Fool’s Quest

That had fostered him, fed him, clothed and protected him. He loved only bloodshed.

No loyalty did the Bastard cede to king or country.

Wounded in heart, sorrowing as a son, burdened with the concerns of a country at war,

The prince, now king, stepped forward to his tasks. His brothers dead or fled, to him fell

The heavy crown. To him fell the mourning, and to him, the protecting. The last son,

The loyal son, the brave prince became the king of the wracked and troubled land.

‘Vengeance first!’ weary King Regal cried. To his shelter flocked his dukes and nobles.

‘To the dungeons with the Bastard!’ they pleaded with one voice. And so King Regal

Did his duty. To cell and chains went the conniving Bastard, the Witted One, the Regicide.

To dark and cold he was sent, as befitted such a dark and cold heart.

‘Discover his magic,’ the king bade his loyal men. And so they tried. With questions and fists,

Clubs and iron, with cold and dark, they broke the traitor. They found no nobility, no cleverness,

Only wolf-greed and dog-selfishness. And so he died, the Traitor, the Witted One, the Bastard.

Of no use to anyone but himself had his life been. His death freed us from his shame.

King Regal’s Burden – a song by Celsu Cleverhands, a Farrow minstrel

I tottered back to my room, silently cursing my painful shoes. I needed to sleep. Then I would check on the Fool, and after that, I thought with a sigh, I would once more assume my role as Lord Feldspar. There would be feasting, dancing, and music again tonight. My mind wandered to Bee, and I felt that sudden gulf of guilt. Revel, I told myself sternly. He would see that Winterfest was well kept at Withywoods. And surely Shun would not allow the holiday to go by without appropriate foods and festivity. I hoped only they would include my child. I wondered again how long I would be away from her. Was Kettricken wiser than I? Would it be best to send for her?

I was chewing my lip at that thought as I reached the top of the stairs. When I looked down the corridor and saw Riddle standing outside my door, my heart lifted as it does when one sees an old friend. Then as I drew closer it sank again, for his face was solemn and his eyes opaque as when a man hides his feelings. ‘Lord Feldspar,’ he greeted me gravely. He bowed, and I took care that the bow I gave him was little more than a nod. Further down the hallway, two servants were replenishing the corridor lamps.

‘What brings you to my door, good man?’ I took care that my words held the right amount of disdain for a messenger.

‘I bring you an invitation, Lord Feldspar. May I step within your chambers and recite it for you?’

‘Of course. A moment.’ I patted about in my garments, found my key and, opening the door, I preceded him into the room.

Riddle shut the door firmly behind us. I removed the wig and hat gratefully, and turned to him, expecting to see my friend. But he still stood at the door as if he were no more than a messenger, his face both grave and still.

I said the words I hated most. ‘I’m so sorry, Riddle. I had no idea what I was doing to you. I thought I was giving the Fool my strength. I never intended to steal from you. Have you recovered? How do you feel?’

‘I’m not here about that.’ He spoke flatly. My heart sank.

‘Then what? Sit, please. Shall I summon someone to bring us food or drink?’ I asked. I tried to keep my words warm, but his manner warned me that his heart was sealed against me right now. I could not blame him.

He worked his mouth, took in a deep breath and then let it out. ‘First,’ he declared, in a voice almost hard despite its shaking, ‘this is not about you. You can be offended. You can offer to kill me, you’re welcome to try to kill me. But it’s not about you or your pride or your place at court, or who Nettle is or my common parentage.’ His words grew more rushed and impassioned as he spoke, and the colour rose higher in his face. Anger and pain sparked in his eyes.

‘Riddle, I—’

‘Just be quiet! Just listen.’ He took another breath. ‘Nettle is pregnant. I will not let her be shamed. I will not let our child be shamed. Say what you will, do what you will, she is my wife and I will not let our joy be dirtied with politics and secrets.’

I was the one who sat down. Luckily, the bed was behind me when I did so. If he had driven the air out of me with a blow to my belly, the impact could not have been stronger. Words rattled in my head. Pregnant. Shamed. Wife. Dirtied. Secrets.

A baby.

I found my voice. ‘I’m going to—’

Riddle crossed his arms on his chest. His nostrils flared and he exclaimed defiantly, ‘I don’t care what you do. Understand that. Do whatever you wish, but it won’t change anything.’

‘—be a grandfather.’ I choked on the word. Incredulity melted his face and he stared. It gave me the moment I needed to organize my thoughts. Words tumbled from my lips. ‘I have money saved. You can have it all. You must leave soon, before travel is too difficult for her. And I think you must flee the Six Duchies entirely. She is the Skillmistress; she is too well known for you to …’

‘We are not leaving!’ Anger tightened his slack face. ‘We refuse. We were lawfully wed—’

Impossible. ‘The king forbade it.’

‘The king can forbid whatever he likes, but if a man and a woman make their vows before the Witness Stones, with at least two witnesses—’

‘Only if one is a minstrel!’ I interrupted him. ‘And the witness must know both parties.’

‘I wager the Queen of the Six Duchies knows us both,’ he said quietly.

‘Kettricken? I thought Kettricken was a party to forbidding the marriage.’

‘Kettricken is not the queen of the Six Duchies. Elliania is. And she comes from a place where a woman can marry whoever she wishes.’

It all fitted together as tightly as the blocks that make up an arch. Almost. ‘But your other witness had to be a minstrel …’ My words trickled away. I knew who their minstrel had been.

‘Hap Gladheart.’ Riddle confirmed it quietly. A smile almost twisted his face. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of him?’

My fostered son. He’d been delighted to call Nettle ‘sister’. I found I had clamped both hands over my mouth. I tried to think. So. Married. In public and yet in secret. Yes, Elliania would do it, and possibly not realize that in flaunting her husband’s authority she was doing far more than simply asserting her belief that a woman should have complete control over who she wed. Or didn’t wed, and merely slept with.

I let my hands fall away from my mouth. Riddle still stood as if he expected me to leap to my feet and pummel him. I tried to recall if I’d even felt that impulse. I hadn’t. No anger: that was drowned in dread.

‘The king will never accept this. Nor Kettricken, nor Chade. Oh, Riddle. What were the two of you thinking?’ Joy warred with tragedy in my voice. A child, a child that I knew Nettle wanted. A child that would change their lives completely. My grandchild. And Molly’s.

‘Babies happen. For years, we have been cautious. And lucky, I suppose. And then we were neither. And when Nettle realized she was pregnant, she told me she intended to be happy about it. No matter what she must do.’ His voice changed and suddenly my friend spoke to me. ‘Fitz. We are neither of us youngsters. This may be our only chance for a child.’

No matter what she must do. I could almost hear Nettle’s voice saying those words. I took a deep breath and tried to re-order my thoughts. So. This was something done. They were wed, they were going to have a baby. Useless to advise them against having a baby, useless to remonstrate with them over defying the king. Begin now, where they are.

In danger. Foolishly defiant.

‘What does she plan to do? Go to the king, tell him she is both married and pregnant?’

Riddle’s dark eyes met mine and I saw something like pity there. ‘She shared her news with Queen Elliania only. Only we four know that Nettle is with child. And only five people know that we are truly wed. Not even to her brothers has she confided the news. But she told Elliania. And the queen is ecstatic. And full of plans for the child. She did some sort of needle-dangling magic over Nettle’s palm, and she is certain our child will be a girl. Finally, a daughter born to the Farseer’s mothershouse. And hence a future narcheska.’

‘I’m confused,’ I said after a silence.