The Complete Farseer Trilogy Omnibus

by Robin Hobb

Both the old kingdom of Tilth and the region that would come to be known as Farrow were held as conquered territory for over a generation. The wealth of their granaries, orchards and herds were exploited lavishly for the benefit of the Coastal duchies. Queen Munificence, granddaughter of Wielder, was wise enough to see that this was breeding discontent in the inland areas. She showed great tolerance and wisdom in elevating the tribal elders of the Farrow folk and the former ruling families of Tilth to nobles. She used marriages and grants of land to forge alliances between Coastal and Inland folk. She first referred to her kingdom as the Six Duchies. But all of her political manoeuvres could not change the geographic and economic interests of the different areas. Climate, folk and livelihoods of the Inland duchies remained vastly different from those of the Coastal peoples.

  During Shrewd’s reign, the differing interests of the two regions were exacerbated by the offspring of his two queens. His elder sons, Verity and Chivalry, were the sons of Queen Constance, a noblewoman of Shoaks with relatives among the nobility of Bearns as well. She was very much of the Coastal folk. Shrewd’s second queen, Desire, was from Farrow, but traced her family lineage back to the long-foundered royalty of Tilth as well as to a distant Farseer connection. Hence came her oft-repeated claim that her son Regal was more royal than either of his half-brothers, and hence had more right to the throne.

  With the disappearance of King-in-Waiting Verity and rumours of his death, and the obvious failing of King Shrewd, it appeared to the Coastal dukes that power and title would be passed on to Prince Regal, born of Inland lineage. They preferred to align with the unborn child of Verity, a Coastal prince, and predictably did all they could to retain and consolidate power in the Coastal blood-lines. Threatened as the Coastal duchies were by Raiders and Forgings, it was really the only rational choice they could make.

  The King-in-Waiting ceremony was too long. Folk were assembled well ahead of time, to allow Regal to make a stately entrance through our ranks and ascend to the high seat, where a drowsing King Shrewd awaited him. Queen Kettricken, pale as a wax taper, stood behind Shrewd at his left shoulder. Shrewd was bedecked in robes and fur collars and the full regalia of the royal jewels, but Kettricken had resisted Regal’s suggestions and enticements. She stood very tall and straight in a plain robe of purple, belted above her rounding belly. A simple circlet of gold confined the cropped remnants of her hair. Other than that band of metal at her temples, she might have been a servant standing ready to attend Shrewd. I knew she saw herself still as Sacrifice rather than Queen. She could not see that the starkness of her attire made her look dramatically foreign to the court. The Fool was there as well, in a well-worn motley of black and white, and with Ratsy once more upon his sceptre. He had striped his face in black and white as well, and I wondered if this was to camouflage his bruises, or simply to complement his motley. He had appeared some time before Regal had, and had very obviously enjoyed the spectacle he created by sauntering up the aisle, waving Ratsy about in airy benediction, curtseying to the assemblage and then plopping gracefully at the King’s feet. Guards had begun to move to intercept him, but were blocked by grinning, craning people. When he reached the dais and seated himself, the King had reached down absently to tousle the Fool’s sparse locks, and so he had been suffered to remain where he was. Scowls or grins were exchanged over the Fool’s performance, depending largely on how deeply people had pledged their allegiance to Regal. I feared myself that it would be the Fool’s last prank.

  The atmosphere in the keep all day had been like to that of a seething pot. My trust that Bearns was a tight-lipped man had been misplaced. Entirely too many minor nobles were suddenly nodding to me, or catching my eye for an exchanged look. I feared it could not be missed by any of Regal’s minions, and so had kept myself to my room, or, for a good part of the early afternoon, in Verity’s tower, where I had vainly attempted to Skill forth to him. I had chosen that spot in the hopes of invoking his memory cleanly to my mind, but I failed. Instead I found myself straining for a hint of Will’s footstep on the tower stairs, or a brush of Justin’s or Serene’s presence against my Skill sense.

  After I gave up on Skilling, I sat long, pondering the unsolvable riddle of how I would empty the King’s room of guards. Outside I could hear the pounding of the sea and the wind, and when I opened the windows briefly the gusting storm fair blew me across the room. Most saw this as a fair day for the ceremony; the rising storm might keep Raiders berthed wherever they were at present and assure us no new raids. I watched the freezing rain putting a crust on the banked snow while making the roads treacherously slick, and imagined Burrich travelling through it by night with the Queen and King Shrewd in his litter. It was not a task I would enjoy.

  The tone for something of great portent to happen had been well set. Now, in addition to stories of the Pocked Man and snakes on the hearth, there was despair in the kitchens. The day’s bake of bread had failed to rise, and the milk had curdled in the casks before even the cream could be skimmed from it. Poor Cook Sara had been shaken to her core, and declared that never before had such a thing dared to happen in her kitchens. The pig-men would not even let the soured milk be given to the swine, so sure were all that it was cursed. The failure of the bread had meant twice the catch-up work for the kitchen servants, who were already overburdened with feeding all the guests who had come for the ceremony. I could now vouch that the tempers of an entire keep could be disturbed by an unhappy kitchen crew.

  There had been short rations for the watch-room, and the stew had been overly salted, while somehow the beer had gone flat. The Duke of Tilth complained of vinegar instead of wine in his rooms, which led the Dukes of Bearns to comment to those of Shoaks and Rippon that even a bit of vinegar would have been welcome as a sign of hospitality in their rooms. The unfortunate remark was conveyed somehow to Mistress Hasty, who soundly scolded all the chamberlains and serving-folk who had not somehow managed to spread the thin cheer left at Buckkeep to include the lesser guestrooms. There was a complaint among the lesser servants that an order had come down to keep expenses for those guests to a minimum, but no one could be found who would admit to giving such an order, or even passing it down. And so the day had gone, so that I had been altogether relieved to isolate myself in Verity’s tower.

  But I dared not miss the King-in-Waiting ceremony, for too much would have been inferred from that. And so I stood, an uncomfortable victim of a shirt with over-full sleeves and some very itchy leggings, patiently awaiting Regal’s entrance. My mind was not on his pomp and show; rather it whirled with questions and worries of my own. I fretted over whether Burrich had been able to smuggle out the horses and litter. It was dark now. He was probably sitting outside in this storm, in the pathetic shelter of the alder copse. He would have blanketed the horses, no doubt, but that would do little against the sleet that now fell steadily. He had given me the name of the smithy where Sooty and Ruddy had been taken. Somehow I must find a way to keep up the man’s weekly bribes, and to check on them often to be sure they were well-cared-for. This he had made me promise to entrust to no one else. Would the Queen be able to retire alone to her room? And again and again, how was I to empty King Shrewd’s room that Chade might spirit him away?

  A mutter of wonder broke me from my reverie. I glanced toward the dais where everyone seemed to be staring. There was a brief flickering, and for an instant, one of the white tapers burning there flickered blue. Then another spat a spark, and burnt blue for an instant. There was another mutter, but the wayward candles settled after that to burning evenly and well. Neither Kettricken nor King Shrewd appeared to notice anything amiss, but the Fool sat up and shook Ratsy at the errant candles in rebuke.

  At length Regal did appear, resplendent in red velvet and white silk. A little maid walked before him, swinging a censer of sandalwood incense. Regal smiled upon all as he advanced leisurely toward the throne, meeting many an eye and nodding many an acknowledgement on his way to that high seat. I am sure it did not g
o off so finely as Regal had planned. King Shrewd faltered and then looked puzzled over the scroll that had been given him to read. At length Kettricken took it from his shaky hands, and he smiled up at her as she read aloud the words that must have cut her to her heart. It was a careful listing of the children that King Shrewd had sired, including a daughter who had died in infancy, by the order of their births, and then by order of their deaths, all leading up to Regal as sole survivor and legitimate heir. She did not hesitate at Verity’s name, but read aloud the brief statement, ‘Lost to misfortune while on a quest to the Mountain Kingdom’ as if it were an ingredient list. Of the child she carried, no mention was made. A child as yet unborn was an heir, but not a King-in-Waiting. The child could not step forward to claim that title until he or she was at least sixteen.

  Kettricken had taken from Verity’s chest the simple silver circlet with the blue gem that was crown for a King-in-Waiting, and the pendant of gold and emerald in the shape of a leaping buck. These she passed first to King Shrewd, who looked down at them as if bewildered. He made no move to bestow them upon Regal. At length Regal reached for them, and Shrewd allowed him to take them out of his hands. And so Regal set the crown upon his own head, and slipped the pendant about his own neck, and stood before us all, the new King-in-Waiting of the Six Duchies.

  Chade’s timing was slightly off. The candles did not seriously begin to flicker blue until the dukes were wending their way forward to pledge once more to House Farseer. Regal tried to ignore this phenomenon, until the muttering of the folk threatened to drown out Duke Ram of Tilth’s oath. Then Regal turned and casually pinched out the offending candle. I admired his aplomb, especially when a second candle almost immediately went blue, and he repeated the gesture. I myself thought it was a bit too much of a portent when a torch set in a sconce by the main door suddenly whooshed out a blue flame and a foul stench before it guttered dark. All eyes had turned to watch it. Regal waited it out, but I saw the clench of his jaw and the tiny vein that throbbed on his temple.

  I do not know how he had planned to end his ceremony, but he brought it to a rather abrupt close after that. At his curt signal, minstrels struck up abruptly, while at another nod the doors opened and men bore in table-boards already laden, while boys hastened after them with the trestles to set them upon. At least for this feast he had spared nothing, and the well-prepared meats and pastries were welcomed by all. If there seemed to be something of a shortage of bread, no one thought to complain of it. Cloths and tables had been set in the lesser hall for the grand folk and thither I saw Kettricken slowly escorting King Shrewd, while the Fool and Rosemary trailed after them. For those of us with lesser rank, there were simpler but plentiful foods to hand and a cleared floor for dancing.

  I had planned to make myself a hearty meal at the feasting but again and again I was accosted by men who clapped my shoulder too firmly, or women who met my eyes too knowingly. The Coastal dukes were in at table with the other high nobles, ostensibly breaking bread with Regal and cementing their new relationship to him. I had been prepared that all three Coastal dukes would know I concurred with their plan. It was unnerving to find evidence it was known among the lesser nobility as well. Celerity made no overt claim upon me as escort, but made me nervously aware of myself by following me about as mutely as a hound. I could not turn but I found her a half-dozen steps away. Plainly she wished me to speak to her, but I did not trust my wits to find suitable words. I almost broke when a lesser noble from Shoaks casually asked me if I thought any of the warships would be harboured as far south as False Bay.

  With a sinking heart, I suddenly realized my error. None of them feared Regal. They saw no danger, only a spoiled popinjay of a boy who wished to wear fine clothes and a circlet and claim a title to himself. They believed he would go away and they could ignore him. I knew better.

  I knew what Regal was capable of, in search of power, or on a whim, or simply because he believed he could get away with it. He would leave Buckkeep. He did not want it. But if he thought I did, he would do everything within his power to see that I did not get it. I was supposed to be dumped here, like a stray, left to starve or be raided. Not ascend to power on the wreckage he had left.

  If I were not careful, they would get me killed. Or worse, if there was anything Regal could devise that he saw as worse.

  Twice I tried to slip away, and each time was cornered by someone who wanted a quiet moment of talk with me. I finally pleaded a headache and openly announced I was seeking my bed. Then I must be resigned to at least a dozen folk hastening to wish me good night before I retired. Just as I thought I was free, Celerity touched a shy hand to mine and wished me ‘good night’ in such a dispirited voice that I knew that I had hurt her feelings. That, I think, rattled me more than anything else that evening. I thanked her, and in my most cowardly act of that night, dared to kiss her fingertips. The resurgence of light in her eyes shamed me. I fled up the stairs. As I climbed them, I wondered how Verity had ever stood this sort of thing, or my father. If I had ever thought or dreamed of being a real prince instead of a bastard, I abandoned the dream that night. It was entirely too public a profession. With a sinking heart, I realized that this was how life would be for me until Verity returned. The illusion of power clung to me now, and too many would be dazzled by it.

  I went to my own chamber and, with great relief, changed into sensible clothes. As I tugged on my shirt, I felt the tiny bulge of Wallace’s poison, still sewn into my cuff. Perhaps, I reflected bitterly, it would bring me luck. I left my room, and then committed possibly my most foolish act of the evening. I went up to Molly’s chamber. The servants’ hall was empty, the corridor but dimly lit with two wavering torches. I tapped at her door. There was no reply. I tried the latch softly, but it was not fastened. The door swung open at my touch.

  Darkness. Emptiness. The small hearth held no fire. I found a bit of a candle and kindled it at a torch. Then I went back in her room and shut the door. I stood there while the devastation finally became real. It was all too Molly. The stripped bed, the hearth swept clean, but with a small stack of wood set ready for a fire for the next resident. Those were the touches that told me she had tidied herself out of the room. Not a ribbon, not a taper, not even a scrap of wicking remained of the woman who had lived a servant’s life here. The ewer set upside-down in the basin to keep the dust out. I sat in her chair before the cold hearth, I opened her clothing chest and peered within. But it was not her chair, or hearth, or chest. These were just objects she had touched in the brief time she had been here.

  Molly was gone.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  I had held myself together by refusing to think of her. This empty room jerked the blindfold from my eyes. I looked into myself and despised what I saw. I wished I could call back the kiss I had placed on Celerity’s fingertips. Balm for a girl’s wounded pride, or the lure to bind her and her father to me? I no longer knew which it had been. Neither could be justified. Both were wrong, if I believed at all in the love I had pledged to Molly. That one act was proof I was guilty of all she had charged me with. I would always put the Farseers ahead of her. I had dangled marriage before Molly like bait, left her with no pride in herself nor belief in me. She had hurt me by leaving me. What she could not leave behind was what I had done to her belief in herself. That she must carry with her for ever, a belief that she had been tricked and used by a selfish, lying boy who lacked even the courage to fight for her.

  Can desolation be a source of courage? Or was it merely recklessness and a desire for self-destruction? I went boldly back downstairs, and went directly to the King’s chambers. The torches in the wall sconces outside his door annoyed me by spitting blue sparks as I passed. A little too dramatic, Chade. I wondered if he had treated every candle and torch in the keep. I pushed the hanging curtain aside and entered. No one was there. Not in the sitting room, not even in the King’s bedchamber. The place had a threadbare look to it, with all the best things taken away
and carted off upriver. It reminded me of a room in a mediocre inn. Nothing left here was worth stealing, or Regal would have left a guard on the door. In a strange way, it reminded me of Molly’s room. Here there were objects left, bedding, garments and the like. But this was no longer my king’s room. I went and stood by a table, in the exact spot where I had stood as a young boy. Here, while Shrewd breakfasted, he had quizzed me astutely on my lessons each week, and made me aware, every time he spoke to me, that if I was his subject, he was also my king. That man was gone, stripped from this room. The clutter of an active man, the boot-trees, the blades, the scatter of scrolls, had been replaced with censers for burning herbs and sticky cups of drug tea. King Shrewd had left this room a long time ago. Tonight I would take away a sick old man.

  I heard footsteps and cursed myself for my clumsiness. I slipped behind a hanging and stood motionless. I heard the murmur of voices from the sitting room. Wallace. That mocking reply would be the Fool. I ghosted from my hiding place to stand just inside the bedchamber and peer through the makeshift curtain. Kettricken sat on the couch beside the King, talking with him softly. She looked weary. Dark circles smudged beneath her eyes, but she smiled for the King. I was pleased to hear him murmur a reply to whatever she had asked him. Wallace crouched on the hearth, adding sticks of wood to the fire with excessive care. On the other side of the hearth Rosemary had collapsed in a heap, her new dress bunched up about her. As I watched she yawned sleepily, then heaved a sigh and straightened herself up. I pitied her. The long ceremony had left me feeling exactly the same way. The Fool stood behind the King’s chair. He suddenly turned and stared directly at me, as if the curtain were no barrier at all. I could see no one else in the room.

  The Fool turned abruptly back to Wallace. ‘Yes, blow, Sir Wallace, blow well and hot. Perchance we shall not need the fire at all, with the warmth of your breath to drive the chill from the room.’