Golden Fool (28 page)

“Then I’ll go to my own chambers. Shortly. Fitz. Is Nettle in any danger?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

I saw him rein in his temper. “You know what I mean. She’s Skilling, isn’t she? Without guidance of any kind. Yet she seems to have found you. Or did you initiate that contact?”

Had I? I didn’t know. Had I intruded on her dreams when she was younger, as I had on Dutiful’s? Had I unwittingly laid the foundation for the Skill bond that she sought to build now? I pondered it, but Chade took my silence for mulishness. “Fitz, how can you be so shortsighted? In the name of protecting her, you’re endangering her. Nettle should be here, at Buckkeep, where she can be properly taught to master her talent.”

“And she can be put into service for the Farseer throne.”

He regarded me levelly. “Of course. If the magic is the gift of her bloodlines, then the service is her duty. The two go hand in hand. Or would you deny it to her because she too is a bastard?”

I strangled on sudden anger. When I could speak, I said quietly, “I don’t see it so. As denying her something. I’m trying to protect her.”

“You see it that way only because you are stubbornly focused on keeping her away from Buckkeep at all costs. What is the terrible threat to her if she comes here? That she could know music and poetry, dance and beauty, in her life? That she might meet a young man of noble lineage, marry well, and live comfortably? That your grandchildren might grow up where you could see them?”

He made it all sound so rational on his part and so selfish on mine. I took a breath. “Chade. Burrich has already said no to his daughter coming to Buckkeep. If you press him, or worse, force the issue, he will suspect there is a reason. And how can you reveal to Nettle that she is Skilled without leading her to ask, Where did this magic come from? She knows Molly is her mother. That leaves only her father’s lineage in question—”

“Sometimes children are found to have the Skill, with no apparent link to the Farseer bloodline. She might have received it from Molly or Burrich.”

“Yet none of her brothers have it,” I pointed out.

Chade slapped the table in frustration. “I have said it before. You are too cautious, Fitz. ‘What if this, what if that?’ You hide from trouble that may never knock at our door. What if Nettle did discover that a Farseer had fathered her? Would that be so terrible?”

“If she came to court, and found herself not only a bastard, but the bastard of a Witted Farseer? Yes. What of her fine husband and genteel future then? What does it do to her brothers and to Molly and Burrich, to have to face that past? Nor can you have Nettle here without Burrich coming to see her, to be sure she is well. I know I have changed, but my scars are no disguise to Burrich, nor are my years. If he saw me, he’d know me, and it would destroy him. Or would you try to keep secrets from him, tell Nettle that she must never tell her mother and father that she is taught the Skill, let alone that a man with a broken nose and a scar down his face teaches her? No, Chade. Better she stays where she is, weds a young farmer she loves, and lives a settled life.”

“That sounds very bucolic for her,” Chade observed heavily. “I’m sure that any daughter of yours would be delighted with such a sedate and settled life.” Sarcasm dripped from his words until he demanded, “But what of her duty to her prince? What of Dutiful’s need for a coterie?”

“I’ll find you someone else,” I promised recklessly. “Someone just as strong as she is, but not related to me. Not tarnished with any complications.”

“Somehow I doubt that such candidates will be easy to find.” He scowled suddenly. “Or have you encountered such others, and not seen fit to tell me of them?”

I noticed he did not offer himself. I let that sleeping dog lie. “Chade, I swear to you, I know of no other Skill candidates. Only Thick.”

“Ah. Then he is the one you will train?”

Chade’s question was flippant, an attempt to make me admit there were no other real candidates. I knew Chade expected a flat refusal from me. Thick hated and feared me, and was dim-witted besides. A less desirable Skill student I could not imagine. Except for Nettle. And perhaps one other. Desperation forced the next words from my tongue. “There might be one other.”

“And you haven’t told me?” He trembled at the edge of rage.

“I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. I’ve only recently begun to wonder about him myself. I met him years ago. And he may be as dangerous to train as Thick, or even more so. For not only has he strong opinions of his own, but he is Witted.”

“His name?” It was a demand, not a request.

I took a breath and stepped off the precipice. “Black Rolf.”

Chade scowled. He squinted, rummaging through the attics of his mind. “The man who offered to teach you the Wit? You encountered him on the way to the Mountains?”

“Yes. That’s the one.” Chade had been present when I had offered Kettricken my painfully complete account of my travels across the Six Duchies to find her. “He used the Wit in ways I’d never seen it used. He alone seemed to almost know what Nighteyes and I said privately to one another. No other Witted one has shown me that ability. Some could tell when we used the Wit, if we were not extremely careful, but did not seem to understand what we said to one another. Rolf did. Even at the times when we tried to keep it secret from him, I always suspected that he knew more than he let on. He could have been using the Wit to find us, and the Skill to listen to my thoughts.”

“Wouldn’t you have felt it?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t. So perhaps I am mistaken. Nor am I eager to seek out Rolf to discover the truth of it.”

“In any case, you could not. I’m sorry to tell you that he died three years ago. He took a fever, and his end was swift.”

I stood still, stunned as much by the news as by the fact that Chade knew it. I found my way to a chair and sat down. Grief did not flood me. My relationship with Black Rolf had always been a fractious one. But there was regret. He was gone. I wondered how Holly managed without him, and how Hilda his bear had endured his passing. For a time I stared at the wall, seeing a small house far away. “How did you know?” I managed at last.

“Oh, come, Fitz. You reported about him to the Queen. And I’d heard his name from you before, when you were delirious and raving with fever from the infection in your back. I knew he was significant. I keep track of significant people.”

It was like the Stone game. He’d just set another piece on the board, one that revealed his old strategy. I filled in all he had not said. “So you know that I returned there. That I studied with him for a time.”

He gave a half-nod. “I wasn’t certain of it. But I suspected it was you. I received the news with joy. Prior to that, the last I had heard of you was what Starling and Kettricken reported when they left you at the quarry. To hear you were alive and well . . . For months, I half-expected you to turn up at my doorstep. I looked forward to hearing from your lips of what had happened after Verity-as-Dragon left the quarry. There was so much we did not know! I envisioned that reunion a hundred ways. Of course, you know that I waited in vain. And eventually, I realized you’d never come back to us of your own will.” He sighed, remembering old pain and disappointment. Then he added quietly, “Still, I was glad to hear that you were alive.”

The words were not a rebuke. They were only his admission of pain. My choice had hurt him, but he had respected my right to make it. After my time with Rolf, he would have had spies watching for me. They would not know it was FitzChivalry Farseer they sought, but doubtless they had found me. Otherwise, how would Starling have found her way to my door, all those years ago? “You’ve always had an eye on me, haven’t you?”

He looked down at the table and said stubbornly, “Another man might see it as a hand oversheltering you. As I have just told you, Fitz. I always keep track of significant people.” He next spoke as if he could hear my thoughts. “I tried to leave you alone, Fitz. To find what peace you could, even if it excluded me from your life.”

Ten years ago, I could not have understood the pain in his voice. I would only have seen him as interfering and calculating. Only now, with a son of my own intent on ignoring every bit of advice I’d ever given him, could I recognize what it had cost him to let me go my own way and make my own choices. He had probably felt as I did about Hap, that he was so obviously choosing the wrong course. But Chade had let me steer it.

In that instant, I made my decision. I pushed Chade off balance with it. “Chade. If you wish, I could attempt . . . do you want me to try to teach you the Skill?”

His eyes were suddenly impenetrable. “Ah. So you offer that now, do you? Interesting. But I think I am proceeding with my own studies well enough. No, Fitz. I don’t wish you to teach me.”

I bowed my head. Perhaps I deserved his disdain. I took a breath. “Then I’ll do as you ask, this time. I’ll train Thick. Somehow, I’ll persuade him to let me teach him. As strong as he is, perhaps he will be all the coterie that Dutiful will need.”

Shock silenced him for a moment. Then, he smiled sourly. “I doubt that, Fitz. And you don’t doubt it; you don’t believe it at all. Nevertheless, for the time being, we will leave it at that. You will begin Thick’s training. In exchange, I will leave Nettle where she is. You have my thanks. And now I must go to see what mischief Dutiful has gotten himself into.” He rose as if his back and knees pained him. I watched him go but said no more.

chapter
X

RESOLUTIONS

By all accounts, both Kebal Rawbread and the Pale Woman perished in the last month. They set sail in the last White Ship for Hjolikej with a crew of their most stalwart followers. They were not seen again, nor was any wreckage of the ship ever found. The assumption is that, like so many other Out Island ships, the dragons overflew it, throwing the crew into a vacant-eyed stupor, and then destroyed it with the great wind and waves that their wings could stir. As the ship was heavily loaded with what translates from the Outislander tongue as “dragonstone,” it probably went down swiftly.

—
A REPORT TO CHADE FALLSTAR, PENNED AT THE END
OF THE RED SHIP WAR

I made my slow descent to Lord Golden’s chambers. I tried to focus on the Prince’s difficulties, but could only wonder what larger problem I had created for myself. I could barely instruct the Prince, and he was an apt and amiable student. I’d be lucky if Thick didn’t kill me when I attempted to teach him. But there was a worse shadow to it. Chade had tempted me well, as only one who knew me so deeply could. Nettle, here at Buckkeep, where I could see her daily and watch her blossom into womanhood, and perhaps chart for her an easier life than the one Burrich and Molly could give her. I tried to tear that idea from my mind. It was a selfish yearning.

On my trip through Chade’s secret corridors, I made a brief detour to one of the spy posts. I stood a time beside it, hesitating. It would be the first time I had deliberately come to spy and listen. Then I sat down silently on the dusty bench and peered into the Narcheska’s chambers.

Fortune was with me. Their breakfast was still set out on the table between Peottre and the girl, though it did not look as if either one had eaten much. Her uncle was already dressed in his riding leathers. Elliania was in a pretty little frock, blue and white, with much lace on the cuffs and throat. Peottre was shaking his heavy head at her. “No, little one. As with a fish on a line, you must first set the hook before you can play him. Flaunt your displeasure with him now and he will avoid that bitter taste, to follow instead the bright feathers and sweet egg of someone else’s lure. You cannot show him what you feel, Elli. Set aside the insult; behave as if you did not notice it.”

She clacked her spoon back onto the tray, so that a tiny glop of porridge leapt from it. “I cannot. I have pretended as much calmness as I could muster, last night. Right now, I could not show him what I truly feel about him with less than a knife’s edge, Uncle.”

“Ah. How well that would benefit your mother and little sister.” He spoke the words quietly, but Elliania’s face grew very still, as if he spoke of death and disease in the next chamber. She tucked her proud little chin, bowing her head before him with lowered lashes. I sensed the strength of will she used to rein herself in and suddenly saw the changes that her months at Buckkeep had wrought in her. Peottre might call her his “little fish” still, but this was a different girl from the one I had first spied on. The last vestiges of child had been hammered from her by the pounding of Buckkeep society. She spoke now with a woman’s determination.

“I will do what I must, Uncle, for our mothers’ house. You know that. Whatever I must, to ‘hook’ this fish.” When she looked up at him, her mouth was set and flat in determination, but tears stood in her eyes.

“Not that,” he said quietly. “Not yet, and perhaps never at all. So I hope.” He sighed suddenly. “But you must be warm to him, Elli. You cannot show him your anger. It tears my heart to say that to you, that you must appear untroubled by his insult. Smile upon him. Behave as if it never happened.”

“She must do more than that.” I could not see who spoke, but I recognized the serving maid’s voice. She walked into view. I studied her more closely than I had previously. She appeared to be about my age, dressed simply as if she were a servant. Yet she bore herself as if she were in charge. Her hair and eyes were black, her cheeks wide, and nose small. She shook her head at both of them. “She must appear humble and willing.”

She paused, and I saw the muscles of Peottre’s face bunch as he clenched his jaws. It made the woman smile. She went on with evident relish. “And you must make him think it is possible that you will . . . yield yourself to him.” Then she spoke in a deeper voice. “Bring the farmer prince to heel, Elliania, and keep him there. He must not look at another; he must not even consider another one as someone to bed before he is wed. He must be yours alone. Somehow, you must claim him, heart and flesh. You have heard the Lady’s warning. If you fail in this, if he strays, and gets a child with anyone, you and yours are all doomed.”

“I cannot do it,” she burst out. She mistook her uncle’s horrified look for a rebuke, for she continued desperately. “I have tried, Uncle Peottre. I have. I have danced for him, and thanked him for his gifts, and tried to look entranced by his boring talk in his farmer’s tongue. But it is all useless, for he thinks I am a little girl. He disdains me as a child, an offering from my father simply for the making of a treaty.”

Her uncle leaned back in his chair, pushing his untouched dish away from him. He sighed heavily, then glared at the serving woman. “You hear her, Henja. She has already tried your disgusting little tactic. He does not want her. He is a boy with no fire in his blood. I do not know what more we can do.”

Elliania suddenly sat up straight. “I do.” Her chin had come up again, as had the fire in her black, black eyes.

He shook his head at her. “Elliania, you are only—”

“I am not a child, nor a mere girl! I have not been a girl since this duty was laid upon me. Uncle. You cannot treat me as a child and expect others to see me as a woman. You cannot dress me like a doll, and bid me be sweet and tractable as some doting auntie’s little treasure, and expect me to attract the Prince. He has been raised in this court, among all these females as sweet as spoiling fish. If I am but one more of them, he will not even see me. Let me do what I must. For we both know that if I continue as I have, we will fail. So. Let me try it my way. If I fail on that path, also, what will we have lost?”

For a time he sat staring at her. She cast her gaze aside from his piercing eyes, and busied herself with topping the cups of untouched tea before them. Then she lifted hers and sipped from it, all the while avoiding meeting his glance. When he spoke, dread was in his voice. “What do you propose, child?”

She set down her cup. “Not what Henja suggests, if that is what you fear. No. This woman proposes that you tell him my age. Today. In his farmer’s years, rather than my God’s Runes years. And that, for this day at least, you let me dress and behave as one of the daughters of our mothers’ house would, insulted as he has insulted me, to prefer another woman’s beauty to my own, and announce it to all. Let me bring him to heel, as you have commanded. Not with cloying sweets, but with a whip, as a dog such as he deserves.”

“Elliania. No. I forbid it.” The serving woman spoke with the snap of command.

But it was Peottre who replied to her. He surged to his feet, his broad hand lifted high. “Get out, woman! Get out of my sight, or you will be dead. I swear it, Lady. If she doesn’t leave now, I kill your servant!”

“You will regret this!” Henja snarled, but she scuttled from the room. I heard the door close behind her.

When Peottre spoke again, he spoke slowly and heavily, as if his words could fence Elliania from some precipice. “She had no right to speak to you so. But I do, Narcheska. I forbid this.”

“Do you?” she asked levelly, and I knew Peottre had lost.

A knock at the chamber door was her father. He came in and greeted them both, and Elliania almost immediately excused herself, saying she must dress appropriately to go out riding with the Prince by mid-morning. As soon as she left the room, her father launched into some discussion of a shipload of trading goods that was overdue. Peottre answered him, but his eyes lingered on the door where Elliania had vanished.

A short time later, I emerged cautiously into my own servant cell, and thence even more cautiously into Lord Golden’s warm and spacious chambers. He was alone, at table, finishing his share of the ample breakfast he commanded daily for us. All at court must wonder at the suppleness of his waist given the substantial morning appetite he professed to.

His golden glance assessed me as I entered his room silently. “Hm. Sit down, Fitz. I’ll not wish you a good morning, for it’s plainly too late for that. Care to share what has overshadowed you with gloom?”

Useless to lie. I took a chair opposite him at the table and picked food off the serving plate while I confided Dutiful’s social stumble to him. There was little point to doing otherwise. There had been enough spectators that I was sure the tale would reach him soon enough, if he had not witnessed it himself. Of Nettle, I said nothing. Did I fear he would concur with Chade? I am not sure, I only knew that I wished to keep it to myself. Nor did I speak of what I had seen through my peephole. I needed time to sort it out before I shared it with anyone.

When I had finished my tale, he nodded. “I was not at the gaming tables last night, preferring to listen instead to one of the Outislander minstrels who have recently arrived. But the tale reached me last night before I retired. I’ve already been invited to ride out with the Prince this morning. Do you want to come along?” When I nodded, the Fool smiled. Then Lord Golden patted his lips with his napkin. “Dear, dear, this is a most unfortunate social stumble. The gossip will be delectable. I wonder how the Queen and her councilor will manage to juggle it back into balance?”

There were no easy answers to that. I knew he would use the turmoil stirred by this to dig into where loyalties truly lay. Between us, we cleared the breakfast platters of food. I took them down to the kitchen, where I lingered briefly. Yes, the servants were already gossiping of it, and speculating that there was more between Lady Vance and the Prince than a mere game of Stones. Someone already claimed to have seen them walking alone in the snowy gardens several evenings ago. Another maid said that Duke Shemshy was said to be pleased, and quoted him as saying he saw no real obstacle to the match. My heart sank. Duke Shemshy was powerful. If he began to solicit support among the nobles for a match between his niece and the Prince, he could possibly put an end to both betrothal and alliance.

One other thing I saw while I was there that caused me suspicion. The Narcheska’s maid, whom I had last seen quarreling with Peottre, hurried past the doors of the kitchen and out into the courtyard. She was dressed warmly, in a heavy cloak and boots, as if for a long walk on this cold day. I supposed it was possible that her mistress had sent her off on some task into Buckkeep Town, but she carried no market basket. Nor did she seem the type of serving woman who would be chosen for such an errand. It both puzzled and concerned me. If I had not all but promised the Prince that I would be there for his ride, I would have shadowed her. Instead, I hurried up the stairs to dress for the morning ride.

When I reentered Lord Golden’s chamber, I found him putting the finishing touches to his own costume. For a moment, I wondered if Jamaillian nobles truly dressed in such a gaudy fashion. Layer upon layer of rich fabric cloaked his slender form. A heavy fur cloak flung across a chair awaited him. The Fool had never had any great tolerance for cold, and Lord Golden apparently shared that weakness. He was turning up a fur collar to his satisfaction. One long narrow hand waved me on to my own chamber, bidding me hurry, while he continued to peruse himself in the mirror.

I glanced inside my room at the garments laid out on my bed and then protested, “But I’m already dressed.”

“Not as I wish you to be. It has come to my attention that several of the other young lords of the court have also furnished themselves with bodyguard-servants, in a pale imitation of my style. It is time to show them than an imitation cannot equal the original. Garb yourself, Tom Badgerlock.”

I snarled at him, and he smiled sweetly in return.

The garments were servant’s blue, and of excellent quality. I recognized Scrandon’s tailoring. I supposed that now that he had my measurements, Lord Golden could inflict stylish clothing on me at will. It was fine fabric, very warm, and in that I recognized the Fool’s concern for my comfort. He had been kind enough to have it cut and sewn so that I could move freely. But stretching out an arm of the oddly tailored shirt revealed pleated insets in varying shades of blue, with an effect like a bird’s wing opening to reveal the different colors of plumage. I noticed as I donned it that a number of clever pockets had been fit into interesting places. I approved of the pockets even as I winced at Lord Golden instructing the tailor to add them. I would rather that no one else had known of my need for concealed pockets.

As if he had sensed my concern, Lord Golden spoke from the other room. “You will note that I had Scrandon add pockets to permit you to carry a number of small but necessary items for me, such as my smelling salts, my digestive herbs, my grooming aids, and my extra kerchiefs. I gave him most precise measurements for those.”