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

‘Did you sleep at all, my prince? I asked when he had run down.

He smiled with bleak amusement. ‘Well you know what put an end to my first attempt at rest. My second was less … engaging. My lady came to my chamber.’

I felt my ears begin to warm. Whatever he was about to tell me, I did not want to hear it. I had no wish to know what had passed between them last night. Quarrel or amendment, I wanted to know nothing of it. Verity was merciless.

‘Not weeping, as you might think she would. Not for comfort. Not to be held against night fears, or reassured of my regard. But sword-stiff as a rebuked sergeant, to stand at the foot of the bed and beg my pardon for her transgressions. Whiter than chalk and hard as oak …’ His voice trailed off, as if realizing he betrayed too much of himself. ‘She foresaw this hunting mob, not I. She came to me in the middle of the night, asking what must we do? I had no answer for her, any more than I do now …’

‘At least she foresaw this,’ I ventured, hoping to bring some respite from his anger for Kettricken.

‘And I did not,’ he said heavily. ‘She did. Chivalry would have. Oh, Chivalry would have known it would happen from the moment she went missing, and would have had all sorts of contingency plans. But I did not. I thought only to bring her swiftly home, and hope not too many heard of it. As if such a thing could be! And so today I think to myself that if ever the crown does come to rest on my brow, it will be in a most unworthy place.’

This was a Prince Verity I had never seen before, a man with his confidence in tatters. I finally saw how poor a match Kettricken was for him. It was not her fault. She was strong, and raised to rule. Verity often said himself he had been raised as a second son. The right sort of woman would have steadied him like a sea anchor, helped him rise to assume his kingship. A woman who had come weeping to his bed, to be cuddled and reassured, would have let him arise certain he was a man and fit to be a king. Kettricken’s discipline and restraint made him doubt his own strength. My prince was human, I suddenly perceived. It was not reassuring.

‘You should at least come out and speak to them,’ I ventured.

‘And say what? “Good hunting”? No. But you go, boy. Go and watch and bring me word of what is happening. Go now. And shut my door. I have no desire to see anyone else until you return with word of what goes on.’

I turned and did as he bid me. As I left the Great Hall and went down the passage to the courtyard, I encountered Regal. He was seldom up and about this early, and he looked as if his arising this morning had been no choice of his. His clothing and hair were well arranged, but all the tiny primping touches were missing: no earring, no carefully-folded and pinned silk at his throat, and the only jewellery was his signet ring. His hair was combed, but not scented and curled. And his eyes were networked in red. Fury rode him. As I sought to pass him, he seized me and jerked me to face him. That, at least, was his intention. I did not resist, but merely laxed my muscles. And found, to my delight and amazement, that he could not move me. He turned to face me, eyes blazing, and found out that he must look up, ever so slightly, to glare at me eye to eye. I had grown and put on weight. I had known that, but had never considered this delightful side-effect. I stopped the grin before it reached my mouth, but it must have showed in my eyes. He gave me a violent shove, and I allowed it to rock me. A bit.

‘Where’s Verity?’ he snarled.

‘My prince?’ I queried, as if not grasping what he desired.

‘Where is my brother? That wretched wife of his …’ He broke off, strangling on his anger. ‘Where is my brother usually at this time of day?’ he finally managed.

I did not lie. ‘Some days he goes early to his tower. Or he may be breakfasting, I suppose. Or in the baths …’ I offered.

‘Useless bastard,’ Regal dismissed me, and whirled, to hurry off in the direction of the tower. I hoped the climb would amuse him. As soon as he was out of sight, I broke into a run, not to waste the precious time I had gained.

The moment I entered the courtyard, the reason for Regal’s fury was made clear. Kettricken stood upon a wagon seat, and every head was turned up toward her. She wore the same clothes she had the night before. By daylight, I could see how a spray of blood had marked the sleeve of the white fur jacket, and how a heavier plume of it had soaked and stained her purple trousers. She was booted and hatted, ready to ride. A sword was buckled at her hip. Dismay rose in me. How could she? I glanced about, wondering what she had been saying. Every face was turned to her, eyes wide. I had emerged into a moment of utter silence. Every man and woman seemed to be holding their breath, awaiting her next words. When they came, they were uttered in a speaking voice, calmly, but so silent was the crowd that her clear voice carried in the cold air.

‘This is not a hunt, I say,’ Kettricken repeated gravely. ‘Put aside your merriment and boasts. Remove from your bodies every bit of jewellery, every sign of rank. Let your hearts be solemn and consider what we do.’

Her words were accented still with the flavour of the mountains, but a cool part of my mind observed how carefully chosen was each word, how balanced each phrase.

‘We do not go to hunt,’ she repeated, ‘but to claim our casualties. We go to lay to rest those the Red Ships have stolen from us. The Red Ships have taken the hearts of the Forged ones, and left their bodies to stalk us. None the less, those we put down today are of the Six Duchies. Our own.

‘My soldiers, I ask of you that no arrow be loosed today, no blow struck save for a clean kill. I know you skilled enough to do this. We have all suffered enough. Let each death today be as brief and merciful as we can manage, for all our sakes. Let us clench our jaws, and remove that which infects us with as much resolve and regret as if we severed a maimed limb from a body. For such is what we do. Not vengeance, my people, but surgery, to be followed by a healing. Do as I say, now.’

For some few minutes she stood still and looked down at us all. As in a dream, folk began to move. Hunters removed feathers and ribbons, tokens and jewellery from their garments and handed them to pages. The mood of merriment and boasting had evaporated. She had stripped that protection away, forced all to consider truly what they were about to do. No one relished it. All were poised, waiting to hear what she would say next. Kettricken kept her absolute silence and stillness, so that each eye was perforce drawn back to her. When she saw she had the attention of all, she spoke again.

‘Good,’ she praised us quietly. ‘And now, heed my words well. I desire horse-drawn litters, or wagons … whatever you of the stable judge best. Pad them well with straw. No body of our folk will be left to feed foxes or be pecked by crows. They will be brought back here, names noted if known, and prepared for the pyre that is the honour of those fallen in battle. If families be known and be near, they shall be summoned to the mourning. To those who live far, word will be sent, and the honours due those who have lost their blood-kin as soldiers.’ Tears ran unchecked, untouched down her cheeks. They glinted in the early winter sunlight like diamonds. Her voice thickened as she turned to command another group. ‘My cooks and serving-folk! Set all tables in the Great Hall, and prepare a funeral feast. Set the Lesser Hall with water and herbs and clean garments, that we may prepare the bodies of our folk for burning. All others, leave your ordinary duties. Fetch wood and build a pyre. We shall return, to burn our dead and mourn them.’ She gazed about, meeting every eye. Something in her face set. She drew the sword from her belt and pointed it aloft in an oath. ‘When we have done with our grieving, we shall make ready to avenge them! Those who have taken our folk shall know our wrath!’ Slowly she lowered her blade, sheathed it cleanly. Again her eyes commanded us. ‘And now, we ride, my folk!’

My flesh stood up in goose-bumps. Around me, men and women were mounting horses and a hunt was forming up. With impeccable timing, Burrich was suddenly beside the wagon, with Softstep saddled and awaiting her rider. I wondered where he had got the black and red harness, the colours of grief and vengeance. I wondered if she had ordered it, or if he had simply known. She stepped down, onto her horse’s back, then settled into the saddle and Softstep stood steady despite the novel mount. She lifted her hand, and it held a sword. The hunt surged forth behind her.

‘Stop her!’ hissed Regal behind me, and I spun to find that both he and Verity stood at my back, completely unnoticed by the crowd.

‘No!’ I dared to breathe aloud. ‘Cannot you feel it? Do not spoil it. She’s given them all something back. I don’t know what it is, but they have been sore missing it for a long time.’

‘It is pride,’ Verity said, his deep voice a rumble. ‘What we have all been missing, and I most of all. There rides a queen,’ he continued in soft amazement. Was there a shade of envy there as well? He turned slowly and went quietly back into the keep. Behind us a babble of voices arose, and folk hastened to do as she had bidden them. I walked behind Verity, near stunned by what I had witnessed. Regal pushed past me, to leap in front of Verity and confront him. He was quivering with outrage. My prince halted.

‘How can you have allowed this to happen? Have you no control over that woman at all? She makes mockery of us! Who is she, to thus issue commands and take out an armed guard from the keep! Who is she, to decree all this so highhandedly?’ Regal’s voice cracked in his fury.

‘My wife,’ Verity said mildly. ‘And your Queen-in-Waiting. The one you chose. Father assured me you would choose a woman worthy to be a queen. I think you picked better than you knew.’

‘Your wife? Your undoing, you ass! She undermines you, she cuts your throat as you sleep! She steals their hearts, she builds her own name! Cannot you see it, you dolt? You may be content to let that mountain vixen steal the crown, but I am not!’

I turned aside hastily and bent to retie my shoe, so I could not witness that Prince Verity struck Prince Regal. I did hear something very like the crack of an open-handed blow to a man’s face and a bitten-off cry of fury. When I looked up, Verity was standing as quietly as before, while Regal hunkered forward with a hand over his nose and mouth. ‘King-in-Waiting Verity will brook no insults to Queen-in-Waiting Kettricken. Or even to himself. I said my lady had reawakened pride in our soldiers. Perhaps she has stirred mine as well.’ Verity looked mildly surprised as he considered this.

‘The King will hear of this!’ Regal took his hand away from his face, looked aghast at the blood on it. He held it up, shaking, to show Verity. ‘My father will see this blood you have shed!’ he quavered, and choked on the blood coursing from his nose. He leaned forward slightly and held his bloody hand away from himself, so as not to spoil his clothing with a stain.

‘What? You intend to bleed all the way to this afternoon, when our father arises? If you can manage that, come and show me as well!’ To me, ‘Fitz! Have you nothing better to do than stand about gaping? Be off with you. See that my lady’s commands are well obeyed!’

Verity turned and strode off down the corridor. I made haste to obey and to take myself out of Regal’s range. Behind us, he stamped and cursed like a child in the midst of a tantrum. Neither of us turned back to him, but I at least hoped that no servants had marked what had transpired.

It was a long and peculiar day about the keep. Verity made a visit to King Shrewd’s rooms, and then kept himself to his map-room. I know not what Regal did. All folk turned out to do the Queen’s bidding, working swiftly, but almost silently, gossiping quietly amongst themselves as they prepared the one hall for food and the other for bodies. One great change I marked. Those women who had been most faithful to the Queen now found themselves attended, as if they were shadows of Kettricken. And these nobly born women suddenly did not scruple to come themselves to the Lesser Hall, to supervise the preparing of the herb scented water, and the laying out of towels and linens. I myself helped with the fetching of wood for the required pyre.

By late afternoon, the hunt returned. They came quietly, riding in solemn guard around the wagons they escorted. Kettricken rode at their head. She looked tired, and frozen in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. I wanted to go to her, but did not steal the honour as Burrich came to take her horse’s head and assist her dismount. Fresh blood spattered her boots and Softstep’s shoulders. She had not ordered her soldiers to do that which she would not do herself. With a quiet command, Kettricken dismissed the guard to wash themselves, to comb hair and beards, and to return freshly clothed to the hall. As Burrich led Softstep away, Kettricken stood briefly alone. A sadness greyer than anything I had ever felt emanated from her. She was weary. So very weary.

I approached her quietly. ‘If you have need, my lady queen,’ I said softly.

She did not turn. ‘I must do this myself. But be close, in case I need you.’ She spoke so quietly I am sure none heard her but myself. Then she moved forward, and the waiting keep folk parted before her. Heads bobbed as she acknowledged them gravely. She walked silently through the kitchens, nodding at the food she saw prepared, and then paced through the Great Hall, once more nodding approval of all she saw there. In the Lesser Hall, she paused, then removed her gaily knit cap and her jacket, to reveal underneath a simple soft shirt of purple linen. The cap and jacket she gave over to a page, who looked stunned by the honour. She stepped to the head of one of the tables, and began to fold her sleeves back. All movement in the hall ceased as heads turned to watch her. She looked up to our amazed regard. ‘Bring in our dead,’ she said simply.

The pitiful bodies were carried in, a heart-breaking stream of them. I did not count how many. More than I had expected, more than Verity’s reports had led us to believe. I followed behind Kettricken, and carried the basin of warm, scented water as she moved from body to body, and gently bathed each ravaged face and closed tormented eyes forever. Behind us came others, a snaking procession as each body was undressed gently, completely bathed, hair combed, and wound in clean cloth. At some point I became aware that Verity was there, a young scribe beside him, going from body to body, taking down the names of those few who were recognized, writing briefly of every other.

One name I supplied him myself: Kerry. The last Molly and I had known of this street boy, he had gone off as a puppeteer’s apprentice. He’d ended his days as little more than a puppet. His laughing mouth was stilled forever. As boys, we’d run errands together, to earn a penny or two. He’d been beside me the first time I got puking drunk, and laughed until his own stomach betrayed him. He’d wedged the rotten fish in the trestles of the tavern-keeper’s table, the one who had accused us of stealing. The days we had shared I alone would remember now. I suddenly felt less real. Part of my past, Forged away from me.

When we were finished, and stood silently looking at the tables of bodies, Verity stepped forward, to read his tally aloud in the silence. The names were few, but he did not neglect those unknown. ‘A young man, newly bearded, dark hair, the scars of fishing on his hands …’ he said of one, and of another, ‘A woman, curly haired and comely, tattooed with the puppeteers’ guild sign.’ We listened to the litany of those we had lost, and if any did not weep, they had hearts of stone. As a people, we lifted our dead and carried them to the funeral pyre, to set them carefully upon this last bed. Verity himself brought the torch for the kindling, but he handed it to the Queen who waited beside the pyre. As she set flame to the pitch-laden boughs, she cried out to the dark skies, ‘You shall not be forgotten!’ All echoed her with a shout. Blade, the old sergeant, stood beside the pyre with shears, to take from every soldier a finger’s length lock of hair, a symbol of the mourning for a fallen comrade. Verity joined the queue, and Kettricken stood behind him, to offer up a pale lock of her own hair.

There followed a night such as I had never known. Most of Buckkeep Town came to the keep that night, and were admitted without question. All followed the Queen’s example and kept a watching fast until the pyre had burned itself to ash and bone. Then the Great Hall and the Lesser were filled, and planks laid as tables outside in the courtyard for those who could not crowd within. Kegs of drink were rolled out, and such a setting out of bread and roasted meat and other viands as I had not even imagined that Buckkeep possessed. Later I was to learn that much of it had simply come up from the town, unsought but offered freely.

The King descended, as he had not for some weeks, to sit in his throne at the high table and preside over the gathering. The Fool came too, to stand beside and behind his chair and accept from his plate whatever the King offered. But this night he made not merry for the King; his fool’s prattle was stilled, and even the bells on his cap and sleeves had been tied in strips of fabric to mute them. Only once did our eyes meet that night, but for me, the glance carried no discernible message. To the King’s right was Verity, to his left Kettricken. Regal was there, too, of course, in so sumptuous a costume of black that only the colour denoted any sort of mourning. He scowled and sulked and drank, and I suppose for some his surly silence passed for grieving. For me, I could sense the anger seething within him, and knew that someone, somewhere would pay for what he saw as insult to himself. Even Patience was there, her appearance as rare as the King’s, and I sensed the unity of purpose we displayed.

The King ate but little. He waited until those at the high table were filled before he arose to speak. As he spoke, his words were repeated at the lower tables, and in the Lesser Hall, and even outside in the courtyard by minstrels. He spoke briefly of those we had lost to the Red Ships. He said nothing of Forging, or of the day’s task of hunting down and killing the Forged ones. He spoke instead as if they had but recently died in a battle against the Red Ships, and said only that we must remember them. Then, pleading fatigue and grief, he left the table to return to his own chambers.

Then it was that Verity arose. He did little more than to repeat Kettricken’s words of earlier, that we grieved now, but when the grieving was over, we must make ready our vengeance. He lacked the fire and passion of Kettricken’s earlier speech, but I could see all at table responding to it. Folk nodded and began to talk amongst themselves, while Regal sat and glowered silently. Verity and Kettricken left the table late that night, she on his arm, and they made sure that all marked how they left together. Regal remained, drinking and muttering to himself. I myself slipped away shortly after Verity and Kettricken left, to seek my own bed.

I made no attempt to fall asleep, but only flung myself on my bed to stare into the fire. When the concealed door opened, I rose immediately to ascend to Chade’s chambers. I found him ajitter with an infectious excitement. There was even a pinkness to his pale cheeks about his pock scars. His grey hair was wild, his green eyes glittered like gems. He was pacing about his chambers, and as I entered, he actually seized me in a rough embrace. He stepped back and laughed aloud at my shocked expression.

‘She was born to rule! Born to it, and somehow now she has awakened to it! It could not have come at a better time! She may yet save us all!’

His exultation was unholy in its glee.

‘I know not how many folk died today,’ I rebuked him.

‘Ah! But not in vain! At least not in vain! Those were not wasted deaths, FitzChivalry. By El and Eda, Kettricken has the instinct and the grace! I had not suspected it in her. Now had we still your father alive, boy, and him paired with her on the throne, we could have a pair as could cup the whole world in their hands.’ He took another sip of his wine and paced again about his chambers. I had never seen him so elated. He all but capered. A covered basket rested on a table close to hand, and its contents had been set out on a cloth. Wine, cheese, sausages, pickles and bread. So even here in his tower, Chade shared the funeral feast. Slink the weasel popped up from the other side of the table, to regard me past the food with avaricious eyes. Chade’s voice broke me from my thoughts.

‘She has an ample share of what Chivalry had. The instinct for seizing the moment and turning it to advantage. She took an unavoidable, unmentionable situation and made high tragedy of what might have been simple slaughter in lesser hands. Boy, we have a queen, a queen again at Buckkeep!’