The Farseer Series Books 2 and 3: Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest

‘Four she done, and not a scratch upon her!’ exulted one grizzled veteran, and then, ‘Begging your pardon, my lady queen. No disrespect meant!’

‘It might have been a different tale had not Fitz come to free my horse’s head,’ Kettricken said quietly. Their respect for her grew as she did not glory in her triumph, but made sure I received my due as well.

They congratulated her loudly, and spoke angrily of scouring the woods tomorrow all about Buckkeep. ‘It shames us all as soldiers, that our own queen cannot ride forth safely!’ declared one woman. She set her hand to the hilt of her blade, and swore on it to have it blooded with Forged blood by the morrow. Several others followed her example. The talk grew loud, bravado and relief at the Queen’s safety fuelling it. It became a triumphal procession home, until Verity arrived. He came at a dead gallop, on a horse lathered both by distance and speed. I knew then that the search had not been a brief one, and could only guess at how many roads Verity had travelled since he had received word that his lady was missing.

‘How could you be so foolish as to go so far astray!’ were his first words to her. His voice was not tender. I saw her head lose its proud lift, and heard the muttered comments of the man closest to me. From there nothing went well. He did not scold her before his men, but I saw him wince as she told him plainly what had become of her and how she had killed to defend herself. He was not pleased to have her speak so plainly of a band of Forged ones, brave enough to attack the Queen, and scarce out of Buckkeep’s shadow. That which Verity had sought to keep quiet would be on everyone’s lips tomorrow, with the added fillip that it had been the Queen herself they’d dared to attack. Verity shot me a murderous glance, as if it were all my doing, and roughly commandeered fresh horses from two of his guard to take himself and his queen back to Buckkeep. He whisked her away from them, carrying her back to Buckkeep at a gallop as if arriving there sooner would somehow make the breach of safety less real. He seemed not to realize he had denied his guard the honour of bringing her safely home.

I myself rode back slowly with them, trying not to hear the disgruntled words of the soldiers. They did not quite criticize the King-in-Waiting, but complimented the Queen more on her spirit and thought it sad she’d not been welcomed back with an embrace and a kind word or two. If any gave thought to Regal’s behaviour, they did not speak it aloud.

Later that night, in the stables, after I’d seen to Sooty, I helped Burrich and Hands put Softstep and Truth, Verity’s horse, to rights. Burrich grumbled at how hard both beasts had been used. Softstep had taken a minor scratch during the attack, and her mouth was sore bruised from fighting for her head, but neither animal would take permanent hurt. Burrich sent Hands off to fix a warm mash of grain for them both. Only then did he quietly tell how Regal had come in, given his horse over for stabling, and gone up to the keep without so much as mentioning Kettricken. Burrich himself had been alerted by a stable-boy, asking where Softstep was. When Burrich had set about to find out, and made so bold as to ask Regal himself, Regal had replied that he had thought she had stayed on the road and come in with her attendants. So Burrich had been the one to sound the alarm, with Regal very vague as to where he had actually left the road, and what direction the fox had led him, and presumably Kettricken. ‘He’s covered his tracks well,’ Burrich muttered to me as Hands came back with the grain. I knew he did not refer to the fox.

My feet were leaden as I made my way up to the keep that night, and my heart as well. I did not want to imagine what Kettricken was feeling, nor did I care to consider what the talk was in the guard-room. I pulled off my clothes and fell into bed, and instantly into a sleep. Molly was waiting for me in my dreams, and the only peace I knew.

I was awakened a short time later, by someone pounding on my latched door. I arose and opened it to a sleepy page, who’d been sent to fetch me to Verity’s map-room. I told him I knew the way and sent him back to bed. I dragged my clothes on hastily and raced down the stairs, wondering what disaster had befallen us now.

Verity was waiting for me there, the hearth fire almost the only light in the room. His hair was rumpled and he had thrown a robe on over his nightshirt. Plainly he had just come from his bed himself, and I braced myself for whatever news he’d received. ‘Shut the door!’ he commanded me tersely. I did and then came to stand before him. I could not tell if the glint in his eyes were anger or amusement as he demanded, ‘Who is Lady Red Skirts, and why do I dream of her every night?’

I could not find my tongue. Desperately I wondered just how privy to my dreams he had been. Embarrassment dizzied me. Had I stood naked before the whole court, I could not have felt more exposed.

Verity turned his face aside and gave a cough that might have started as a chuckle. ‘Come, boy, it is not as if I cannot understand. I did not wish to be privy to your secret; rather you have thrust it upon me, especially so these last few nights. And I need my sleep, not to start up in bed fevered with your … admiration for this woman.’ He stopped speaking abruptly. My flaming blush was warmer than any hearth fire.

‘So,’ he said uncomfortably. Then, ‘Sit down. I am going to teach you to guard your thoughts as well as you guard your tongue.’ He shook his head. ‘Strange, Fitz, that you can block my Skilling so completely from your mind at times, but spill your most private desires out like a wolf howling into the night. I suppose it springs from what Galen did to you. Would we could undo that. But as we can’t, I shall teach you what I can whenever I can.’

I had not moved. Suddenly neither of us could look at the other. ‘Come here,’ he repeated gruffly. ‘Sit down here with me. Look into the flames.’

And in the space of an hour, he gave me an exercise to practise, one that would keep my dreams to myself, or more likely, ensure that I had no dreams at all. With a sinking heart I realized I would lose even the Molly of my imagination as surely as I’d lost the real one. He sensed my glumness.

‘Come, Fitz, it will pass. Keep a rein on yourself and endure. It can be done. May come a day when you will wish your life to be as empty of women as it is now. As I do.’

‘She didn’t mean to get lost, sir.’

Verity shot me a baleful glance. ‘Intentions cannot be exchanged for results. She is Queen-in-Waiting, boy. She must always think, not once, but thrice, before she takes action.’

‘She told me that Softstep followed Regal’s horse, and would not respond to the rein. You can fault Burrich and I for that; we’re supposed to have trained that horse.’

He sighed suddenly. ‘I suppose so. Consider yourself rebuked, and tell Burrich to find my lady a less spirited horse to ride until she is a better horsewoman.’ He sighed again, deeply. ‘I suppose she will consider that a punishment from me. She will look at me sadly with those great blue eyes, but speak not a word against it. Ah, well. It cannot be helped. But did she have to kill, and then to speak of it so blithely? What will my people think of her?’

‘She scarcely had a choice, sir. Would it have been better for her to die? As to what folk will think … well. The soldiers who first found us thought her plucky. And capable. Not bad qualities for a queen, sir. The women, especially, in your guard spoke warmly of her as we returned. They see her as their queen now, much more than if she were a weeping, quailing thing. They will follow her without question. In times like these, perhaps a queen with a knife will give us more heart than a woman who drapes herself in jewels and hides behind walls.’

‘Perhaps,’ Verity said quietly. I sensed he did not agree. ‘But now all shall know, most vividly, of the Forged ones who are gathering about Buckkeep.’

‘They shall know, too, that a determined person can defend herself from them. And from the talk of your guard as we came back, I think there shall be far fewer Forged ones a week hence.’

‘I know that. Some will be slaying their own kin. Forged or not, it is Six Duchies blood we are shedding. I had sought to avoid having my guard kill my own people.’

A small silence fell between us, as we both reflected he had not scrupled to set me to that same task. Assassin. That was the word for what I was. I had no honour to preserve, I realized.

‘Not true, Fitz.’ He answered my thought. ‘You preserve my honour. And I honour you for that, for doing what must be done. The ugly work, the hidden work. Do not be shamed that you work to preserve the Six Duchies. Do not think I do not appreciate such work simply because it must remain secret. Tonight, you saved my queen. I do not forget that either.’

‘She needed little saving, sir. I believe that even alone, she would have survived.’

‘Well. We won’t wonder about that.’ He paused, then said awkwardly, ‘I must reward you, you know.’

When I opened my mouth to protest, he held up a forbidding hand. ‘I know you require nothing. I know, too, that there is already so much between us that nothing I could give you would be sufficient for my gratitude. But most folk know nothing of that. Will you have it said in Buckkeep Town that you saved the Queen’s life, and the King-in-Waiting acknowledged you not at all? But I am at a loss to know what to gift you with … it should be something visible, and you must carry it about with you for a while. That much I know of statecraft, at least. A sword? Something better than the piece of iron you were carrying tonight?’

‘It’s an old blade Hod told me to take to practise with,’ I defended myself. ‘It works.’

‘Obviously. I shall have her select a better one for you, and do a bit of fancywork on the hilt and scabbard. Would that do it?’

‘I think so,’ I said awkwardly.

‘Well. Let’s back to bed, shall we? And I shall be able to sleep now, won’t I?’ There was no mistaking the amusement in his voice now. My cheeks burned anew.

‘Sir. I have to ask …’ I fumbled the hard words out. ‘Do you know who I was dreaming about?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Do not fear you have compromised her honour. I know only that she wears blue skirts, but you see them as red. And that you love her with an ardency that is appropriate to youth. Do not struggle to stop loving her. Only to stop Skilling it about at night. I am not the only one open to such Skilling, though I believe I am the only one who would recognize your signature on the dream so plain. Still, be cautious. Galen’s coterie is not without Skill, even if they use it clumsily and with little strength. A man can be undone when his enemies learn what is dearest to him from his Skill dreams. Keep your guard up.’ He gave an inadvertent chuckle. ‘And hope your Lady Red Skirts has no Skill in her blood, for if she does at all, she must have heard you all these many nights.’

And having put that unsettling thought into my head, he dismissed me back to my chambers and bed. I did not sleep again that night.

EIGHT (#ulink_dbb85e76-209a-5175-8c1f-d37ba21cbf4b)

The Queen Awakes (#ulink_dbb85e76-209a-5175-8c1f-d37ba21cbf4b)

Oh, some folk ride to the wild boar hunt

Or for elk they nock their arrows.

But my love rode with the Vixen Queen

To lay to rest our sorrows.

She did not dream of fame that day

Nor fear what pain might find her.

She rode to heal her people’s hearts

And my love rode behind her.

The Vixen Queen’s Hunt

The whole keep was astir early the next day. There was a fevered, almost festival air in the courtyard as Verity’s personal guard and every warrior who had no scheduled duties that day massed for a hunt. Tracking hounds bayed restively, while the pull-down dogs with their massive jaws and barrel chests huffed excitedly and tested their restraints. Bets were already being set on who would hunt most successfully. Horses pawed the earth, bow-strings were checked, while pages ran helter-skelter everywhere. Inside the kitchen, half the cooking staff was busy putting up packages of food for the hunters to take with them. Soldiers young and old, male and female strutted and laughed aloud, bragging of past confrontations, comparing weapons, building spirit for the hunt. I had seen this a hundred times, before a winter hunt for elk, or bear. But now there was an edge to it, a rank smell of bloodlust on the air. I heard snatches of conversations, words that made me queasy: ‘… no mercy for that dung …’, ‘… cowards and traitors, to dare to attack the Queen …’, ‘… shall pay dearly. They don’t deserve a swift death …’ I ducked hastily back into the kitchen, threaded my way through an area busy as a stirred ant-hill. Here, too, I heard the same sorts of sentiments voiced, the same craving for revenge.

I found Verity in his map-room. I could tell he had washed and dressed himself afresh this day, but he wore last night as plainly as a dirty robe. He was attired for a day inside, amongst his papers. I tapped lightly at the door, although it stood ajar. He sat in a chair before the fire, his back to me. He nodded, but did not look up at me as I entered. For all his stillness, there was a charged air to the room, the gathering of a storm. A tray of breakfast rested on a table beside his chair, untouched. I came and stood quietly beside him, almost certain I had been Skilled here. As the silence grew longer, I wondered if Verity himself knew why. At length I decided to speak.

‘My prince. You do not ride with your guard today?’ I ventured.

It was as if I had opened a floodgate. He turned to look at me; the lines in his face had been graven deeper over night. He looked haggard, sickened. ‘I do not, I dare not. How could I countenance such a thing, this hunting down of our own folk and kin! And yet what is my alternative? To hide and mope within the keep walls, while others go out to avenge this insult to my Queen-in-Waiting! I dare not forbid my men to uphold their honour. So I must behave as if I am unaware of what goes on in the courtyard. As if I am a simpleton, or a laggard, or a coward. There will be a ballad written about this day, I doubt it not. What shall it be called? Verity’s Massacre of the Witless? Or Queen Kettricken’s Sacrifice of the Forged ?’ His voice rose on every word, and before he was half done, I had stepped to the door and shut it firmly. I looked about the room as he ranted, wondering who else besides myself was hearing these words.