by neetha Napew
Young man, will you venture there?
To win the favor of a woman, will you walk beneath the ice on the wet black stones that see no sky?
Will you find the secret cavern that gapes only when the tide retreats?
Will you count your own heartbeats to mark the passing of time until the sea waves return to grind you to a smear of blood against the deep blue ice above you?
— “THE DRAGON’S WELCOME,”OUTISLANDER SONG,
TRANSLATION BY BADGERLOCK
The very next day, we were told that all the issues regarding the Prince’s killing Icefyre had been resolved. We would return to Zylig to accept the Hetgurd’s terms, and then depart for Aslevjal and our dragon hunt. I wondered briefly if the sudden plans for sailing had anything to do with the night scene I had witnessed, but then watched the releasing of a bird that carried tidings of our departure, and decided that the news had doubtless been borne to us on the same wings.
The ensuing bustle spared me an uncomfortable interview with the Prince, but plunged me into misery of a different sort. Thick was completely opposed to getting back onto a ship. It was useless to tell him that this was the only way he would eventually get home. In moments like that, I glimpsed the limits of his mind and logic. Thick had developed since he had come to us, becoming not only more free with his words but more sophisticated in how he used them. He was like a plant finally granted sunlight as he revealed more understanding and potential than I had suspected from the shuffling half-wit servant in Chade’s tower. And yet, he would always carry his differences with him. Sometimes he became a frightened and rebellious child, and at such times, reasoning with him did us no good. In the end, Chade resorted to a strong soporific the night before we were to sail, which required me to keep a vigil on his dreams all that night. They were uneasy ones that I soothed as best I could. It filled me with misgivings that Nettle did not come to help me, even though in another sense I was glad she did not.
Thick was still soddenly asleep when we loaded him into a handcart to transport him to the ship the next day. I felt a fool trundling him over the bumpy roads and down to the docks, but Web walked alongside me and talked as casually as if this were an everyday occurrence.
Our departure seemed to be more of an event than our arrival. Two ships awaited us. I noticed that the entire Six Duchies contingent was loaded on the Boar ship as before. The Narcheska and Peottre and the few folk accompanying them embarked onto a smaller, older vessel, flying a banner with a narwhal on it. The Great Mother came down to see her off and to offer a blessing to her. I understand there was other ceremony as well but I saw little of it, for Thick began to stir restlessly in his bunk and I judged it best to stay close by him lest he awake and decide to get off the ship.
I sat by his bunk in the tiny cabin allotted to us and tried to Skill peace and security into his dreams. The movement of the waves and the sound of the ship leaked in despite my best efforts. With a start and a cry he came awake and sat up, staring around the cabin with eyes both wild and groggy. “It’s a bad dream!” he wailed.
“No,” I had to tell him. “It’s real. But I promise I’ll keep you safe, Thick. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that! No one can promise that on a boat!” he accused me. I had put my arm around him comfortingly when he first sat up. Now he flung himself away from me. He huddled back into his blankets, rolled to face the wall, and began to sob uncontrollably.
“Thick,” I began helplessly. Never had I felt so cruel, never so wrong in anything I had ever done.
“Go away!” Despite my walls, the Skill-command in his words snapped my head back on my spine. I found myself on my feet, groping toward the door of the minuscule cabin we’d share with the Wit coterie. I forced myself to halt.
“Is there anyone you want to be with you?” I asked hopelessly.
“No! You all hate me! You all trick me and poison me and make me go on the ocean to kill me. Go away!”
I was glad enough to do so, for his Skill pushed at me like a strong, cold wind. As I went out of the low cabin door, I stood upright too soon and slammed the top of my head into the doorjamb. The jolt was enough to dizzy me as I staggered the rest of the way onto the deck. Thick’s cruel laugh was like a second blow.
I soon learned it was not an accident. Perhaps the first one had been, but in the days of our journey, Thick managed enough Skill-stumbles for me that any thought of coincidence soon vanished. If I was aware of him, I could sometimes counter it, but if he saw me first, I’d only know of it when I felt the boat seem to lurch under me. I’d try to catch my balance, and instead stumble to the deck or walk into a railing.
But at that time, I dismissed it as my own clumsiness.
I went to find Chade and Dutiful. We had a greater degree of privacy on that journey than we had previously had on all our travels. Peottre and the Narcheska and her guards were on the other vessel. The Boar clansmen who operated our vessel seemed little interested in how we socialized, and fewer pretenses were needed.
So it was that I went directly to the Prince’s cabin and knocked. Chade admitted me. I found them both well settled, including a meal set out on a table. It was Outislander fare, but at least there was plenty of it. The wine with it was of a decent quality, and I was pleased when a nod from Dutiful invited me to join them.
“How is Thick?” he asked without preamble. It was a relief, almost, to give a detailed report on that, for I had dreaded that he would immediately demand that I explain Nettle. I detailed the small man’s discomfort and unhappiness and ended up with “Regardless of his Skill-strength, I do not see how we can force him to continue. With every ship we embark on, he dislikes me more and becomes more intractable. We risk stirring an enmity in him that we can never quell, one that will make him set his Skill against all our endeavors. If it can safely be done, I propose that we leave him on Zylig while we go on to Aslevjal.”
Chade set his glass down with a thud. “You know it can’t be done, so why ask it?” I knew his irritation masked his own guilt and regret when he added, “I swear, I never thought it would be so hard on him. Is there no way to make him understand the importance of what we do?”
“The Prince might be able to convey it to him. Thick is so angry with me right now, I don’t think he’ll truly hear anything I say.”
“He isn’t the only one who is angry with you,” Dutiful observed coolly. The calmness with which he addressed me warned me that his anger had gone very deep indeed. He controlled it now as a man controls his blade. Waiting for an opening.
“Shall I leave you two alone to discuss this?” Chade rose a shade too hastily.
“Oh, no. As you know nothing of Nettle and her dragon, I’m sure this will be as enlightening to you as it is to me.”
Chade sank slowly back into his chair, his retreat severed by the Prince’s sarcasm. I knew abruptly that the old man was not going to help me at all. That, if anything, Chade relished my being cornered this way.
“Who is Nettle?” Dutiful’s question was blunt.
So was my answer. “My daughter. Though she does not know it.”
He leaned back in his chair as if I’d doused him with cold water. There was a long moment of silence. Chade, damn him, lifted his hand to cover his mouth, but not before I’d seen his smile. I shot him a look of pure fury. He dropped his hand and grinned openly.
“I see,” Dutiful said after a time. Then, as if it were the most important conclusion he could reach, “I have a cousin. A girl cousin! How old is she? How is it that I’ve never met her? Or have I? When was she last at court? Who is her lady mother?”
I could not find my tongue, but I hated Chade speaking for me. “She has never been to court, my prince. Her mother is a candlemaker. Her father . . . the man she thinks is her father is Burrich, formerly the Stablemaster at Buckkeep Castle. She is sixteen now, I believe.” He halted there, as if to give the Prince time to puzzle it out.
“Swift’s father? Then . . . is Swift your
son? You spoke of having a foster son, but—”
“Swift is Burrich’s son. And Nettle’s half-brother.” I took a long breath, and heard myself ask, “Have you any brandy? Wine isn’t enough for this tale.”
“I can see that.” He stood up and fetched it for me, more nephew than prince in that moment, and ready to be enraptured by ancient family history. It was hard for me to tell that old tale, and somehow Chade nodding sympathetically made it worse. When the convoluted connections were finally all traced for him, Dutiful sat shaking his head.
“What a mare’s nest you made of it, FitzChivalry. With this piece in place, the tale my mother told me of your life makes much more sense. And how you must hate Molly and Burrich, that they could both set you aside and faithlessly forget you and find comfort in one another.”
It shocked me that he could speak of it that way. “No,” I said firmly. “That isn’t how it was. They believed me dead. There was nothing faithless about them going on living. And, if she had to give herself to someone, then . . . then I am glad that she chose a man worthy of her. And that he finally found a bit of happiness for himself. And that together they protected my child.” It was getting harder to speak as my throat tightened. I loosened it with a slug of brandy, and then wheezed in a breath.
“He was the better man for her,” I managed to add. I had told myself that so often, through the years.
“I wonder if she would have thought so,” the Prince mused, and then, at the look on my face, added hastily, “I beg your pardon. It’s not my place to wonder such things. But . . . but I am still shocked that my mother allowed this. Often she has spoken with me, forcefully, about how much rests on me as the sole heir to the throne.”
“She gave way to Fitz’s feelings in that. Against my counsel,” Chade explained. I could hear the satisfaction he took in finally vindicating himself.
“I see. Well, actually, I don’t see, but for now the question is, how have you been teaching her to Skill? Did you live near her before or . . . ?”
“I haven’t been teaching her. What she knows of it, she has mastered on her own.”
“But I was told that was horribly dangerous!” Dutiful’s shock seemed to deepen. “How could you allow her to be risked this way, knowing all she means to the Farseer throne?” That question was for me, and then he accusingly demanded of Chade, “Did you prevent her coming to court? Was this your doing, some silly effort at protecting the Farseer name?”
“Not at all, my prince,” he denied smoothly. He turned his calm gaze on me and told Dutiful, “Many times, I have asked Fitz to allow Nettle to be brought to Buckkeep, so that she could both learn her own importance to the Farseer line and be instructed in the Skill. But, again, this was an area in which FitzChivalry’s feelings had their way. Against the counsel of both the Queen and myself.”
The Prince took several deep breaths. Then, “This is unbelievable,” he said quietly. “And intolerable. It will be remedied. I’ll do it myself.”
“Do what?” I demanded.
“Tell that girl who she is! And have her brought to court and treated as befits her birth. See her educated in all things, including the Skill. My cousin is being raised as a country girl, dipping candles and feeding chickens! What if the Farseer throne required her? I still cannot grasp that my mother allowed this!”
Is there anything more chilling than looking at a righteous fifteen-year-old and realizing he has the power to unravel your entire life? I felt queasy with vulnerability. “You have no idea what that would do to my life,” I pleaded quietly.
“No. I don’t,” he admitted easily, but with growing outrage. “And neither do you. You go around making these monumental decisions about what other people should know or not know about their own lives. But you don’t really have any more idea how it will turn out than I do! You just do what you think is safest and then crawl around hoping no one will find out and blame you later if things go wrong!” He was building up to a frenzy, and I suddenly suspected that this was not entirely about Nettle.
“What are you so angry about?” I asked bluntly. “This is nothing to do with you.”
“Nothingto do with me? Nothing to do withme ?” He stood up, nearly knocking his chair over. “How can Nettle be nothing to do with me? Do not we share a grandfather? Is not she a Farseer born, and possessed of the Skill Magic? Do you know—” He choked for a moment, and then visibly composed himself. In a softer voice he asked, “Have you no idea what it would have meant to me to grow up with a peer? Someone of my blood, someone closer to my own age that I could talk to? Someone who would have to shoulder a share of the responsibility for the Farseer reign, so that it wouldn’t always have had to be only on me?” He glanced aside, staring as if he could see through the wall of the cabin and gave an odd little snort. “It could be her here in this cabin, promised to an Outislander spouse instead of me. If my mother and Chade had had two Farseers to spend to buy us peace, who knows . . .”
The thought made my blood cold. I didn’t want to tell him that was exactly what I had tried to protect Nettle from. I did give him one truth. “It had never occurred to me to look at it from your point of view. It had never occurred to me that it would have an effect on you at all.”
“Well, it has. And it does.” He suddenly shifted his focus to Chade. “And you too have been negligent beyond all tolerance. This girl is the heir to the Farseer throne, after me. That should be documented and witnessed; it should have been done before I left port! If anything befalls me, if I die trying to chop up this frozen dragon, there will be chaos as all try to suggest who should be—”
“It has been done, my prince. Many years ago. And the documents kept safe. In that, I have not been negligent.” Chade seemed incensed that Dutiful could even think such a thing.
“It would have been nice to know that. Can either of you explain to me why it was so important to keep this information from me?” He glared from Chade to me, but his stare settled on me as he observed, “It seems to me that you have gone about for a lot of your life, making decisions for other people, doing what you thought was best without consulting them about what they wanted at all. And you aren’t always right!”
I kept my temper. “That’s the trouble with making a decision. You never know if it’s right until after you’ve done it. But it is what adults are supposed to do. Make decisions. And then live with them.”
He was silent for a time. Then he said, after a moment, “And if I made an adult decision to tell Nettle who she is? To right at least that much of the wrong we have done her?”
I took a breath. “I’m asking you not to do that. It isn’t something that should just be dropped on her, all of a piece.”
He was quiet for a longer time and then asked wryly, “Have I any other secret relatives who will come popping into my life when I least expect it?”
“None that I know of,” I replied seriously. Then, more formally, “My prince, please. Let me be the one to tell her, if she must be told.”
“It’s certainly a task you deserve,” he observed, and Chade, who had been solemn for a few moments, smiled again. Dutiful seemed almost wistful as he added, “She seems strong in the Skill. Think how it could be, if she were here now. We’d have her to rely on, and perhaps Thick could have stayed safely at home.”
“Actually, she works well with Thick. She’s excellent at calming him and has gained a lot of his trust. She is the one who disarmed his nightmares for us on our voyage to Zylig. But in reply to what you said, no, my prince. Thick is too strong and too volatile to be left on his own anywhere now. And that is a thing that we must eventually deal with. The more we teach him, the more dangerous he becomes.”
“I think the best remedy for Thick’s willfulness is to take him home and put him back in his familiar life. I expect that he’ll regain a more even temperament then. Unfortunately, I have to find and kill a dragon before we can do that.”
I was relieved to leave the topic of Nettle, and yet there was on
e more chink in the wall to close. “My prince. Swift knows nothing of all this, of Nettle’s being my daughter and only half-sister to him. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Ah, yes. Of course, when you decided to keep this a secret, you never wondered how it might affect other children that might come along.”
“You are right. I didn’t,” I admitted stiffly.
“Well, I’ll keep silent. For now. But you might want to consider how you would feel if you were only now discovering who your parents were.” He cocked his head at me. “Think about it. What if it was suddenly revealed to you that you weren’t Chivalry’s son but Verity’s? Or Regal’s? Or Chade’s? How much gratitude would you feel toward those who had known all along and ‘protected’ you from the truth?”
The cold chasm of doubt yawned briefly before me, even as I rejected such wild ideas. Yes, Chade was capable of such deception, but my logic denied the possibility. Still, Dutiful had succeeded in his goal. He had stirred in me the anger I would have felt at being deceived for so long. “I’d probably hate them,” I admitted. I met his eyes squarely as I added, “And that is yet another reason why I don’t wish Nettle to know.”
The Prince pursed his lips and then nodded briefly. It wasn’t a promise to keep my secret, but more an acknowledgment of the complexities of revealing it. That was as much as he was going to give me. I hoped he’d leave the subject now, but with a slight scowl, he asked suddenly, “And why is Queen I-Doubt-It-Very-Much consorting with the Bingtown dragon? Is she in league with Tintaglia?”
“No, my prince!” I was shocked that he could think such a thing of her. “Tintaglia found her through stalking my thoughts, or so I believe. When we Skill strongly, I think the dragon can perceive us. Or, as you and Thick discovered, when you are dream-walking. Tintaglia knows something of who I am from the Bingtown delegation’s visit to Buckkeep. We were careless of our Skilling then, and I think she marked me. She knows that I visit Nettle. I think that she seeks to threaten Nettle as a way to wring information out of me. She wants to know what we know about the black dragon, Icefyre. As all the young dragons that hatched in the Rain Wilds are feeble, he may be her only hope of a mate. And thus her only hope of perpetuating her kind.”