Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  ‘I don’t know, ex­actly. My link with him is gone. It had been faint be­fore we went to Neat­bay, and I al­ways have a prob­lem main­tain­ing my link to Ver­ity when I get into a fight. He says I put my guard up so strongly against those around me that I wall him out.’

  ‘I don’t un­der­stand any of that, but I knew of that prob­lem. Are you sure that is when you lost him?’

  So I told him, about a vague sense of Ver­ity dur­ing the battle, and the pos­sib­il­ity that he had been un­der at­tack at the same time. Burrich nod­ded im­pa­tiently.

  ‘But can’t you Skill out to him, now that things are calm? Re­new the link?’

  I took an in­stant, pushed down my own seeth­ing frus­tra­tion. ‘No. I can’t. I don’t have the Skill that way.’

  Burrich frowned. ‘Look. We know that mes­sages have gone awry lately. How do we know that this one hasn’t been in­ven­ted?’

  ‘We don’t, I sup­pose. Though it is hard to be­lieve that even Regal would be so bold as to say Ver­ity was dead if he was not.’

  ‘There is noth­ing I be­lieve him in­cap­able of,’ Burrich said quietly.

  I straightened up from clean­ing the mud out of Sooty’s hooves. Burrich was lean­ing on the door of Ruddy’s stall, star­ing off into the dis­tance. The white streak in his hair was a vivid re­minder of just how ruth­less Regal could be. He had ordered Burrich killed as cas­u­ally as one might swat an an­noy­ing fly. It had never seemed to give Regal a mo­ment’s con­cern that he had not stayed dead. He had no fear of re­tri­bu­tion from a sta­ble­mas­ter or a bas­tard.

  ‘So. What would he say when Ver­ity came back?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘Once he was king, he could see that Ver­ity never came back. The man who sits on the throne of the Six Duch­ies can do away with people who are in­con­veni­ent.’ Burrich did not look dir­ectly at me as he said this, and I tried to let the barb go by me. It was true. Once Regal was in power, I had no doubt that there would be as­sas­sins ready to do his bid­ding. Per­haps there already were some. That thought sent a queer chill through me.

  ‘If we want def­in­ite word that Ver­ity is still alive, our only choice is to send someone to find him, and to come back with tid­ings of him.’ I con­sidered Burrich.

  ‘As­sum­ing the mes­sen­ger man­aged to sur­vive it, it would still take too long. Once Regal is in power, the word of a mes­sen­ger is noth­ing to him. The bearer of such tid­ings would not dare speak them aloud. We need proof that Ver­ity is alive, proof that King Shrewd will ac­cept, and we need it be­fore Regal comes into power. That one would not be King-in-Wait­ing long.’

  ‘King Shrewd and Kettricken’s child still stand between him and the throne,’ I pro­tested.

  ‘That loc­a­tion has proven un­healthy for full grown, strong men. I doubt an ail­ing old man or an un­born child will find it any luck­ier a place to be.’ Burrich shook his head and set that thought aside. ‘So. You can­not Skill to him. Who can?’

  ‘Any of the co­terie.’

  ‘Pah. I have faith in none of them.’

  ‘King Shrewd might be able to,’ I sug­ges­ted hes­it­antly. ‘If he took strength from me.’

  ‘Even if your link with Ver­ity is broken?’ Burrich asked in­tently.

  I shrugged and shook my head. ‘I don’t know. That is why I said might.’

  He ran a fi­nal hand down Ruddy’s newly sleek coat. ‘It will have to be tried,’ he said de­cis­ively. ‘And the sooner the bet­ter. Kettricken must not be left to fret and grieve if there is no cause for it. She might lose the child of it.’ He sighed and looked at me. ‘Go get some rest. Plan on vis­it­ing the King to­night. Once I see you go in, I will see that there are wit­nesses to whatever King Shrewd finds out.’

  ‘Burrich,’ I pro­tested. ‘There are too many un­cer­tain­ties. I do not even know that the King will be awake to­night, or able to Skill, or that he will if I ask it. If we do this, Regal, and all else, will know that I am a King’s Man in the Skill sense. And …’

  ‘Sorry, boy.’ Burrich spoke ab­ruptly, al­most cal­lously. ‘There is more at stake here than your well-be­ing. Not that I do not care about you. But I think you will be safer if Regal thinks you can Skill, and all know Ver­ity is alive, than if all be­lieve Ver­ity is dead and Regal thinks it timely to be rid of you. We must try to­night. Per­haps we shall not suc­ceed. But we must try.’

  ‘I hope you can get some elf­bark some­where,’ I grumbled to him.

  ‘Are you de­vel­op­ing a fond­ness for that? Be wary.’ But then he grinned. ‘I am sure I can get some.’

  I re­turned the grin, and then was shocked at my­self. I didn’t be­lieve Ver­ity was dead. That was what I ad­mit­ted to my­self with that grin. I did not be­lieve my King-in-Wait­ing was dead, and I was about to stand toe to toe with Prince Regal and prove it was so. The only way that could have been more sat­is­fy­ing would be if I could do it with an axe in my hands. Yet.

  ‘Do me one fa­vour?’ I asked of Burrich.

  ‘What?’ he asked guardedly.

  ‘Be very, very care­ful of your­self.’

  ‘Al­ways. See that you do the same.’

  I nod­ded, then stood si­lent, feel­ing awk­ward.

  After a mo­ment, Burrich sighed and said, ‘Out with it. If I hap­pen to see Molly, you’d like me to tell her … what?’

  I shook my head at my­self. ‘Only that I miss her. What else can I say to her? I’ve noth­ing to of­fer her but that.’

  He glanced at me; an odd look. Sym­pathy, but no false com­fort. ‘I’ll let her know,’ he prom­ised.

  I left the stables feel­ing that some­how I had grown. I wondered if I would ever stop meas­ur­ing my­self by how Burrich treated me.

  I went dir­ectly to the kit­chen, in­tend­ing to get some­thing to eat, then go and rest as Burrich had sug­ges­ted. The watch-room was packed with the re­turn­ing sol­diers, telling stor­ies to the ones who had stayed home while de­vour­ing stew and bread. I had ex­pec­ted that, and in­ten­ded to find my own pro­vi­sions and carry them off to my room. But within the kit­chen every­where, kettles were bub­bling, bread was rising and meat was turn­ing on spits. Kit­chen ser­vants were chop­ping, stir­ring, and go­ing to and fro hur­riedly.

  ‘There is a feast to­night?’ I asked stu­pidly.

  Cook Sara turned to face me. ‘Oh, Fitz, so you’re back and alive and in one piece for a change.’ She smiled as if she had com­pli­men­ted me. ‘Yes, of course, there’s a feast to cel­eb­rate the vic­tory at Neat­bay. We would not neg­lect you.’

  ‘With Ver­ity dead, we still sit down to feast?’

  Cook looked at me lev­elly. ‘Were Prince Ver­ity here, what would he wish?’

  I sighed. ‘He would prob­ably say to cel­eb­rate the vic­tory. That folk need hope more than mourn­ing.’

  ‘So ex­actly Prince Regal ex­plained it to me this morn­ing,’ Cook said with sat­is­fac­tion. She turned back to rub­bing spices into a leg of ven­ison. ‘We’ll mourn him, of course. But you have to un­der­stand, Fitz. He left us. Regal is the one who stayed here. He stayed here to look after the King, and mind the coasts as best as he could. Ver­ity is gone, but Regal is still here with us. And Neat­bay is not fallen to the Raid­ers.’

  I bit my tongue and waited for the fit to pass. ‘Neat­bay did not fall be­cause Regal stayed here to pro­tect us.’ I wanted to make cer­tain that Cook was con­nect­ing those two events, not merely men­tion­ing them both in the same lec­ture.

  She nod­ded as she kept rub­bing the meat. Poun­ded sage, my nose told me. And rose­mary. ‘It’s what’s been needed all along. Sol­diers sent right away. Skilling is fine, but what’s the good of know­ing what’s hap­pen­ing if no one does any­thing about it?’

  ‘Ver­ity al­ways sent out the war­ships.’

  ‘And they al­ways seemed to get there too late.’ She turned to me, wip­in
g her hands down the front of her ap­ron. ‘Oh, I know you wor­shipped him, lad. Our Prince Ver­ity was a good-hearted man, who wore him­self to death try­ing to pro­tect us. I’m not speak­ing against the dead. I’m only say­ing that Skilling and chas­ing down Eld­er­lings are not the way to fight these Red Ships. What Prince Regal done, send­ing the sol­diers and ships out the minute he heard, that’s what was needed all along. Maybe with Prince Regal in charge, we’ll sur­vive here.’

  ‘What about King Shrewd?’ I asked softly.

  She mis­un­der­stood my ques­tion. In do­ing so, she showed me what she really thought. ‘Oh, he’s as good as can be ex­pec­ted. He’ll even be down to the feast to­night, at least for a bit. Poor man. He’s suf­fer­ing so much. Poor, poor man.’

  Dead man. She as much as said it. King no longer, Shrewd was just a poor, poor man to her. Regal had it. ‘Do you think our queen will be at the feast?’ I asked. ‘After all, she has just heard of the death of her hus­band and king.’

  ‘Oh, I think she’ll be there,’ Sara nod­ded to her­self. She turned the leg over with a thud, to be­gin prick­ing the other side full of herbs. ‘I’ve heard it said she’s say­ing she’s with child now.’ The cook soun­ded scep­tical. ‘She’ll want to an­nounce it to­night.’

  ‘Do you doubt she’s with child?’ I asked bluntly. Cook was not of­fen­ded by it.

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt she’s preg­nant, if she says she is. It just seems a bit odd, is all, her telling it after word of Ver­ity’s death came in in­stead of be­fore.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, some of us are bound to won­der.’

  ‘Won­der what?’ I asked coldly.

  Cook dar­ted a glance at me and I cursed my im­pa­tience. Shut­ting her up was not what I wanted to do. I needed to hear the ru­mours, all of them.

  ‘Well …’ she hes­it­ated, but could not deny my listen­ing ears. ‘What’s al­ways wondered, when a wo­man doesn’t con­ceive, and then when her hus­band’s away, sud­denly she an­nounces she’s preg­nant by him.’ She glanced about to see who else might be listen­ing. All seemed busy at their work, but I didn’t doubt a few ears were tilted our way. ‘Why now? All of a sud­den. And if she knew she was preg­nant, what was she think­ing of, ra­cing off in the middle of the night, right into battle? That’s strange be­ha­viour for a queen car­ry­ing the throne’s heir.’

  ‘Well,’ I tried to make my voice mild. ‘I sup­pose when the child is born will show when it was con­ceived. Those who want to count moons on their fin­gers may do so then. Be­sides,’ and I leaned in con­spir­at­ori­ally, ‘I heard that some of her ladies knew of it be­fore she left. Lady Pa­tience, for in­stance, and her maid, Lacey.’ I would have to make sure that Pa­tience bragged of her early know­ledge, and that Lacey noised it about among the ser­vants.

  ‘Oh. That one.’ Cook Sara’s dis­missal quashed my hopes of an easy vic­tory. ‘Well, not to of­fend, Fitz, but she can be a bit daft on oc­ca­sion. Lacey, though, Lacey is solid. But she don’t say much, and don’t want to listen to what oth­ers have to say either.’

  ‘Well,’ I smiled and tipped her a wink. ‘That was where I heard it from. And I heard it well be­fore we left for Neat­bay.’ I leaned in closer. ‘Ask about. I bet you’ll find Queen Kettricken’s been drink­ing rasp­berry leaf tea for her morn­ing sick­ness. You check, and see if I’m right. I’ll wager a sil­ver bit I am.’

  ‘A sil­ver bit? Oh. As if I’ve such to spare. But I’ll ask, Fitz, that I will. And shame on you for not shar­ing such a rich bit of gos­sip with me be­fore. And all I tell you!’

  ‘Well, here’s some­thing for you then. Queen Kettricken’s not the only one with child!’

  ‘Oh? Who else?’

  I smiled. ‘Can’t tell you just yet. But you’ll be among the first to know, from what I’ve heard.’ I had no idea who might be preg­nant, but it was safe to say that someone in the keep was, or would be, in time to sub­stan­ti­ate my ru­mour. I needed to keep Cook pleased with me if I were to count on her for court talk. She nod­ded sagely at me, and I winked.

  She fin­ished her ven­ison leg. ‘Here, Dod, come take this and put it on the meat-hooks over the big fire. Highest hooks, I want it cooked, not scorched. Go on with you, now. Kettle? Where’s that milk I asked you to fetch?’

  I snagged bread and apples be­fore I left for my room. Plain fare, but wel­come to one as hungry as me. I went straight to my room, washed, ate and lay down to rest. I might have small chance at the King to­night, but I still wanted to be as alert as pos­sible dur­ing the feast. I thought of go­ing to Kettricken, to ask her not to mourn Ver­ity just yet. But I knew I would never get past her ladies for a quiet word with her. And what if I were wrong? No. When I could prove Ver­ity was still alive would be soon enough to tell her.

  I awoke later to a tap on my door. I lay still for a mo­ment, not sure if I had heard any­thing, then rose to undo my latches and open the door a crack. The Fool stood out­side my door. I do not know if I was more sur­prised that he had knocked in­stead of slip­ping the latches, or at the way he was at­tired. I stood gap­ing at him. He bowed gen­teelly, then pushed his way into my room, clos­ing the door be­hind him. He fastened a couple of latches, then stepped to the centre of the room and ex­ten­ded his arms. He turned in a slow circle for me to ad­mire him. ‘Well?’

  ‘You don’t look like you,’ I said bluntly.

  ‘I am not in­ten­ded to.’ He tugged his over­jer­kin straight, then plucked at his sleeves to dis­play bet­ter not only the em­broid­ery on them, but the slashes that showed off the rich fab­ric of the sleeves be­neath them. He fluffed his plumed hat, set it once more upon his col­our­less hair. From deep­est in­digo to palest azure went the col­ours, and the Fool’s white face, like a peeled egg, peep­ing out of them. ‘Fools are no longer in fash­ion.’

  I sat down slowly on my bed. ‘Regal has dressed you like this,’ I said faintly.

  ‘Hardly. He sup­plied the cloth­ing, of course, but I dressed my­self. If Fools are no longer in fash­ion, con­sider how lowly would be the valet of a Fool.’

  ‘How about King Shrewd? Is he no longer in fash­ion?’ I asked acidly.

  ‘It is no longer in fash­ion to be overly con­cerned with King Shrewd,’ he replied. He cut a caper, then stopped, drew him­self up with dig­nity as be­fit­ted his new clothes, and took a turn about the room. ‘I am to sit at the Prince’s table to­night, and be full of mer­ri­ment and wit. Do you think I shall do well at it?’

  ‘Bet­ter far than I,’ I said sourly. ‘Care you not at all that Ver­ity is dead?’

  ‘Care you not at all that the flowers are bloom­ing be­neath the sum­mer sun?’

  ‘Fool, it is winter out­side.’

  ‘The one is as true as the other. Be­lieve me.’ The Fool stood sud­denly still. ‘I have come to ask a fa­vour of you, if you can be­lieve that.’

  ‘The second as eas­ily as the first. What is it?’

  ‘Do you slay my king with your am­bi­tions for your own?’

  I looked at him in hor­ror. ‘I would never slay my king! How dare you say it!’

  ‘Oh, I dare much, these days.’ He put his hands be­hind him and paced about the room. With his el­eg­ant clothes and un­ac­cus­tomed pos­tures, he frightened me. It was as if an­other be­ing in­hab­ited his body, one I knew not at all.

  ‘Not even if the King had killed your mother?’

  A ter­rible sick feel­ing rose in me. ‘What are you try­ing to tell me?’ I whispered.

  The Fool whirled at the pain in my voice. ‘No. No! You mis­take me en­tirely!’ There was sin­cer­ity in his voice, and for an in­stant I could see my friend again. ‘But,’ he con­tin­ued in a softer, al­most sly tone. ‘If you be­lieved the King had killed your mother, your much-cher­ished, lov­ing, in­dul­gent mother, had killed her and snatched her forever away from you, do you think you might then kill hi
m?’

  I had been blind for so long that it took me a mo­ment to un­der­stand him. I knew Regal be­lieved his mother had been poisoned. I knew it was one source of his hatred for me, and for ‘Lady Thyme’. He be­lieved we had car­ried out the killing. At the be­hest of the King. I knew it all to be false. Queen De­sire had poisoned her­self. Regal’s mother had been overly fond of both drink and those herbs which bring sur­cease from worry. When she had not been able to rise to the power she be­lieved was her right, she had taken refuge in those pleas­ures. Shrewd had tried sev­eral times to stop her, had even ap­plied to Chade for herbs and po­tions that would end her crav­ings. Noth­ing had worked. Queen De­sire had been poisoned, it was true, but it was her own self-in­dul­gent hand that had ad­min­istered it. I had al­ways known that. And know­ing it, I had dis­coun­ted the hate that would breed in the heart of a coddled son, sud­denly bereft of his mother.

  Could Regal kill over such a thing? Of course he could. Would he be will­ing to bring the Six Duch­ies to the tee­ter­ing edge of ruin as an act of ven­geance? Why not? He had never cared for the Coastal duch­ies. The In­land duch­ies, al­ways more loyal to his In­land mother, were where his heart was. If Queen De­sire had not wed King Shrewd, she would have re­mained Duch­ess of Far­row. Some­times, when in her cups and heady with herby in­tox­ic­ants, she would ruth­lessly sug­gest that if she had re­mained as Duch­ess, she would have been able to wield more power, enough to per­suade Far­row and Tilth to unite un­der her as Queen and shrug off their al­le­gi­ance to the Six Duch­ies. Ga­len, the Skill­mas­ter, Queen De­sire’s own bas­tard son, had nur­tured Regal’s hatred along with his own. Had he hated enough to sub­vert his co­terie to Regal’s re­venge? To me it seemed a stag­ger­ing treason, but I found my­self ac­cept­ing it. He would. Hun­dreds of folk slain, scores Forged, wo­men raped, chil­dren orphaned, en­tire vil­lages des­troyed for the sake of a princeling’s ven­geance over an ima­gined wrong. It staggered me. But it fit­ted, as snugly as a coffin lid.