Fool's Quest (20 page)

“Are you certain there is no difference in your vision?”

“I can't really tell. Perhaps I perceive more light. My face is sore, but in a different way. The soreness of healing, perhaps. Did you find anything when you were … inside my body? Could you tell what stole my sight?”

“It's not like that, Fool. I could tell that there were breaks in your facial bones that hadn't healed properly. And I put them on the path to healing, and tried to undo some of the places where the bones were not aligned as they should be.”

He lifted questioning hands to his face. “Bones? I thought the skull was one bone, mostly.”

“It's not. If you wish, later I can show you a human skull.”

“No. Thank you. I'll take your word for it. Fitz, I can tell by your voice that you found something else. Is more wrong with me than you wish to tell me?”

I chose my words carefully. No lies this time. “Fool, we may have to go more slowly with your healing. The process is demanding for me. We must employ good food and rest as much as we can, and save magical efforts for the more difficult injuries.” I knew those words were true. I tried not to follow that thought to its logical conclusion.

“But—” he began and then halted. I watched the brief struggle in his expression. He so desperately needed to be well and on his quest and yet, as a true friend, he would not ask me to exert myself past my strength. He'd seen me exhausted from Skill-efforts, and knew what the physical demands could be. I did not need to tell him that the healings might do actual injuries to me. He did not need to bear the guilt for what I'd already done to myself. That was my own doing. He turned his clouded gaze back to the candles. “Where did Motley go?”

“Motley?”

“The crow,” he seemed embarrassed to reply. “Before she went down to you, we were talking, well, not really, though she knows quite a few words and almost seems to make sense sometimes. I asked her, ‘What's your name?' Because, well, because it was so quiet up here. At first she said random things in reply. ‘Stop that!' and ‘It's dark' and ‘Where's my food?' And finally she said back to me, ‘What's your name?' It rattled me for a moment, until I realized she was just mimicking me.” A tentative smile dawned on his face.

“So you named her Motley?”

“I just started calling her Motley. And shared my food with her. You said she came down to you and you painted her. Where is she now?”

I hated to tell him. “She came down the stairs and tapped at the secret door. I let her into my room, where she ate half my breakfast. I left the window open for her; I suspect she's gone by now.”

“Oh.” The depth of disappointment in his tone surprised me.

“I'm sorry.” He said nothing. “She's a wild creature, Fool. It's for the best.”

He sighed. “I am not certain you are correct about that. Eventually, the ink will fade, and then what? Her own kind attacks her, Fitz. And crows are flock birds, unaccustomed to being solitary. What will become of her?”

I knew he was right. “I don't know,” I said quietly. “But I also don't know what else I can do for her.”

“Keep her,” he suggested. “Give her a place to be and food. Shelter from storms and her enemies.” He cleared his throat. “The same things that King Shrewd offered to a misfit creature.”

“Fool, I scarcely think that's a valid comparison. She's a crow, not a youngster alone in the world.”

“A youngster. In appearance. Young in terms of my kind, yes. Naïve and unlearned in the wider world in which I found myself. But almost as different from King Shrewd as a crow is from a man. Fitz, you know me. You've been me. You know that you and I are as much unlike as we are alike. As like and unlike as you and Nighteyes were. Motley, I think, is as like me as Nighteyes was like you.”

I pinched my lips shut for a moment and then relented. “I'll go and see if I can find her for you. And if I can find her, and if she will come, I'll bring her up here to you. And set out water and food for her.”

“Would you?” His scarred smile was beatific.

“I will.” And I rose in that moment, and went down the steps and opened the door to my room. Where I found Motley waiting.

“Dark,” she informed me gravely. She hopped up a step, then the next one, and on the third one she turned to look back at me. “What's your name?” she demanded of me.

“Tom,” I said reflexively.

“Fitz—Chivalry!” she squawked derisively, and continued her hopping ascent.

“FitzChivalry,” I agreed, and found myself smiling. I followed her to make her comfortable.

After I'd left the Fool with Motley, I had returned to my room, intending to think. But instead, exhausted by the Skill-healing, I had slept. And when at last I woke, I had no idea what time of day it was.

I rubbed the sleep from my face, wincing at the tenderness around my eyes, then went to the looking glass and discovered that indeed I looked as bad as I felt. I had feared to find darkness and bruising. Instead my face was puffy and swollen, with a few spatters of ink still. Well, I supposed that was better than looking as if I'd had both eyes blacked in a tavern brawl. I went to the window, opened the shutters, and looked out on the setting sun. I felt rested, hungry, and reclusive. The idea of leaving my room and venturing out into Buckkeep Castle to find food daunted me.

What was my role to be, now that I was FitzChivalry once more? Even now that I was rested, my efforts to put what had happened into political, social, and familial context had failed. In truth, I'd been expecting that someone would summon me. I'd expected a missive from Kettricken, or a Skill-nudge from Chade or Nettle or Dutiful, but there had been nothing. Slowly it came to me that perhaps my relatives were waiting to hear from me.

I dampened a towel in my ewer and put the cool bandage over my swollen face. Then I sat down on the edge of my bed, composed myself, stiffened my resolve, and reached out to Nettle.

How are you?
A question that might have been banal at any other time was now freighted with significance.

How are
you
?
she echoed me.
You've been so quiet!

I'm stunned still.

Are you happy it happened?

I had to think about that for a long moment.
I think I am. But I'm probably as frightened as I am happy. And you?

It changes so many things in such profound ways.
We shared a time of quiet awareness of each other. Her thoughts touched me hesitantly.
Yesterday. I am so sorry for the things I said. Today, when I think of how I struck at you, I'm appalled. Mother, when she was carrying, would have bursts like that. Lightning strikes of wild emotions. Burrich would send me out with the older boys and he would stay and face her and weather her storm. It always ended with her weeping in his arms. I felt so annoyed with her, for being so emotional and weak.
Wryly she added,
Why does understanding come so late to us?

Poor Burrich.

I felt her amusement.
And poor Riddle, I suppose?

He can withstand it. As Burrich did. And so can I, Nettle. Your mother and I had a few moments like that when she was carrying Bee. It almost comforts me to imagine that they weren't entirely my fault!

Actually, I'm certain they were.
She was gently mocking me, I realized with surprise. And enjoyment.

You're probably right,
I admitted. I pulled my thoughts away from Molly before my sorrow could rise. Then I thought again of Bee. Now was not the time to insist to Nettle that I could be a good father and that I was determined to keep Bee at my side, because all of that would be balanced on the issue of what happened next to the resurrected FitzChivalry Farseer. Back to the matter at hand.
At some point, we must gather to speak of what has happened.
The quiet had begun to seem ominous to me.

We did. We wondered why you did not join us, and Lord Chade said that it was probably a very large shock for you. He urged us to give you time to reach your own decisions.

No one summoned me.

A moment of startled silence.
No one summoned me, either. Not Chade, or Dutiful. We simply gathered in Verity's tower early this morning and tried to make sense of what must come next.

Oh.
I pondered that for a moment. Not including myself was not the same as being excluded. Of course they would meet there and at that hour. I pulled my thoughts back on course.
Who was there?

Who you might expect. The king and queen, Lord Chade, Lady Kettricken, myself. Lady Rosemary. Riddle, of course.

Of course? That last name had not seemed obvious to me at all.
And what was decided?

About you? Nothing. We had much else to discuss. Your situation is worth an entire meeting on its own.

So, what was discussed?

I wish you had been there. Summarizing is not going to convey all the currents and tides that moved there. Lord Chade came thinking he might rebuke the queen for her headlong action and thinking that perhaps I had influenced her. Queen Elliania rapidly cleared those thoughts from his mind and I am pleased to say that both her husband and Lady Kettricken sided with her. Lady Kettricken then spoke of Riddle's long service to Chade, to you, to the crown in general, and said that as it was completely within her power to do so, he is now Lord Riddle of Spruce Keep.

I've never heard of Spruce Keep.

Evidently it exists on the older maps of the Mountain Kingdom, with a different name in the Mountain tongue. It's deserted now, and probably has been for several generations. The fortification there may not be standing at all anymore. But as the Mountain Queen pointed out, it matters little what is there. He now has title to it. Evidently it was one of her brother's holdings and has sat empty since before his death. And she says that “lord” is not an appropriate translation of the Mountain concept of what that title would be, but that also matters little. Riddle has the appropriate attitude of being willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others.

I sat and silently pondered that. Bitter mixed with the sweet. Kettricken was right. In the Mountains, the rulers were not named king or queen, but Sacrifice. And they were expected to be willing to do anything, even to accept death, in the service of those they ruled. Had not Riddle done that, and more than once? And yet he had been judged too common to marry a Farseer daughter, even one that was a bastard. Denied for years. And in a night, solved. Why had it taken so long? Anger rumbled through me like thunder in the distance. Useless anger. Let it go.

Will you wed officially now?

It will be recognized that we are wed.

She was safe. My daughter and her unborn child were safe. The level of relief that washed through me must have reached Nettle.

You were that concerned for me?

It has long bothered me that you were not allowed to wed as you wished. And when Riddle told me there would be a child, well. I have been a bastard Farseer in Buckkeep Castle, Nettle. I would not wish it on anyone.

Have you eaten today?

Some breakfast. A crow took the rest.

What?

A long tale. One that involves Web.

Are you hungry? Come eat with us.

Where?

The high table. In the Great Hall.
Suppressed amusement.

I may.
I pulled my thoughts back into my own mind and stared at the wall. How could I do this? Just leave my room, walk down the stairs, enter the Great Hall, and seat myself at the high table. Would a place be waiting for me? Would people stare at me and whisper behind their hands?

Impulsively, I Skilled to Chade.
Was it hard to come out of the labyrinth and into the light?

Whatever are you talking about? Fitz, are you well?

Nettle invited me to join you for dinner. At the high table.

My heart beat twelve times before he responded.
It is what will be expected, yes
.
Your absence today has been rather dramatic and suspenseful for some. A few nobles who had planned to depart early today, now that Winterfest is over, have delayed their departures. I think they hope for a second glimpse of the mysteriously young and alive FitzChivalry Farseer. Given all that happened last night, it will cause far more speculation if you do not appear at dinner. And your question makes sense to me now. For me, the only difficulty was to ease back into society rather than exploding into it. I was a rat lurking behind the walls for many years. Longing for society, for light and moving air. My transition was less abrupt and strange than yours will be. But as I told you last night, Fitz, it is time and past time. I will expect to see you at dinner.

I veiled my thoughts from him. Anxiety twisted my guts.

Dress appropriately,
he suggested.

What?
I felt a rush of dismay.

I could almost hear his sigh.
Fitz. Straighten your thoughts. Tonight you will be FitzChivalry Farseer, the Witted Bastard, abruptly revealed as the hidden hero of the Red-Ship War. It's your new role here at Buckkeep Castle, just as Lord Chade is mine. And Dutiful is the king. We all parade our roles, Fitz. Sometimes, in the comforts of our own chambers, we are who we are with old friends. Or at least who our old friends expect us to be. So, think well on it, and live up to the expectations of the folk of Buckkeep Castle, both noble and humble. It is not a time for you to be unremarkable. Prepare.

I found your note. And the crown.

Do not wear that!

I laughed out loud.
It had not even crossed my thoughts to do so! I just wanted to thank you. And to let you know I understand.

He sent me no words, only a shared emotion that I had no name for. Snapping my teeth after meat I could not kill, Nighteyes might have named it. The poignant regret of nearly claiming something. I wondered what Chade had dreamed of claiming. A throne? Or perhaps a woman named Laurel.

He departed from my mind. I sat, blinking. Slowly it came to me that Chade was completely right. So, my role was the mysterious returning Witted Bastard, wronged all those years ago. What part of that was untrue? So why was I so acutely uncomfortable at being that? I put my elbows on my knees and lowered my face into my hands, then jerked upright when my fingers touched my swollen eyes. I got up and fetched my looking-glass and studied my reflection again. Could I have chosen a worse time to look peculiar?

I looked down at the clothing that Ash had chosen for me that morning. Then I scooped an armful of extra clothing from the traveling trunk, triggered the door, and went back up to the lair. I did not have much time. I took the stairs two at a time and was speaking before I entered the room. “Fool, I need your help!”

Then I felt foolish. For both Ash and the Fool turned toward me. They had been seated at the table, feeding things to the crow. She had made a remarkable mess of bread bits and scattered grain and was now holding down a chicken bone as she stripped meat from it.

“Sir?” Ash responded as the Fool turned to me and said, “Fitz?”

I did not have time for subtleties. “I'm not sure my clothing is right. I'm to join the king and queen at the high table, with Lord Chade and Lady Nettle. There will be others there, looking on. And I must present myself as FitzChivalry Farseer, the Witted Bastard, returned from his sojourn among the Elderlings. Last night was one thing. They were taken by surprise. But tonight, Chade has said I must give them—”

“The hero,” the Fool said quietly. “Not the prince. The hero.” He turned to Ash and spoke as if I were incompetent to answer. “What is he wearing?”

Ash bristled, just a trifle. “The clothing I chose for him earlier in the day.”

“I'm blind,” the Fool reminded him tartly.

“Oh. I beg pardon, sir. He has on a brown vest decorated with buttons of horn over a white shirt, the sleeves cut full, with a dozen or so buttons on long cuffs. The collar is open at the throat. He is wearing no jewelry. His trousers are a darker brown, with a line of buttons, also horn, down the outer seams. He's wearing heeled shoes with a plain but lifted toe.” He cleared his throat. “And his face is splotched with mud.”