Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (34 page)

For a time we sat in silence. He was letting me
come to my own conclusions. I was wise enough not to voice them
aloud. And Elderlings? I asked at last.

A different sort of riddle. At the time they
were written about, all knew what they were. So I surmise. It would
be the same if you went to find a scroll that explained exactly
what a horse was. You would find many passing mentions of them, and
a few that related directly to shoeing one, or to one stallion's
bloodline. But who amongst us would see the need to devote the
labor and time to writing out exactly what a horse is?

I see.

So, again, it is a sifting out of detail. I have
not had the time required to devote myself to such a task. For a
moment he sat looking at me. Then he opened a little stone box on
his desk and took out a key. There is a cabinet in my bedchamber,
he said slowly. I have gathered there what scrolls I could find
that made even a passing mention of the Elderlings. There are also
some related to the Skill. I give you leave to pore through them.
Ask Fedwren for good paper, and keep notes of what you discover.
Look for patterns among those notes. And bring them to me, every
month or so.

I took the little brass key in my hand. It
weighed strangely heavy, as if attached to the task the Fool had
suggested and Verity had confirmed. Look for patterns, Verity had
suggested. I suddenly saw one, a web woven from me to the Fool to
Verity and back again. Like Verity's other patterns, it did not
seem to be an accident. I wondered who had originated the pattern.
I glanced at Verity, but his thoughts had gone afar. I rose quietly
to go.

As I touched the door he spoke to me. Come to
me. Very early tomorrow morning. To my tower.

Sir?

Perhaps we may yet discover another Skilled one,
unsuspected in our midst.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Tasks

PERHAPS THE MOST devastating part of our
war with the Red-Ships was the sense of helplessness that
overpowered us. It was as if a terrible paralysis lay over the land
and its rulers. The tactics of the Raiders were so incomprehensible
that for the first year we stood still as if dazed. The second year
of raiding, we tried to defend ourselves. But our skills were
rusty; for too long they had been employed only against the chance
Raiders, the opportunistic or the desperate. Against organized
pirates who had studied our seacoasts, our watchtower positions,
our tides and currents, we were like children. Only Prince Verity's
Skilling provided any protection for us. How many ships he turned
aside, how many navigators he muddled or pilots he confused, we
will never know. Because his people could not grasp what he did for
them, it was as if the Farseers did nothing. Folks saw only the
raids that were successful, never the ships that went onto the
rocks or sailed too far south during a storm. The people lost
heart. The Inland Duchies bridled at taxes to protect a coastline
they didn't share; the Coastal Duchies labored under taxes that
seemed to make no difference. So if the enthusiasm for Verity's
warships was a fickle thing, rising and falling with the folk's
current assessment of him, we cannot really blame the people. It
seemed the longest winter of my life.

I went from Verity's study to Queen Kettricken's
apartments. I knocked and was admitted by the same little page girl
as previously. With her merry little face and dark curly hair,
Rosemary reminded me of some pool sprite. Within, the atmosphere of
the room seemed subdued. Several of Kettricken's women were there,
and they all sat on stools around a frame holding a white linen
cloth. They were doing edgework on it, flowers and greenery done in
bright threads. I had witnessed similar projects in Mistress
Hasty's apartments. Usually these activities seemed merry, with
tongues wagging and friendly banter, needles flashing as they
dragged their tails of bright thread through the heavy cloth. But
here, it was near silent. The women worked with their heads bent,
diligently, skillfully, but without gay talk. Scented candles, pink
and green, burned in each corner of the room. Their subtle
fragrances mingled scents over the frame.

Kettricken presided over the work, her own hands
as busy as any. She seemed the source of the stillness. Her face
was composed, even peaceful. Her self-containment was so evident I
could almost see the walls around her. Her look was pleasant, her
eyes kind, but I did not sense she was really there at all. She was
like a container of cool still water. She was dressed in a long
simple robe of green, more of the mountain style than of Buckkeep.
She had set her jewelry aside. She looked up at me and smiled
questioningly. I felt like an intruder, an interruption to a group
of studying pupils and their master. So instead of simply greeting
her, I tried to justify my presence. I spoke formally, mindful of
all the watching women.

Queen Kettricken. King-in-Waiting Verity has
asked me to bring a message to you.

Something seemed to flicker behind her eyes, and
then was still again. Yes, she said neutrally. None of the needles
paused in their jumping dance, but I was sure that every ear waited
for whatever tidings I might be bringing.

Atop a tower, there was once a garden, called
the Queen's Garden. Once, King Verity said, it had pots of
greenery, and ponds of water. It was a place of flowering plants,
and fish, and wind chimes. It was his mother's. My queen, he wishes
you to have it.

The stillness at the table grew profound.
Kettricken's eyes grew very wide. Carefully, she asked, Are you
certain of this message?

Of course, my lady. I was puzzled by her
reaction. He said it would give him a great deal of pleasure to see
it restored. He spoke of it with great fondness, especially
recalling the beds of flowering thyme.

The joy in Kettricken's face unfurled like the
petals of a flower. She lifted a hand to her mouth, took a
shivering breath through her fingers. Blood flushed through her
pale face, rosing her cheeks. Her eyes shone. I must see it, she
exclaimed. I must see it now! She stood abruptly. Rosemary? My
cloak and gloves, please. She beamed about at her ladies. Will not
you fetch your cloaks and gloves also, and accompany me?

My queen, the storm is most fierce today ....
one began hesitantly.

But another, an older woman with a motherly cast
to her features, Lady Modesty, stood slowly. I shall join you on
the tower top. Pluck! A small boy who had been drowsing in the
corner leaped to his feet. Dash off and fetch my cloak and gloves.
And my hood. She turned back to Kettricken. I recall that garden
well, from Queen Constance's days. Many a pleasant hour I spent
there in her company. I will take joy in its
restoration.

There was a heartbeat's pause, and then the
other ladies were taking similar action. By the time I had returned
with my own cloak, they were all ready to go. I felt distinctly
peculiar as I led this procession of ladies through the Keep, and
then up the long climb to the Queen's Garden. By then, counting the
pages and the curious, there were nearly a score of people
following Kettricken and me. As I led the way up the steep stone
steps, Kettricken was right on my heels. The others trailed out in
a long tail behind us. As I pushed on the heavy door, forcing it
open against the layer of snow outside it, Kettricken asked softly,
He's forgiven me, hasn't he?

I paused to catch my breath. Shouldering the
door open was doing the injury on my neck no good at all. My
forearm throbbed dully. My queen? I asked in reply.

My lord Verity has forgiven me. And this is his
way of showing it. Oh, I shall make a garden for us to share. I
shall never shame him again. As I stared at her rapt smile she
casually put her own shoulder to the door and shoved it open. While
I stood blinking in the chill and the light of the winter day, she
walked out onto the tower top. She waded through crusted snow
calf-deep, and paid it no mind at all. I looked around the barren
tower top and wondered if I had lost my mind. There was nothing
here, only the blown and crusted snow under the leaden sky. It had
drifted up over the discarded statuary and pots along one wall. I
braced for Kettricken's disappointment. Instead, in the center of
the tower top, as the wind swirled the falling flakes around her,
she stretched out her arms and spun in a circle, laughing like a
child. It's so beautiful! she exclaimed.

I ventured out after her. Others came behind me.
In a moment Kettricken was by the tumbled piles of statuary and
vases and basins that were heaped along one wall. She brushed snow
from a cherub's cheek as tenderly as if she were its mother. She
swept a load of snow from a stone bench, and then picked up the
cherub and set it atop it. It was not a small statue, but
Kettricken used her size and strength energetically as she
extricated several other pieces from the drifted snow. She
exclaimed over them, insisting that her women come and admire
them.

I stood a little apart from them. The cold wind
blew past me, awakening the pain in my injuries and bringing me
hard memories. Here I had stood once, near naked to the cold, while
Galen had tried to hammer the Skill ability into me. Here I had
stood, in this very spot, while he beat me as if I were a dog. And
here I had struggled with him and, in the struggle, burned and
scarred over whatever Skill I had once had. This was a bitter place
to me still. I wondered if any garden, no matter how green and
peaceful, could charm me if it stood atop this stone. One low wall
beckoned me. Had I gone to it and looked over the edge, I knew I
would look down on rocky cliffs below. I did not. The quick end
that fall had once offered me would never tempt me again. I pushed
Galen's old Skill suggestion aside. I turned back to watch the
Queen.

Against the white backdrop of snow and stone,
her colors came alive. There is a flower called a snowdrop, that
sometimes blooms even as the banked snows of winter are retreating.
She reminded me of one. Her pale hair was suddenly gold against the
green cloak she wore, her lips red, her cheeks pink as the roses
that would bloom here again. Her eyes were darting blue jewels as
she excavated and exclaimed over each treasure. In contrast, her
dark-tressed ladies with eyes of black or brown were cloaked and
hooded against the winter chill. They stood quietly, agreeing with
their queen and enjoying her enjoyment, but also rubbing chilled
fingers together, or holding cloaks tightly closed against the
wind. This, I thought, this is how Verity should see her, glowing
with enthusiasm and life. Then he could not help but love her. Her
vitality burned, even as his did when he hunted or rode. Or had
once.

It is, of course, quite lovely, one Lady Hope
ventured to say. But very cold. And there is little that can be
done here until the snow melts and the wind grows
kinder.

Oh, but you are wrong! Queen Kettricken
exclaimed. She laughed aloud as she straightened up from her
treasures, walked again to the center of the tower top. A garden
begins in the heart. I must sweep the snow and ice from the tower
top tomorrow. And then, all these benches and statues and pots must
be set out. But how? Like the spokes of a wheel? As a charming
maze? Formally, by variation of height and theme? There are a
thousand ways they could be arranged, and I must experiment.
Unless, perhaps, my lord will remember it for me just as it once
was. Then I shall restore it to him, the garden of his
childhood!

Tomorrow, Queen Kettricken. For the skies grow
dark, and colder, advised Lady Modesty. I could see what the climb
followed by standing in the cold had cost the older woman. But she
smiled kindly as she spoke. I could, perhaps, tell you tonight what
I remember of this garden.

Would you? Kettricken exclaimed, and clasped
both of her hands in her own. The smile she shed on Lady Modesty
was like a blessing.

I should be glad to.

And on those words we slowly began to file from
the rooftop. I was the last to go. I pulled the door closed behind
me and stood for a moment letting my eyes adjust to the darkness in
the tower. Below me, candles bobbed as the others descended. I
blessed whatever page had thought to run and fetch them. I followed
more slowly, my whole arm, from bite to sword cut, throbbing
nastily. I thought of Kettricken's joy, and was glad of it, even as
I guiltily reflected that it was built on a false foundation.
Verity had been relieved at my suggestion to turn the garden over
to Kettricken, but the act had not the significance to him that it
did to Kettricken. She would attack this project as if she were
building a shrine to their love. I doubted that by the morrow
Verity would even recall he had gifted her with it. I felt
traitorous and foolish both as I descended the steps.

I went to the evening meal thinking I wished to
be alone. So I avoided the hall and took myself instead to the
guardroom off the kitchen. There I encountered both Burrich and
Hands at their meal. When they invited me to join them, I could not
refuse. But once I was seated, it was as if I were not there. They
did not exclude me from their conversation. But they spoke of a
life I no longer shared: The immensely rich detail of all that went
on in the stables and mews eluded me now. They discussed problems
with the confident briskness of men who shared an intimate
background knowledge. More and more, I found myself nodding at
their words, but contributing nothing. They got along well. Burrich
did not speak down to Hands. But Hands did not conceal his respect
for a man he clearly regarded as his superior. Hands had learned
much from Burrich in a short time. He had left Buckkeep as a lowly
stable boy last fall. He now spoke competently of the hawks and
dogs and asked solid questions concerning Burrich's breeding
choices for the horses. I was still eating when they got up to
leave. Hands was concerned about a dog that had been kicked by a
horse earlier in the day. They wished me good evening, and were
still talking together as they went out the door.