Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  ‘It does not seem like Forged ones,’ I said and then, care­fully, I asked, ‘Do you sus­pect a con­spir­acy of some kind?’

  Ver­ity snorted bit­terly. ‘Of course. When do I not sus­pect con­spir­acies any more? But for this, at least, I think I can look fur­ther afield than Buck­keep to find the source.’ He hal­ted ab­ruptly, as if hear­ing how bluntly he had spoken. ‘Look into it for me, Fitz, will you? Ride out and about a bit, and listen. Tell me what they say in the tav­erns, and tell me what sign you find on the roads. Gather gos­sip of other at­tacks, and keep track of the de­tail. Quietly. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Of course. But why quietly? It seems to me that if we aler­ted folk, we would hear more swiftly of what goes on.’

  ‘We would hear more, that’s true. More of ru­mours, and much more of com­plaint. So far these are in­di­vidual com­plaints. I am the only one, I think, who has put to­gether a pat­tern from them. I do not want Buck­keep it­self up in arms, com­plain­ing that the King can­not even pro­tect his cap­ital city. No. Quietly, Fitz. Quietly.’

  ‘Just look into it quietly.’ I did not voice it as a ques­tion.

  Ver­ity gave his broad shoulders a small shrug. But it was more like a man shift­ing a bur­den than dis­lodging a load. ‘Put a stop to it where you can.’ His voice was small and he looked into the fire. ‘Quietly, Fitz. Very quietly.’

  I nod­ded my head slowly. I had had these kinds of as­sign­ments be­fore also. Killing Forged ones did not bother me as much as killing a man did. Some­times I tried to pre­tend I was lay­ing a rest­less soul to peace, put­ting a fam­ily’s an­guish to a fi­nal end. I hoped I would not be­come too ad­ept at ly­ing to my­self. It was a lux­ury an as­sas­sin could not af­ford. Chade had warned me that I must al­ways re­mem­ber what I truly was. Not an an­gel of mercy, but a killer who worked for the good of the King. Or the King-in-Wait­ing. It was my duty to keep the throne se­cure. My duty. I hes­it­ated, then spoke.

  ‘My prince. As I was com­ing back, I saw our Queen-in-Wait­ing Kettricken. She was rid­ing out with Prince Regal.’

  ‘They make a hand­some pair, do they not? And does she sit her horse well?’ Ver­ity could not en­tirely keep bit­ter­ness from his voice.

  ‘Aye. But in the Moun­tain style still.’

  ‘She came to me, say­ing she wished to learn to ride our tall low­land horses bet­ter. I com­men­ded the idea. I did not know she would choose Regal as a rid­ing mas­ter.’ Ver­ity leaned over his map, study­ing de­tail that was not there.

  ‘Per­haps she hoped you would teach her.’ I spoke thought­lessly, to the man, not the prince.

  ‘Per­haps.’ He sighed sud­denly. ‘Oh, I know she did. Kettricken is lonely, some­times. Of­ten.’ He shook his head. ‘She should have been mar­ried to a younger son, to a man with time on his hands. Or to a king whose king­dom was not on the verge of war and dis­aster. I do not do her justice, Fitz. I know this. But she is so … young. Some­times. And when she is not be­ing so young, she is so fan­at­ic­ally pat­ri­otic. She burns to sac­ri­fice her­self for the Six Duch­ies. Al­ways I have to hold her back, to tell her that it is not what the Six Duch­ies need. She is like a gad­fly. There is no peace in her for me, Fitz. Either she wants to be romped like a child, or she is quizz­ing me on the very de­tails of some crisis I am try­ing to set aside for a few mo­ments.’

  I thought sud­denly of Chiv­alry’s single-minded pur­suit of the frivol­ous Pa­tience, and caught a glimpse of his motives. A wo­man who was an es­cape for him. Who would Ver­ity have chosen, had he been al­lowed to choose for him­self? Prob­ably someone older, a pla­cid wo­man pos­sessed of in­ner self worth and peace.

  ‘I grow so tired,’ Ver­ity said softly. He poured him­self more mulled wine, and stepped to the hearth to sip at it. ‘Do you know what I wish?’

  It wasn’t really a ques­tion. I didn’t even bother to reply.

  ‘I wish your father were alive, and King-in-Wait­ing. And I his right-hand man still. He would be telling me what tasks I must tackle, and I would be do­ing as he asked. I would be at peace with my­self, no mat­ter how hard my work, for I would be sure he knew best. Do you know how easy it is, Fitz, to fol­low a man you be­lieve in?’

  He looked up at last to meet my eyes.

  ‘My prince,’ I said quietly. ‘I be­lieve I do.’

  For a mo­ment, Ver­ity was very still. Then, ‘Ah,’ he said. He held my eyes with his, and I did not need the warmth of his Skilling to feel the grat­it­ude he sent me. He stepped away from the hearth, drew him­self up straighter. My King-in-Wait­ing stood be­fore me once more. He dis­missed me with a tiny mo­tion, and I went. As I climbed the stairs to my room, for the first time in my life I wondered if I should not be grate­ful to have been born a bas­tard.

  SEVEN

  En­coun­ters

  It has al­ways been the cus­tom and the ex­pect­ancy that when a king or queen of Buck­keep wed, the royal spouse would bring an en­tour­age of his or her own as at­tend­ants. Such had been the case with both of Shrewd’s queens. But when Queen Kettricken of the Moun­tains came to Buck­keep, she came as Sac­ri­fice, as was her coun­try’s cus­tom. She came alone, with no wo­men or men to at­tend her, not even a maid to be a con­fid­ante. No per­son in Buck­keep was there to give the com­fort of fa­mili­ar­ity to her in her new home. She began her reign sur­roun­ded com­pletely by strangers, not just at her own so­cial level, but ex­tend­ing down to ser­vants and guards as well. As time pro­gressed, she gathered friends to her, and found ser­vants as well who suited her, though at first the idea of hav­ing a per­son whose life work was to wait on her was a for­eign and dis­tress­ing concept to her.

  Cub had missed my com­pany. Be­fore I de­par­ted for Bearns, I had left him the car­cass of a deer, well frozen and con­cealed be­hind the hut. It should have been ample to feed him for the time I was gone. But in true wolf fash­ion, he had gorged, and slept, and gorged and slept again, un­til the meat was gone. Two days ago, he in­formed me, leap­ing and dan­cing about me. The in­terior of the hut was a lit­ter of well-gnawed bones. He greeted me with frantic en­thu­si­asm, doubly in­formed by the Wit and his nose of the fresh meat I brought. He fell upon it raven­ously and paid me no mind at all as I gathered his chewed bones into a sack. Too much of this type of lit­ter would draw rats, and the keep rat-hounds would fol­low. I couldn’t chance that. I watched him sur­repti­tiously as I ti­died, saw the rip­pling of muscles in his shoulders as he braced his fore­feet against the chunk of meat and tore a piece of flesh free. I noted, too, that all but the thick­est deer bones had been cracked and licked clean of mar­row. This was cub’s play no longer, but the work of a power­ful young an­imal. The bones he had cracked were thicker than the bones in my arm.

  But why would I turn on you? You bring the meat. And ginger cakes.

  His thought was laden with mean­ing. This was the way of a pack. I, an elder, brought meat to feed Cub, a young one. I was the hunter, bring­ing him back a por­tion of my kill. I ques­ted to­ward him and found that, for him, our sep­ar­ate­ness was fad­ing. We were pack. It was a concept I had never en­countered be­fore, go­ing deeper than com­pan­ion or part­ner. I feared that to him it meant what bond­ing did to me. I could not per­mit it.

  ‘I am a hu­man. You are a wolf.’ I spoke the words aloud, know­ing he would get their mean­ing from my thoughts, but try­ing to force him to know in all his senses our dif­fer­ences.

  Out­wardly. In­side, we are pack. He paused and licked his nose com­pla­cently. Blood dot­ted his fore­paws.

  ‘No. I feed you and pro­tect you here. But only for a time. When you are able to hunt for your­self, I will take you to a far place and leave you there.’

  I have never hunted.

  ‘I will teach you.’

  That, too, is of the pack. You will teach me, and I will hunt with you. We will share many ki
lls and much rich meat.

  I will teach you to hunt, and then I will set you free.

  I am already free. You do not hold me here, save that I will it. He lolled his tongue out over white teeth, laugh­ing at my as­sump­tion.

  You are ar­rog­ant, Cub. And ig­nor­ant.

  So teach me. He turned his head side­ways to let his back teeth scis­sor meat and ten­don from the bone he was work­ing on. It is your pack duty.

  We are not pack. I have no pack. My al­le­gi­ance is to my king.

  If he is your leader, then he is mine also. We are pack. As his belly filled, he was be­com­ing more and more com­pla­cent about it.

  I changed tac­tics. Coldly I told him, I am of a pack that you can­not be part of. In my pack, all are hu­mans. You are not a hu­man. You are a wolf. We are not pack.

  A still­ness welled in him. He did not try to reply. But he felt, and what he felt chilled me. Isol­a­tion, and be­trayal. Loneli­ness.

  I turned and left him there. But I could not hide from him how hard it was for me to leave him like that, nor con­ceal the deep shame at re­fus­ing him. I hoped he sensed also that I be­lieved it was what was best for him. Much, I re­flec­ted, as Burrich had felt it was best for me when he took Nosy away from me be­cause I had bon­ded to the puppy. The thought burned me and I did not just hasten away, I fled.

  Even­ing was fall­ing as I re­turned to the keep and made my way up the stairs. I vis­ited my room for cer­tain bundles I had left there, and then made my way down­stairs again. My trait­or­ous feet slowed as I passed the second land­ing. I knew that very shortly Molly would be com­ing this way, bear­ing away the tray and dishes from Pa­tience’s meal. Pa­tience sel­dom chose to dine in the hall with the other lords and ladies of the keep, pre­fer­ring the pri­vacy of her own rooms and Lacey’s easy com­pan­ion­ship. Her shy­ness had be­gun to take on over­tones of re­clus­ive­ness lately. But it was not con­cern over that which kept me loiter­ing on the stairs. I heard the tap of Molly’s feet com­ing down the hall, I knew I should move on, but it had been days since I had even glimpsed her. Celer­ity’s shy flir­ta­tions had only made me more acutely aware of how I missed Molly. Surely it could not be too much for me to simply wish her ‘good even­ing’ as I might any other ser­vant girl. I knew I should not, I knew that if Pa­tience heard of it, I would be re­buked. And yet …

  I pre­ten­ded to be study­ing a tapestry on the land­ing, a tapestry that had hung there since be­fore I had ever come to Buck­keep. I heard her foot­steps ap­proach­ing. I heard them slow. My heart was thun­der­ing high in my chest, the palms of my hands were moist with sweat as I turned to see her. ‘Good even­ing,’ I man­aged, between a squeak and a whis­per.

  ‘Good even­ing to you,’ she said with great dig­nity. Her head went up a notch higher, her chin firmed. Her hair had been tamed into two thick braids and pinned about her head like a crown. Her dress of simple blue had a col­lar of del­ic­ate white lace, and there were lace cuffs to it as well. I knew whose fin­gers had worked that scal­loped pat­tern. Lacey treated her well and gif­ted her with the work of her hands. That was good to know.

  Molly did not fal­ter as she passed me. Her eyes skittered side­ways to me once, and I could not fore­bear to smile, and at my smile a blush so warm suf­fused her face and throat that al­most I felt the heat of it. Her mouth went into a firmer line. As she turned and des­cen­ded the stairs, her scent waf­ted back to me, lemon balm and ginger rid­ing on the sweeter scent that was simply Molly’s own.

  Fe­male. Nice. Vast ap­proval.

  I leaped as if stung and spun about, ex­pect­ing fool­ishly to dis­cover Cub be­hind me. He was not, of course. I ques­ted out, but he was not with me in my mind. I ques­ted fur­ther, found him doz­ing on his straw in the hut. Don’t do that, I warned him. Stay out of my mind, un­less I bid you be with me.

  Con­sterna­tion. What is it you bid me do?

  Do not be with me, ex­cept when I wish you to.

  Then how would I know when you wished me to be with you?

  I will seek your mind when I want you.

  A long quiet. And I shall seek yours when I want you, he offered. Yes, this is pack. To call when one needs help, and to be al­ways ready to hear such a call. We are pack.

  No! That is not what I am telling you. I am say­ing you must keep out of my mind when I do not wish you to be there. I do not wish to be al­ways shar­ing thoughts with you.

  You make no sense at all. Shall I only breathe when you are not snuff­ing the air? Your mind, my mind, it is all the pack mind. Where else shall I think, but here? If you do not wish to hear me, do not listen.

  I stood dumb­foun­ded, try­ing to make sense of the thought. I real­ized I was star­ing off into space. A serving-boy had just wished me good even­ing, and I had offered no re­sponse. ‘Good even­ing,’ I replied, but he had already passed me. He glanced back in puz­zle­ment, to see if he was summoned, but I waved him on. I shook my head to clear it of cob­webs, and star­ted down the hall to Pa­tience’s room. I would dis­cuss it with Cub later, and make him un­der­stand. And soon, he would be off on his own, out of touch, out of mind. I pushed the ex­per­i­ence aside.

  I tapped at Pa­tience’s door and was ad­mit­ted. I saw that Lacey had gone on one of her peri­odic ram­pages, and re­stored a sort of or­der to the room. There was even a cleared chair to sit upon. They were both glad to see me. I told them of my trip to Bearns, avoid­ing any men­tion of Virago. I knew that even­tu­ally Pa­tience would hear of it, and con­front me about it, and I would then as­sure her that gos­sip had greatly ex­ag­ger­ated our en­counter. I hoped that would work. In the mean­time, I had brought gifts back with me. Tiny ivory fish, drilled to be strung as beads or at­tached to a gar­ment for Lacey, and for Pa­tience am­ber and sil­ver ear­rings. An earth­en­ware pot of win­ter­green ber­ries pre­served and sealed with a lid of wax.

  ‘Win­ter­green? I’ve no taste for win­ter­green.’ Pa­tience was puzzled when I offered it to her.

  ‘Haven’t you?’ I feigned puz­zle­ment. ‘I thought you told me it was a fla­vour and scent you missed from your child­hood. Did not you have an uncle who brought you win­ter­green?’

  ‘No. I re­call no such con­ver­sa­tion.’

  ‘Per­haps it was Lacey, then?’ I asked sin­cerely.

  ‘Not I, mas­ter. Stings my nose to taste it, though it has a nice scent in the air.’

  ‘Ah, well, then. My mis­take.’ I set it aside on the table. ‘What, Snow­flake? Not preg­nant again?’ This I ad­dressed to Pa­tience’s white ter­rier who had fi­nally de­cided to come forth and sniff at me. I could sense her doggy little mind puzz­ling over Cub’s scent on me.

  ‘No, she’s just get­ting fat,’ Lacey in­ter­jec­ted for her, stoop­ing to scratch her be­hind the ears. ‘My lady leaves sweet­meats and cakes about on plates, and Snow­flake is al­ways get­ting at them.’

  ‘You know you shouldn’t let her. It’s very bad for her teeth and coat,’ I re­buked Pa­tience, and she replied that she knew it, but Snow­flake was too old to be taught bet­ter. The con­ver­sa­tion rambled from there, and it was an­other hour be­fore I stretched and told them I must be go­ing, to try once more to re­port to the King.

  ‘I was earlier turned aside from his door,’ I men­tioned. ‘Though not by any guard. His man Wal­lace came to the door when I knocked, to re­fuse me entry. When I asked why there was no guard on the King’s door, he said they had been re­lieved of that duty. He had as­sumed it him­self, the bet­ter to keep things quiet for the King.’

  ‘The King’s not well, you know,’ Lacey offered. ‘I’ve heard that he’s sel­dom seen out of his cham­bers be­fore noon. Then, when he comes forth, he is like a man pos­sessed, full of en­ergy and ap­pet­ite, but by early even­ing, he fades again, and be­gins to shuffle and mumble his words. He takes his din­ner in his rooms, and cook says the tray comes back as fu
ll as it went up. It’s quite a worry.’

  ‘It is,’ I agreed, and made my de­par­ture, al­most dread­ing to hear more. So the King’s health was now talk for the keep. That was not good. I must ask Chade about it. And I must see for my­self. In my earlier at­tempt to re­port to the King, I had en­countered only the of­fi­cious Wal­lace. Wal­lace had been most brusque with me, as if I were come simply to pass the time of day, rather than to re­port after a mis­sion. He be­haved as if the King were the most del­ic­ate of in­val­ids and took it upon him­self to keep any one from both­er­ing him. Wal­lace, I de­cided, had not been very well taught as to what the du­ties of his po­s­i­tion were. He was a most an­noy­ing man. As I tapped, I was won­der­ing how long it would take Molly to find the win­ter­green. She must know I had meant it for her, it was a taste she had al­ways been greedy for when we were chil­dren.

  Wal­lace came to the door and opened it a crack to peer out. He frowned at dis­cov­er­ing me. He swung the door wider, but filled the open­ing with his body, as if my glimpsing the King might do him harm. He gave me no greet­ing, only de­man­ded, ‘Did not you come be­fore, earlier today?’

  ‘Yes. I did. At that time you told me King Shrewd slept. And so I have come again, to make my re­port.’ I tried to keep my tone civil.

  ‘Ah. It is im­port­ant, this re­port?’

  ‘I think the King can judge if it is, and send me away if he thinks I waste his time. I sug­gest you tell him I am here.’ I smiled be­latedly, try­ing to soften the sharp­ness of my tone.