Royal Assassin (64 page)

“I have called on our king twice this morning. I regret that he has been … ill both times. I hope you have not found this waiting fretful. I know you will want to speak directly to the King about your tragedy and all that must be done to help our folk. But, for now, while he rests, I thought perhaps you might wish to join me for some refreshment.”

“That would be welcome, lady queen,” Bearns replied cautiously. Already she had done much to soothe his rumpled feathers. But Brawndy was not one to be too easily charmed.

“I am pleased,” Kettricken replied. She turned and stooped slightly to whisper to Rosemary. The little maid gave a quick nod and turned and fled like a rabbit. All marked her exit. In but moments she was back, this time at the head of a procession of serving folk. A table was claimed and moved down before the Great Hearth. A snowy cloth was spread, and then one of Kettricken’s bowl gardens set to grace the center of it. A parade of kitchen folk trooped past, each to deposit platters, or cups of wine or sweetmeats or late-fall apples in a wooden bowl. So wonderfully was it orchestrated that it seemed almost magical. In moments the table was set, the guests were seated, and Mellow appeared with his lute, already singing as he entered the Great Hall. Kettricken beckoned her ladies to join them, and then espying me as well, summoned me with a nod. She chose others from the other hearths at random; not by their nobility or wealth, but folk I knew she considered interesting. Fletch with his hunting stories, and Shells, a friendly girl of an age with Brawndy’s daughters were among those summoned. Kettricken seated herself at Brawndy’s right hand, and again I do not think she realized all the honor she did him to arrange it so.

When some bit of food and talk had been enjoyed, she signaled Mellow to soften his strumming. She turned to Brawndy and said simply, “We have heard only the bare bones of your news. Will you share with us what has befallen Ferry?”

He hesitated briefly. He had brought his complaint for the King to hear and act on. But how could he refuse a Queen-in-Waiting
who had treated him so graciously? He lowered his eyes a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was husky with unfeigned emotion. “My lady queen, we have taken grievous hurt,” he began. Every voice at the table was quickly stilled. All eyes turned to him. I perceived that all of those chosen by the Queen were attentive listeners as well. From the time he launched into his tale, there was not a sound at the table, save soft exclamations of sympathy or mutters of anger at what the Raiders had done. He paused once in his tale, then visibly made a decision, and went on to tell how they had sent forth their summons for aid, and waited in vain for any response. The Queen heard him out, with no objections or denials. When his tale of woe was done, his burden had visibly lifted simply in the telling of it. For a few long moments all were silent.

“Much of what you tell me is new to my ears,” Kettricken said quietly at last. “And none of it is good. I do not know what our king will say of all this. You will have to wait for him to hear his words. But for myself, for now, I will say that my heart is full of grief for my people. And anger. I promise you that, for myself, these wrongs shall not go unredressed. Nor shall my folk be left shelterless in winter’s bite.”

Duke Brawndy of Bearns looked down at his plate and toyed with the edge of the tablecloth. He looked up, and there was fire in his eyes, but also regret. When he spoke, his voice was firm. “Words. These are but words, my lady queen. The folk of Ferry cannot eat words, nor shelter beneath them at nightfall.”

Kettricken met his eyes squarely. Something seemed to tighten inside her. “Well do I know the truth of what you say. But words are all I have to offer you just now. When the King is well enough to see you, we shall see what can be done for Ferry.”

Brawndy leaned toward her. “I have questions, my queen. My need for answers is almost as great as my need for money and men. Why did our summons for help go unheeded? Why did the ship that should have come to our aid instead set sail for home port?”

Kettricken’s voice trembled very slightly. “To these questions, I have no answers, sir. And that is a shameful thing for
me to admit. No word of your situation reached my ears until your young messenger arrived on horseback.”

Strong misgivings arose in me as she spoke. Should the Queen have admitted these things to Brawndy? Perhaps not, for the sake of political wisdom. But Kettricken, I knew, served truth before politics. Brawndy looked long into her face, and the lines around his mouth deepened. Boldly, he asked, but softly, “Are not you queen-in-waiting?”

Kettricken’s eyes went sword gray as she met his gaze. “I am. Do you ask me if I lie to you?”

It was Brawndy’s turn to look aside. “No. No, my queen, that thought was never in my mind.”

The silence stretched overlong. I do not know if there was some subtle signal from Kettricken, or if it was simply Mel-low’s instincts that swept his fingers more vigorously across the strings. In a moment his voice took up a winter song, full of blowing notes and skirling choruses.

More than three days passed before Brawndy was finally summoned to the King’s chambers. Kettricken tried to provide amusements, but it is hard to entertain a man whose mind is on his dukedom’s vulnerability. He was courteous, but distracted. Faith, his second daughter, quickly formed a friendship with Shells, and seemed to forget some of her sorrows in her company. Celerity, however, clung to her father’s side, and when her dark blue eyes did meet mine, they were like wounds. I experienced a strange variety of emotions from that gaze. I was relieved that she did not seek me out as an individual to pay attention to. At the same time I knew her coolness to me was a reflection of her father’s present feelings toward all of Buckkeep. I welcomed her slighting of me; at the same time it rankled, as I did not feel I deserved it. When the summons came at last, and Brawndy hastened to the King, I hoped that the awkwardness would be over.

I am sure I was not the only one who noticed that Queen Kettricken was not invited to the council. Neither was I present, being also uninvited. But it is not often that a Queen is relegated to the same social standing as a bastard nephew. Kettricken kept her equanimity, and went on showing Brawndy’s daughters and Shells a Mountain technique for
weaving beads into embroidery work. I hovered near the table, but doubted that their minds were on their craft any more than mine was.

We had not long to wait. In less than an hour, Duke Brawndy reappeared in the Great Hall with all the bluster and chill of a storm wind. To Faith, he said, “Pack our things.” To Celerity: “Tell our guard to be ready to depart within the hour.” He gave Queen Kettricken a very stiff bow. “My queen, I excuse myself to depart. As House Farseer will offer no aid, Bearns must now tend to its own.”

“Indeed. I see your need for haste,” Kettricken replied gravely. “But I shall require that you attend me for but one more meal. It is not good to depart on a journey on an empty stomach. Tell me. Do you enjoy gardens?” Her question was addressed to his daughters as much as to Bearns. They looked to their father. After a moment he gave a curt nod.

Both the daughters admitted cautiously to Kettricken that they enjoyed gardens. But their puzzlement was plain. A garden? In winter, during a howling storm? I shared their misgivings, especially as at that moment Kettricken gestured to me.

“FitzChivalry. Attend to my wish. Rosemary, go with Lord FitzChivalry to the kitchens. Prepare food as he directs you and bring it to the Queen’s Garden. I shall escort our guests there.”

I widened my eyes at Kettricken desperately. No. Not there. The climb to the tower alone was taxing to many, let alone taking a cup of tea on a storm-lashed tower top. I could not fathom what she thought she was about. The smile she returned my anxious look was as open and serene as any I had seen. Taking Duke Brawndy’s arm, she steered him out of the Great Hall, while the daughters trailed behind with the Queen’s ladies. I turned to Rosemary and changed her orders.

“Go find warm wraps for them, and catch up with them. I’ll take care of the food.”

The child scampered merrily off while I hastened to the kitchen. I tersely informed Sara of our sudden need, and she quickly created a platter of warmed pastries and hot mulled wine for me. “Take these yourself, and I’ll send more with a boy in a bit.” I smiled to myself as I took the tray and hurried
off toward the Queen’s Gardens. The Queen herself might refer to me as Lord FitzChivalry, but Sara the cook would never think twice of ordering me off with a tray of food. It was oddly comforting.

I took the stairs as quickly as I could, then paused to breathe at the top landing. I braced myself for the rain and wind, and pushed the door open. The tower top was as miserable as I had expected it to be. The Queen’s ladies and Brawndy’s daughters and Shells were huddled in a bit of shelter offered by two adjoining walls and a stretch of canvas that had been set up as a shady spot last summer. It broke most of the wind, and diverted a great deal of the freezing rain as well. There was a small table within its pathetic shelter and here I set the tray of warm food. Rosemary, snugly bundled, smiled smugly as she snitched a pastry from the edge of the tray. Lady Modesty presided over serving the food.

As quickly as I could, I secured mugs of warmed wine for the Queen and Duke Brawndy and, on pretext of serving them, joined them. They were at the very edge of the parapet, looking out over the crenated wall at the open sea below. The wind had lashed it to white froth, and was flinging seagulls about with a fine disregard for the birds’ attempts to fly. As I approached I could see they were speaking softly, but the roar of the wind frustrated my attempt to eavesdrop. I wished I had thought to get a cloak for myself. I was soaked through almost instantly and the wind blew off what heat my body generated by shivering. I tried to smile past my chattering teeth as I presented them with the wine.

“Lord FitzChivalry is known to you?” she asked Brawndy as they took the wine from me.

“Indeed, I have had the pleasure of having him at my own table,” Brawndy assured her. Rain dripped off his bushy eyebrows while the wind had set his warrior’s tail to flapping.

“You would not mind, then, if I asked him to join us in our conversation?” Despite the rain that soaked her, the Queen spoke calmly, as if we basked in spring sunshine.

I wondered if Kettricken knew that Brawndy would see her request as a veiled command.

“I would welcome his counsels, if you consider he has wisdom to offer, my queen,” Brawndy acquiesced.

“I had hoped you would. FitzChivalry. Fetch yourself some wine, and rejoin us here, please.”

“As my queen wishes.” I bowed low and hurried off to obey. My contact with Verity had grown more tenuous with each passing day that he journeyed farther away, but at that moment I could sense his nudging, eager curiosity. I hastened back to my queen’s side.

“There is no undoing what has been done,” the Queen was saying as I returned to them. “I grieve that we were not able to protect our folk. Yet if I cannot undo what the Raiders from the sea have done already, at least, perhaps, I can help to shelter them from the storms to come. This, I bid you take them, from their queen’s hand and heart.”

I noticed in passing that she made no mention of King Shrewd’s evident refusal to act. I watched her. She moved leisurely and purposefully at once. The loose white sleeve that she drew back from her arm was already dripping with cold rain. She ignored it as she bared her pale arm, to reveal a snaking of gold wire up her arm, with the dark opals of her Mountains caught here and there in its web. I had seen the dark flash of Mountain opals before, but never ones of this size. Yet she held out her arm for me to unfasten the catch, and with no hesitation at all, she unwound the treasure from her arm. From her other sleeve, she drew a small velvet bag. I held its mouth open as she slid the bracelets into it. She smiled warmly at Duke Brawndy as she pressed it into his hand. “From your king-in-waiting Verity and me,” she said quietly. I barely resisted Verity’s impulse in me to fling himself on his knees at the feet of this woman and declare her far too royal for his insignificant love. Brawndy was left stuttering his amazed thanks and vowing to her that not a penny of its worth would go to waste. Stout houses would rise once more in Ferry, and the folk there would bless the Queen for the warmth of them.

I suddenly saw the reason for the Queen’s Garden as a site. This was a Queen’s gift, not contingent on anything Shrewd or Regal might have to say. Kettricken’s choice of place, and her
manner of presenting it to Brawndy, made that clear to him. She did not tell him to keep it secret; she did not need to.

I thought of the emeralds hidden in a corner of my clothes chest, but within me Verity was quiet. I made no move to get them. I hoped to see Verity himself fasten them about his queen’s neck one day. Nor did I wish to lessen the significance of her gift to Brawndy by adding another from a bastard. For that was how I would have had to present it. No, I decided. Let the Queen’s gift and her presentation of it stand alone in his memory.

Brawndy turned from his queen to consider me. “My queen, you seem to hold this young man in considerable esteem, to make him privy to your counsels.”

“I do,” Kettricken replied gravely. “He has never betrayed my trust in him.”

Brawndy nodded, as if confirming something to himself. He permitted himself a small smile. “My youngest daughter, Celerity, was somewhat troubled by a missive from Lord FitzChivalry. Especially as her older sisters had opened it for her, and found much there to tease her with. But when she brought her misgivings to me, I told her that it is a rare man who so candidly admits to what might be seen as shortcomings. Only a braggart would claim to go fearless into battle. Nor would I wish to give my trust to a man who could kill and not feel heart-lost afterward. As to your physical health”—he clapped me suddenly on the shoulder—“I would say a summer of pulling oars and wielding an ax had done you good.” His hawk’s eyes pierced mine. “I have not changed my assessment of you, FitzChivalry. Nor has Celerity. I wish you to be sure of that.”