. I think you won her heart when you spoke so plainly to Virago. But Brawndy denied her, for the reason I have told you. I understand the lady raised quite a storm with her father, but Brawndy is a firm man. He did, however, send word to us, lest we take offense. He wishes us to know he has no opposition to the match itself, only to her preceding her sisters in marriage. I acceded in this. She is, I believe, but fourteen?”

I could not speak.

“Do not look so distressed, boy. You are both young, and there is plenty of time. While he does not choose to allow a formal courting to begin as yet, I am sure he does not intend that you shall not see each other.” King Shrewd looked on me so tolerantly, with so much kindliness in his eyes. The Fool’s eyes flickered back and forth between us. I could not read his face.

I was trembling, as I had not in months. I would not allow this to continue, to become any worse than it was already. I found my tongue, formed words in my dry throat. “My king, that is not the lady I was considering.”

Silence descended. I met my king’s eyes, and saw his look change. Had I not been so desperate, I know I would have looked aside from that displeasure. Instead I looked at him beseechingly, praying he might understand. When he did not speak further, I attempted to.

“My king, the woman I speak of is presently a lady’s maid, but in her own right she is not a servant. She is—”

“Be silent.”

It could not have been sharper if he had struck me. I was still.

Shrewd looked me up and down carefully. When he spoke, it was with the force of all his majesty. I thought I felt even the pressure of the Skill in his voice. “Be entirely certain of what I say to you, FitzChivalry. Brawndy is my friend, as well as my duke. Neither he, nor his daughter, shall be offended or slighted by you. At this time you shall court no one. No one. I suggest you consider well all you are offered when Brawndy considers you favorably as a match for Celerity. He makes no matter of your birth. Few others would do so. Celerity will have land and a title of her own. As will you, from me, if you have the wisdom to bide your time and do well by the lady. You will come to find that it is the wise choice. I will tell you when you may begin courting her.”

I summoned the last of my courage. “My king, please, I—”

“Enough, Chivalry! You have heard my word on this subject. There is no more to say!”

A short time later he dismissed me, and I went shaking from his rooms. I do not know if fury or heartbreak were the force behind my trembling. I thought again of how he had called me by my father’s name. Perhaps, I told myself spitefully, it was because in his heart he knew I would do as my father had done. I would wed for love. Even, I thought savagely, if I had to wait until King Shrewd was in his grave, for Verity to keep his word to me. I went back to my rooms. To have wept would have been a relief. I could not even find tears. Instead I lay on my bed and stared at the hangings. I could not imagine telling Molly what had just transpired between my king and me. Telling myself that not to speak was also a deception, I resolved to find a way to tell her. But not right away. A time would come, I promised myself, a time when I could explain and she would understand. I would wait for it. Until then, I would not think about it. Nor, I resolved coldly, would I go to my king unless I were summoned.

As spring drew closer Verity arranged his ships and men as carefully as tokens on a game board. The watchtowers on the coast were always manned, and their signal fires kept ever ready for a torch. Such signal fires were for the purpose of alerting local citizenry that Red-Ships had been sighted. He took the remaining members of the Skill coterie Galen had fashioned and distributed them in the towers and on the ships. Serene, my nemesis and heart of Galen’s coterie, remained at Buckkeep. Privately I wondered why Verity used her there, as a center for the coterie, rather than having each member Skill individually to him. With Galen’s death, and August’s forced retirement from the coterie, Serene had taken on Galen’s post, and seemed to consider herself the Skill Master. In some ways, she almost became him. It was not just that she stalked Buckkeep in austere silence and wore always a disapproving frown. She seemed to have acquired his testiness and foul humor as well. The serving folk now spoke of her with the same dread and distaste they had once reserved for Galen. I understood she had taken over Galen’s personal quarters as well. I avoided her assiduously on the days I was home. I would have been more relieved if Verity had placed her elsewhere.
But it was not up to me to question my king-in-waiting’s decisions.

Justin, a tall gangly young man with two years on me, was assigned as coterie member to the
Rurisk
. He had despised me since we had studied the Skill together and I had failed so spectacularly at it. He snubbed me at every opportunity. I bit my tongue and did my best not to encounter him. The close quarters of the ship made that difficult. It was not a comfortable situation.

After great debate, with himself and me, Verity placed Carrod aboard the
Constance
, Burl at the Neatbay Tower, and sent Will far north, to the Red Tower up in Bearns that commanded such a wide view of the sea as well as the surrounding countryside. Once he had arranged their tokens on his maps, it made a reality of the pathetic thinness of our defenses. “It reminds me of the old folktale of the beggar who had but a hat to cover his nakedness,” I told Verity. He smiled without humor.

“Would that I could move my ships as swiftly as he did his hat,” he wished grimly.

Two of the ships Verity set to duty as roving patrol vessels. Two he kept in reserve, one docked at Buckkeep, and that was the
Rurisk
, while the
Stag
anchored in South Cove. It was a pitifully small fleet to protect the Six Duchies’ straggling coastline. A second set of ships was being constructed, but it was not expected they would be finished soon. The best of the seasoned wood had been used in the first four vessels, and his shipwrights cautioned him he would be wiser to wait than to attempt to use green wood. It chafed him, but he listened to them.

Early spring saw us practicing drills. The coterie members, Verity privately told me, functioned almost as well as carrier pigeons at relaying simple messages. His situation with me was a more frustrating one. For his own reasons, he had chosen not to disclose to anyone his training of me in the Skill. I believe he was enjoying the advantages of being able to go with me and observe and listen undetected to the everyday life of Buckkeep Town. I understood that the
Rurisk’s
master had been given word that I was to be heeded if I requested a sudden change in
course or announced that we were required at a certain location immediately. I fear he saw this mostly as Verity’s indulgence of his bastard nephew, but in this he followed his orders.

Then, one early spring morning, we reported to our ship for yet another practice. We functioned well as a crew now in maneuvering our ship. This exercise was to have us rendezvous with the
Constance
at an undisclosed location. It was a Skill exercise that so far we had not succeeded at. We were resigned to a frustrating day, save for Justin, who was stonily intent on succeeding. Arms crossed on his chest, dressed all in dark blue (I believe he thought the blue robe made him appear more Skilled), he stood on the dock and stared out into the thick fog that blanketed the ocean. I was forced to pass him as I put a keg of water aboard.

“To you, Bastard, it’s an opaque blanket. But to me, all is as clear as a mirror.”

“How unfortunate for you,” I said kindly, ignoring his use of the word “bastard.” I had all but forgotten how much sting could be put into a word. “I’d rather see the fog than your face of a morning.” Petty, but satisfying. I had the additional satisfaction of watching his robe bind about his legs as he boarded. I was sensibly dressed, in snug leggings, an undershirt of soft cotton, and a leather jerkin over that. I had considered some sort of mail, but Burrich had shook his head over it. “Better to die cleanly from a weapon’s wound than fall overboard and drown,” he’d advised me.

Verity had quirked a smile at that. “Let’s not burden him with too much overconfidence,” he suggested wryly, and even Burrich had smiled. After a moment.

So I had abandoned any thought of mail or armor. At any rate, today would be a rowing day, and what I wore was comfortable for that. No shoulder seams to strain against, no sleeves to catch on my forearms. I was inordinately proud of the chest and shoulders I was developing. Even Molly had expressed an astonished approval. I settled into my seat and rolled my shoulders, smiling as I thought of her. I’d had far too little time with her lately. Well, only time would cure that. Summer brought the Raiders. As the long fair days came on I’d
have even less time with her. Autumn could not come too soon for me.

We settled in, a full complement of rowers and warriors. At some moment, as ropes were cast off and the steersman took his post and the oars began their steady beat, we became one animal. It was a phenomenon I had noted before. Perhaps I was more sensitized to it, nerves abraded clean by my Skill sharing with Verity. Perhaps it was that all the men and women onboard shared a single purpose, and that for most of them it was vengeance. Whatever it was, it lent a unity to us that I had never sensed before in a group of folk. Perhaps, I thought, this was a shadow of what it was to belong to a coterie. I felt a pang of regret, of opportunities lost.

You are my coterie
. Verity, like a whisper behind me. And somewhere, from the distant hills, something less than a sigh.
Are we not pack?

I do have you
, I thought back to them. Then I settled in and paid attention to what I was doing. Oars and backs dipped and rose in unison and the
Rurisk
went nosing boldly out into the fog. Our sail hung limp. In a moment we were a world unto ourselves. Sounds of water, of the rhythmic unity of our breathing as we rowed. A few of the fighters spoke softly among themselves, their words and thoughts muffled by the mist. Up in the bow, Justin stood beside the master, staring out into the fog. His brow was lined, his eyes distant, and I knew he reached for Carrod aboard the
Constance
. Almost idly, I reached out, too, to see if I could sense what he Skilled.

Stop that!
warned Verity, and I drew back feeling as if he slapped my hand.
I’m not ready for anyone to have suspicions about you yet
.

There was a lot behind that warning, more than I could devote myself to just now. As if what I had begun to do were actually a very dangerous action. I wondered what he feared, but I concentrated on the steady rhythm of my rowing, and let my eyes stare into the infinite gray. Most of that morning passed in a mist. Several times Justin asked the master to have the steersman change his course. It made little difference that I could see, save in the texture of the rowing. All of the inside of a fog bank looks much the same. The steady physical effort,
the lack of anything to focus on put me into a waking dream about nothing.