Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  She was tiny. Sleek black hair and dark eyes. Hor­ribly her little body was still warm and lax. I lif­ted her to my lap and smoothed the hair back from her face. A small face, even baby teeth. Round cheeks. Death had not yet clouded her gaze; the eyes that stared up into mine seemed fixed on a puzzle bey­ond un­der­stand­ing. Her little hands were fat and soft and streaked with the blood that had run down from the bites on her arms. I sat in the snow with the dead child on my lap. So this was how a child felt in one’s arms. So small, and once so warm. So still. I bowed my head over her smooth hair and wept. Sud­den shud­ders ran over me, un­con­trol­lably. Nighteyes snuffed at my cheek and whined. He pawed roughly at my shoulder and I sud­denly real­ized I had shut him out. I touched him with a quiet­ing hand, but could not open my mind to him or any­thing else. He whined again, and I fi­nally heard the hoof beats. He gave my cheek an apo­lo­getic lick, and then van­ished into the woods.

  I staggered to my feet, still hold­ing the child. The riders cres­ted the hill above me. Ver­ity in the lead, on his black, with Burrich be­hind him, and Blade, and half a dozen oth­ers. Hor­ribly, there was a wo­man, roughly dressed, rid­ing be­hind Blade on his horse. She cried out aloud at the sight of me, and slid quickly from the horse’s back, run­ning to­ward me with hands reach­ing for the child. I could not bear the ter­rible light of hope and joy in her face. Her eyes seized on mine for an in­stant and I saw everything die in her face. She clawed her little girl from my arms, snatched at the cool­ing face on the lolling neck, and then began to scream. The des­ol­a­tion of her grief broke over me like a wave, sweep­ing my walls away and car­ry­ing me un­der with her. The scream­ing never stopped.

  Hours later, sit­ting in Ver­ity’s study, I could still hear it. I vi­brated to the sound, long shud­ders that ran over me un­con­trol­lably. I was stripped to the waist, sit­ting on a stool be­fore the fire­place. The healer was build­ing the fire up, while be­hind me a stonily si­lent Burrich was swab­bing pine needles and dirt out of the gouge on my neck. ‘This, and this aren’t fresh wounds,’ he ob­served at one point, point­ing down to the other in­jury on my arm. I said noth­ing. All words had deser­ted me. In a basin of hot wa­ter be­side him, dried iris flowers were un­curl­ing with bits of bog myrtle float­ing be­side them. He moistened a cloth in the wa­ter and sponged at the bruises on my throat. ‘The smith had big hands,’ he ob­served aloud.

  ‘You knew him?’ the healer asked as he turned to look at Burrich.

  ‘Not to talk to. I’d seen him, a time or two, at Spring­fest when some of the outly­ing trade folk come to town with their goods. He used to bring fancy sil­ver­work for har­ness.’

  They fell si­lent again. Burrich went back to work. The blood tinge­ing the warm wa­ter wasn’t mine, for the most part. Other than a lot of bruises and sore muscles, I’d es­caped with mostly scratches and scrapes and one huge lump on my fore­head. I was some­how ashamed that I hadn’t been hurt. The little girl had died; I should have at least been in­jured. I don’t know why that thought made sense to me. I watched Burrich make a neat white band­age snug on my fore­arm. The healer brought me a mug of tea. Burrich took it from him, sniffed it thought­fully, then gave it over to me. ‘I would have used less va­lerian,’ was all he said to the man. The healer stepped back and went to sit by the hearth.

  Charim came in with a tray of food. He cleared a small table and began to set it out on it. A mo­ment later Ver­ity strode into the room. He took his cloak off and flung it over a chair back. ‘I found her hus­band in the mar­ket,’ he said. ‘He’s with her now. She had left the child play­ing on the door­step while she went to the stream for wa­ter. When she got back, the child was gone.’ He glanced to­ward me but I couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘We found her call­ing her little girl in the woods. I knew …’ He glanced ab­ruptly at the healer. ‘Thank you, Dem. If you’ve fin­ished with FitzChiv­alry, you may go.’

  ‘I haven’t even looked at …’

  ‘He’s fine.’ Burrich had run a length of bandaging across my chest and un­der my op­pos­ite arm and up again in an ef­fort to keep a dress­ing in place on my neck. It was use­less. The bite was right on the muscle between the tip of my shoulder and my neck. I tried to find some­thing amus­ing in the ir­rit­ated look the healer gave Burrich be­fore he left. Burrich didn’t even no­tice it.

  Ver­ity dragged up a chair to face me. I began to lift the mug to my lips, but Burrich cas­u­ally reached over and took it from my hand. ‘After you’ve talked. There’s enough va­lerian in here to drop you in your tracks.’ He took it and him­self out of the way. Over by the hearth, I watched him dump out half of the tea and di­lute what was left with more hot wa­ter. That done, he crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the man­tel­piece, watch­ing us.

  I shif­ted my gaze to Ver­ity’s eyes, and waited for him to speak.

  He sighed. ‘I saw the child with you. Saw them fight­ing over her. Then you were sud­denly gone. We lost our join­ing, and I couldn’t find you again, not even with all my strength. I knew you were in trouble and set out to reach you as soon as I could. I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.’

  I longed to open my­self up and tell Ver­ity everything. But it might be too re­veal­ing. To pos­sess a prince’s secrets does not give one the right to di­vulge them. I glanced at Burrich. He was study­ing the wall. I spoke form­ally. ‘Thank you, my prince. You could not have come faster. And even if you had, it would have been too late. She died at al­most the same in­stant I saw her.’

  Ver­ity looked down at his hands. ‘I knew that. Knew it bet­ter than you did. My con­cern was for you.’ He looked up at me and tried for a smile. ‘The most dis­tinct­ive part of your fight­ing style is the in­cred­ible way you have of sur­viv­ing it.’

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Burrich shift, open his mouth to speak, then close it again. Cold dread un­coiled me. He had seen the bod­ies of the Forged ones, seen the tracks. He knew I hadn’t fought alone against them. It was the only thing that could have made the day worse. I felt as if my heart were sud­denly caught in a cold still­ness. That Burrich had not spoken of it yet, that he was re­serving his ac­cus­a­tions for a private time only made it worse.

  ‘FitzChiv­alry?’ Ver­ity called my at­ten­tion back to him.

  I star­ted. ‘I beg your par­don, my prince.’

  He laughed, al­most, a brief snort. ‘Enough of “my prince”. Rest as­sured that I do not ex­pect it of you just now, and neither does Burrich. He and I know each other well enough; he did not “my prince” my brother at mo­ments like this. Re­call that he was King’s Man to my brother. Chiv­alry drew on his strength, and of­ten­times not gently. I am sure Burrich knows that I have used you like­wise. And knows also that I rode with your eyes today, at least as far as the top of that ridge.’

  I looked to Burrich, who nod­ded slowly. Neither of us were cer­tain why he was be­ing in­cluded here.

  ‘I lost touch with you when you went into a battle frenzy. If I am to use you as I wish, that can­not hap­pen.’ Ver­ity drummed his fin­gers lightly on his thighs for a mo­ment, in thought. ‘The only way I can see for you to learn this thing is to prac­tise it. Burrich. Chiv­alry once told me that in a tight spot, you were bet­ter with an axe than a sword.’

  Burrich looked startled. Plainly he had not ex­pec­ted Ver­ity to know this about him. He nod­ded again, slowly. ‘He used to mock me about it. Said it was a brawler’s tool, not a gen­tle­man’s weapon.’

  Ver­ity per­mit­ted him­self a tight smile. ‘Ap­pro­pri­ate for Fitz’s style, then. You will teach him to use one. I don’t be­lieve it’s some­thing Hod teaches as a gen­eral rule. Though no doubt she could if I asked her. But I’d rather it was you. Be­cause I want Fitz to prac­tise keep­ing me with him while he learns it. If we can tie the two les­sons to­gether, per­haps he can mas­ter them both at once. And if you are teach­ing him, then he’ll not be too dis
­trac­ted about keep­ing my pres­ence a secret. Can you do it?’

  Burrich could not com­pletely dis­guise the dis­may that crept over him. ‘I can, my prince.’

  ‘Then do so, please. Be­gin­ning to­mor­row. Earlier is bet­ter for me. I know you have other du­ties as well, and few enough hours to your­self. Don’t hes­it­ate to pass some of your du­ties on to Hands while you are busy with this. He seems a very cap­able man.’

  ‘He is,’ Burrich agreed. Guardedly. An­other tit­bit of in­form­a­tion that Ver­ity had at his fin­ger­tips.

  ‘Fine, then.’ Ver­ity leaned back in his chair. He sur­veyed us both as if he were brief­ing a whole room­ful of men. ‘Does any­one have any dif­fi­culties with any of this?’

  I saw the ques­tion as a po­lite clos­ing.

  ‘Sir?’ Burrich asked. His deep voice had gone very soft and un­cer­tain. ‘If I may … I have … I do not in­tend to ques­tion my prince’s judg­ment, but …’

  I held my breath. Here it came. The Wit.

  ‘Speak it out, Burrich. I thought I had made it clear that the “my prin­cing” was to be sus­pen­ded here. What wor­ries you?’

  Burrich stood up straight, and met the King-in-Wait­ing’s eyes. ‘Is this … fit­ting? Bas­tard or no, he is Chiv­alry’s son. What I saw up there, today …’ Once star­ted, the words spilled out of Burrich. He was fight­ing to keep an­ger from his voice. ‘You sent him … He went into a slaughter­house situ­ation, alone. Most any other boy of his age would be dead now. I … try not to pry into what is not my area. I know there are many ways to serve my king, and that some are not as pretty as oth­ers. But up in the moun­tains … and then what I saw today. Could not you find someone be­sides your brother’s child for this?’

  I glanced back to Ver­ity. For the first time in my life, I saw full an­ger on his face. Not ex­pressed in a sneer or a frown, but simply as two hot sparks deep in his dark eyes. The line of his lips was flat. But he spoke evenly. ‘Look again, Burrich. That’s no child sit­ting there. And think again. I did not send him alone. I went with him, into a situ­ation that we ex­pec­ted to be a stalk and a hunt, not a dir­ect con­front­a­tion. It didn’t turn out that way. But he sur­vived it. As he has sur­vived sim­ilar things be­fore. And likely will again.’ Ver­ity stood sud­denly. The whole air of the room was ab­ruptly charged to my senses, boil­ing with emo­tion. Even Burrich seemed to feel it, for he gave me a glance, then forced him­self to stand still, like a sol­dier at at­ten­tion while Ver­ity stalked about the room.

  ‘No. This isn’t what I would choose for him. This isn’t what I would choose for my­self. Would that he had been born in bet­ter times! Would that he had been born in a mar­riage bed, and my brother still upon the throne! But I was not given that situ­ation, nor was he. Nor you! And so he serves, as I do. Damn me, but Kettricken has had it right all along. The King is the sac­ri­fice of the people. And so is his nephew. That was carnage up there today. I know of what you speak: I saw Blade go aside to puke after he saw that body, I saw him walk well clear of Fitz. I know not how the boy … this man sur­vived it. By do­ing whatever he had to, I sup­pose. So what can I do, man? What can I do? I need him. I need him for this ugly, secret bat­tling, for he is the only one equipped and trained to do it. Just as my father sets me in that tower, and bids me burn my mind out with sneak­ing, filthy killing. Whatever Fitz must do, whatever skills he must call upon –’

  (My heart stood still, my breath was ice in my lungs.)

  ‘– them let him use. Be­cause that is what we are about now. Sur­vival. Be­cause …’

  ‘They are my people.’ I did not real­ize I had spoken un­til they both swung to stare at me. Sud­den si­lence in the room. I took a breath. ‘A long time ago, an old man told me that I would some day un­der­stand some­thing. He said that the Six Duch­ies people were my people, that it was in my blood to care about them, to feel their hurts as my own.’ I blinked my eyes, to clear Chade and that day at Forge from my vis­ion. ‘He was right,’ I man­aged to say after a mo­ment. ‘They killed my child today, Burrich. And my smith, and two other men. Not the Forged ones. The Red Ship Raid­ers. And I must have their blood in re­turn, I must drive them from my coast. It is as simple now as eat­ing or breath­ing. It is a thing I must do.’

  Their eyes met over my head. ‘Blood will tell,’ Ver­ity ob­served quietly. But there was a fierce­ness in his voice, and a pride that stilled the day-long trem­bling of my body. A deep calm rose in me. I had done the right thing today. I sud­denly knew it as a phys­ical fact. Ugly, de­mean­ing work, but it was mine, and I had done it well. For my people. I turned to Burrich, and he was look­ing at me with that con­sid­er­ing gaze usu­ally re­served for when the runt of a lit­ter showed un­usual prom­ise.

  ‘I’ll teach him,’ he prom­ised Ver­ity. ‘What few tricks I know with an axe. And a few other things. Shall we be­gin to­mor­row, be­fore first light?’

  ‘Fine,’ Ver­ity agreed be­fore I could ob­ject. ‘Now let us eat.’

  I was sud­denly fam­ished. I rose to go to the table, but Burrich was sud­denly be­side me. ‘Wash your face and hands, Fitz,’ he re­minded me gently.

  The scen­ted wa­ter in Ver­ity’s basin was dark with the smith’s blood when I was through.

  FOUR­TEEN

  Win­ter­fest

  Win­ter­fest is as much a cel­eb­ra­tion of the darkest part of the year as a fest­ival of the re­turn­ing light. For the first three days of Win­ter­fest, we pay homage to the dark­ness. The tales told and pup­pet shows presen­ted are those that tell of rest­ing times and happy end­ings. The foods are salt fish and smoked flesh, har­ves­ted roots and fruit from last sum­mer. Then, on the mid-day of the fest­ival, there is a hunt. New blood is shed to cel­eb­rate the break­ing point of the year, and new meat is brought fresh to the table, to be eaten with grain har­ves­ted from the year be­fore. The next three days are days that look to­ward the com­ing sum­mer. The looms are threaded with gayer thread, and the weavers take over an end of the Great Hall to vie amongst them­selves for the bright­est pat­terns and light­est weave. The tales told are ones that tell of be­gin­nings of things, and of how things came to be.

  I tried to see the King that af­ter­noon. Des­pite all that had tran­spired, I had not for­got­ten my prom­ise to my­self. Wal­lace turned me away, say­ing that King Shrewd felt poorly and was see­ing no one. I longed to ham­mer on the door and shout for the Fool to make Wal­lace ad­mit me. But I did not. I was not so sure of the Fool’s friend­ship as I had once been. We’d had no con­tact since that last mock­ing song of his. Think­ing of him put me in mind of his words, and when I went back to my room, I once more rooted through Ver­ity’s ma­nu­scripts.

  Read­ing made me sleepy. Even the di­luted va­lerian had been a strong dose. Leth­argy took over my limbs. I pushed the scrolls aside, no wiser than when I had be­gun. I pondered other av­en­ues. Per­haps a pub­lic trum­pet­ing at Win­ter­fest that those trained in the Skill, no mat­ter how old or how weak, were be­ing sought? Would that make tar­gets of any who re­spon­ded? I thought again of the ob­vi­ous can­did­ates. Those who had trained along­side me. None of them had any fond­ness for me, but that did not mean they were not still faith­ful to Ver­ity. Tain­ted per­haps by Ga­len’s at­ti­tudes, but could not that be cured? I ruled Au­gust out im­me­di­ately. His fi­nal ex­per­i­ence of the Skill at Jhaampe had burned his abil­it­ies out of him. He had re­tired quietly to some town on the Vin River, old be­fore his time it was said. But there had been oth­ers. Eight of us had sur­vived the train­ing. Seven of us had come back from the test­ing. I had failed it, Au­gust had been burned clean of it. That left five.

  Not much of a co­terie. I wondered if they all hated me as much as Se­rene did. She blamed me for Ga­len’s death and made no secret of it to me. Were the oth­ers as know­ledge­able as to what had happened? I tried to re­ca
ll them all. Justin. Very taken with him­self and too proud of his Skilling. Car­rod. He had once been a sleepy, likable boy. The few times I had seen him since he had be­come a co­terie mem­ber, his eyes had seemed al­most empty, as if noth­ing was left of who he had been. Burl had let his phys­ical strength run to fat once he could Skill in­stead of car­penter for a liv­ing. Will had al­ways been un­re­mark­able. Skilling had not im­proved him. Still, they were all proven to have Skill abil­ity. Could not Ver­ity re­train them? Per­haps. But when? When did he have time for such an un­der­tak­ing?

  Someone comes.

  I came awake. I was sprawled face-down on my bed, scrolls tumbled around me. I hadn’t meant to sleep, and sel­dom slept so deeply. Had Nighteyes not been us­ing my own senses to watch over me, I would have been taken com­pletely un­aware. I watched the door of my room ease open. The fire had burned low and there was little other light in the room. I had not latched the door; I had not ex­pec­ted to sleep. I lay very quiet, won­der­ing who came so softly, hop­ing to take me un­awares. Or was it someone hop­ing to find my room empty, someone after the scrolls per­haps? I eased my hand to my belt knife, gathered my muscles for a spring. A fig­ure came slip­ping around the door, pushed it quietly shut. I eased the knife out of its sheath.

  It’s your fe­male. Some­where, Nighteyes yawned and stretched. His tail gave a lazy wag. I found my­self tak­ing a deep breath through my nose. Molly, I con­firmed to my­self with sat­is­fac­tion as I took in her sweet scent, and then felt an amaz­ing phys­ical quick­en­ing. I lay still, eyes closed, and let her come to the bed. I heard her softly chid­ing ex­clam­a­tion, and then the rust­ling as she gathered up the scattered scrolls and set them safely upon the table. Hes­it­antly, she touched my cheek. ‘New­boy?’