Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (17 page)

For a time we held our positions, eyes locked.
Then he glanced down, to flick imaginary dust from his sleeve. He
strode past me. I did not step aside for him. He did not jostle me
as once he would have. I took a breath and walked on.

I did not know the guardsman at the door, but he
waved me into the King's chamber. I sighed and set myself another
task. I would learn names and faces again. Now that the court was
swelling with folk come to see the new Queen, I found myself being
recognized by people I didn't know. That'd be the Bastard, by the
look of him, I'd heard a bacon monger say to his apprentice the
other day outside the kitchen doors. It made me feel vulnerable.
Things were changing too fast for me.

King Shrewd's chamber shocked me. I had expected
to find the windows ajar to the brisk winter air, to find Shrewd up
and dressed and alert at table, as keen as a captain receiving
reports from his lieutenants. Always he had been so, a sharp old
man, strict with himself, an early riser, shrewd as his name. But
he was not in his sitting room at all. I ventured to the entry of
his bedchamber, peered within the open door.

Inside, the room was half in shadow still. A
servant rattled cups and plates at a small table drawn up by the
great curtained bed. He glanced at me, then away, evidently
thinking I was a serving boy. The air was still and musty, as if
the room were disused or had not been aired in a long time. I
waited a time for the servant to let King Shrewd know I had come.
When he continued to ignore me, I advanced warily to the edge of
the bed.

My king? I made bold to address him when he did
not speak. I have come as you bid me.

Shrewd was sitting up in the curtained shadows
of his bed, well propped with cushions. He opened his eyes when I
spoke.

Who ... ah. Fitz. Sit, then. Wallace, bring him
a chair. A cup and plate, too. As the servant moved to his bidding
King Shrewd confided to me, I do miss Cheffers. With me for so many
years, and I never had to tell him anymore what I wanted
done.

I remember him, my lord. Where is he,
then?

A cough took him. He caught it in the fall, and
it never left him. It slowly wore him away, until he couldn't take
a breath without wheezing.

I recalled the servant. He had not been a young
man, but not so old either. I was surprised to hear of his death. I
stood silently, wordless, while Wallace brought the chair and a
plate and cup for me. He frowned disapprovingly as I seated myself,
but I ignored it. He would soon enough learn that King Shrewd
designed his own protocol. And you, my king? Are you well? I cannot
recall that I ever knew you to keep to your bed in the
morning?

King Shrewd made an impatient noise. It is most
annoying. Not a sickness really. Just a giddiness, a sort of
dizziness that sweeps down upon me if I move swiftly. Every morning
I think it gone, but when I try to rise, the very stones of
Buckkeep rock under me. So I keep to my bed, and eat and drink a
bit, and then rise slowly. By midday I am myself. I think it has
something to do with the winter cold, though the healer says it may
be from an old sword cut, taken when I was not much older than you
are now. See, I bear the scar still, though I thought the damage
long healed. King Shrewd leaned forward in his curtained bed,
lifting with one shaky hand a sheaf of his graying hair from his
left temple. I saw the pucker of the old scar and
nodded.

But, enough. I did not summon you for
consultations about my health. I suspect you guess why you are
here?

You would like a complete report of the events
at Jhaampe? I guessed. I glanced about for the servant, saw Wallace
hovering near. Cheffers would have departed to allow Shrewd and me
to talk freely. I wondered how plainly I dared speak before this
new man.

But Shrewd waved it aside. It is done, boy, he
said heavily. Verity and I have consulted. Now we let it go. I do
not think there is much you could tell me that I do not know, or
guess already. Verity and I have spoken at length. I ... regret ...
some things. But. Here we are, and here is always the place we must
start from. Eh?

Words swelled in my throat, nearly choking me.
Regal, I wanted to say to him. Your son who tried to kill me, your
bastard grandson. Did you speak at length with him, also? And was
it before or after you put me into his power? But, as clearly as if
Chade or Verity had spoken to me, I knew suddenly I had no right to
question my king. Not even to ask if he had given my life over to
his youngest son. I clenched my jaws and held my words
unuttered.

Shrewd met my eyes. His eyes flickered to
Wallace. Wallace. Take yourself to the kitchens for a bit. Or
wherever you wish that is not here. Wallace looked displeased, but
he turned with a sniff and departed. He left the door ajar behind
him. At a sign from Shrewd, I arose and shut it. I returned to my
seat.

FitzChivalry, he said gravely. This will not
do.

Sir. I met his eyes for a moment, then looked
down.

He spoke heavily. Sometimes, ambitious young men
do foolish things. When they are shown the error of their ways,
they apologize. I looked up suddenly, wondering if he expected an
apology from me. But he went on. I have been tendered such an
apology. I have accepted it. Now we go on. In this, trust me, he
said, and he spoke gently but it was not a request. Least said is
soonest mended.

I leaned back in my chair. I took a breath,
sighed it carefully out. In a moment I had mastered myself. I
looked up at my king with an open face. May I ask why you have
called me, my king?

An unpleasantness, he said distastefully. Duke
Brawndy of Bearns thinks I should resolve it. He fears what may
follow if I do not. He does not think it ... political to take
direct action himself. So I have granted the request, but
grudgingly. Have not we enough to face with the Raiders at our
doorstep, without internal strife? Still. They have the right to
ask it of me, and I the duty to oblige any who asks. Once more you
will bear the King's justice, Fitz.

He told me concisely of the situation in
Bea
rn
s. A young woman
from Sealbay had come to Ripplekeep to offer herself to Brawndy as
a warrior. He had been pleased to accept her, for she was both well
muscled and adept, skilled at staves, bows, and blades. She was
beautiful as well as strong, small and dark and sleek as a sea
otter. She had been a welcome addition to his guard, and soon was a
popular figure in his court as well. She had, not charm, but that
courage and strength of will that draws others to follow. Brawndy
himself had grown fond of her. She enlivened his court and
instilled new spirit in his guard.

But lately she had begun to fancy herself a
prophetess and soothsayer. She claimed to have been chosen by El
the sea god for a higher destiny. Her name had been Madja, her
parentage unremarkable, but now she had renamed herself, in a
ceremony of fire, wind, and water, and called herself Virago. She
ate only meat she had taken herself, and kept in her rooms nothing
that she had not either made herself or won by show of arms. Her
following was swelling, and included some of the younger nobles as
well as many of the soldiers under her command. To all she preached
the need to return to El's worship and honor. She espoused the old
ways, advocating a rigorous, simple life that glorified what a
person could win by her own strength.

She saw the Raiders and Forging as El's
punishment for our soft ways, and blamed the Farseer line for
encouraging that softness. At first she had spoken circumspectly of
such things. Of late, she had become more open, but never so bold
as to voice outright treason. Still, there had been bullock
sacrifices on the sea cliffs, and she had blood-painted a number of
young folk and sent them out on spirit quests as in the very old
days. Brawndy had heard rumors that she sought a man worthy of
herself, who would join her to throw down the Farseer throne. They
would rule together, to begin the time of the Fighter and put an
end to the days of the Farmer. According to Bea
rn
s, quite a number of young men were ready
to vie for that honor. Brawndy wished her stopped, before he
himself had to accuse her of treason, and force his men to choose
between Virago and himself. Shrewd offered the opinion that her
following would probably drop off drastically, were she to be
bested at arms, or have a severe accident or become victim to a
wasting illness that depleted her strength and beauty. I was forced
to agree that was probably so, but observed that there were many
cases where folks who died became like gods afterward. Shrewd said
certainly, if the person died honorably.

Then, abruptly, he changed the topic. In
Ripplekeep, on Sealbay, there was an old scroll that Verity wished
copied, a listing of all those from Bea
rn
s who had served the King in the Skill,
as coterie members. It was also said that at Ripplekeep there was a
relic from the days of the Elderling defense of that city. Shrewd
wished me to leave on the morrow, to go to Sealbay and copy the
scrolls and to view the relic and bring him a report of it. I would
also convey to Brawndy the King's best wishes and his certainty
that the Duke's unease would soon be put to rest.

I understood.

As I stood to leave, Shrewd raised a finger to
bid me pause. I stood, waiting.

And do you feel I am keeping my bargain with
you? he asked. It was the old question, the one he had always asked
me after our meetings when I was a boy. It made me
smile.

Sir, I do, I said as I always had.

Then see that you keep your end of it as well.
He paused, then added, as he never had before; Remember,
FitzChivalry. Any injury done to one of my own is an injury to
me.

Sir?

You would not injure one of mine, would
you?

I drew myself up. I knew what he asked for, and
I ceded it to him. Sir, I will not injure one of yours. I am sworn
to the Farseer line.

He nodded slowly. He had wrung an apology from
Regal, and from me my word that I would not kill his son. He
probably believed he had made peace between us. Outside his door, I
paused to push the hair back from my eyes. I had just made a
promise, I reminded myself. I considered it carefully and forced
myself to look at what it could cost me to keep it. Bitterness
flooded me, until I compared what it would cost me should I break
it. Then I found the reservations in myself, crushed them firmly. I
formed a resolve, to cleanly keep my promise to my king. I had no
true peace with Regal, but at least I could have that much peace
with myself. The decision left me feeling better, and I strode
purposefully down the hall.

I had not replenished my stocks of poisons since
I had returned from the Mountains. Nothing green showed outside
now. I'd have to steal what I needed. The wool dyers would have
some I might use, and the healer's stock would yield me others. My
mind was busy with this planning as I started down the
stairs.

Serene was coming up the stairs. When I saw her,
I halted where I was. The sight of her made me quail as Regal had
not. It was an old reflex. Of all Galen's coterie, she was now the
strongest. August had retired from the field, gone far inland to
live in orchard country and be a gentleman there. His Skill had
been entirely blasted out of him during the final encounter that
marked the end of Galen. Serene was now the key Skill user of the
coterie. In summers, she remained at Buckkeep, and all the other
members of the coterie, scattered to towers and keeps up and down
our long coast, channeled all their reports to the King through
her. During winter, the entire coterie came to Buckkeep, to renew
their bonds and fellowship. In the absence of a Skill Master, she
had assumed much of Galen's status at Buckkeep. She had also
assumed, with great enthusiasm, Galen's passionate hatred of me.
She reminded me too vividly of past abuses, and inspired in me a
dread that would not yield to logic. I had avoided her since my
return, but now her gaze pinned me.

The staircase was more than sufficiently wide to
allow two people to pass. Unless one person deliberately planted
herself in the middle of a step. Even looking up at me, I felt she
had the advantage. Her bearing had changed since we had been
Galen's students together. Her whole physical appearance reflected
her new position. Her midnight-blue robe was richly embroidered.
Her long black hair was bound back intricately with burnished wire
strung with ivory ornaments. Silver graced her throat and ringed
her fingers. But her femaleness was gone. She had adopted Galen's
ascetic values, for her face was thinned to bone, her hands to
claws. As he had, she burned with self-righteousness. It was the
first time she had directly accosted me since Galen's death. I
halted above her, with no idea of what she wanted from
me.

Bastard, she said flatly. It was a naming, not a
greeting. I wondered if that word would ever lose its sting with
me.

Serene, I said, as tonelessly as I could
manage.

You did not die in the Mountains.

No. I did not.

Still she stood there, blocking my way. Very
quietly she said, I know what you did. I know what you
are.

Inside, I was quivering like a rabbit. I told
myself it was probably taking every bit of Skill strength she had
to impose this fear on me. I told myself that it was not my true
emotion, but only what her Skill suggested I should feel. I forced
words from my throat.