Fool's Quest (63 page)

Then in all ways, I was finished. I swayed. I looked down at the wooden block before me and realized I was kneeling. At some time during my account, my knees had folded and I had crumpled.

“Fitz?” Dutiful said, and there was only concern in his voice. “Fitz? Are you unwell?”

“Of course he's unwell! We're all unwell. None of this is right. Worst is that we have to gather here in secret to mourn the loss of a child. Fitz. Put your arm across my shoulders. Come. Stand up.”

It was Kettricken tugging at me, lifting my arm to put it across her shoulders. And then she stood, not effortlessly, for the years weighed more heavily on her than they did on me. I tottered as she escorted me to a chair near the hearth. I sat, feeling confused and older than I'd ever been. I did not understand what was happening until her cowl dropped and I saw that her head was shorn.

The others gathered round us. Dutiful spoke softly. “Oh, Mother, I told you we must be restrained.”

“Restrained?” This from Elliania. She snatched crown and scarf from her head, revealing only a short brush of what had always been her glossy black hair. “Restrained?” She lifted her crown as if she would dash it to the ground. Prosper caught her arm and she let him take it. She sank down to the floor, her royal robes puddling around her. She put her hands over her face and spoke through her fingers. “We have lost a child. A little girl! A Farseer daughter! Gone, just as my little sister was gone for years. Must we have this agony again? The not-knowing? The secrecy of the pain? Gone! And we must be restrained?”

She threw her head back, baring the long column of her throat, and keened as if she were a wolf mourning her cub. Prosper sank to his knees beside her and put his arm around his mother's shoulders.

Chivalry lifted his voice. “Can we be sure she is gone forever? All know tales of folk who have emerged from the stones years later …”

Nettle replied. “She has no training, and she entered the stone as part of a company of untrained folk. She would be like a drop of wine splashing into a rushing river. I will hold no false hopes. We have to let her go.”

I found I was shaking. Kettricken took the chair beside me and put her arm protectively around me. “It's all my fault,” I confessed to her.

“Oh, Fitz, always you are …” She bit back whatever it was she had started to say. More gently she added, “No one blames you.”

“I blame me.”

“Of course you do,” she said, as if I were a child insisting the moon was a cheese.

Elliania had overheard. “No! Blame
them
! The ones who took her. They all must be hunted down and killed! Killed like pigs screaming before the butcher!”

“Elliania. Fitz killed those he could. The stone took the rest.” Dutiful tried to comfort her. I lifted my head. Blind or not, the Fool's gaze met mine. He stood, groping for Spark's shoulder, and she slipped beneath his hand as if it was a well-practiced trick. I saw his mouth move and knew that he whispered to her. He would go to Elliania and that alliance would be as unpredictable and explosive as one of Chade's fire-pots.

“Family,” Dutiful said. His voice had that indefinable ring of someone taking control of a situation. “Please. We gathered here to mourn little Bee. We must keep our sorrow private until we have determined how magic was used against us, and if there is any further danger of attack from invisible enemies. We will strike back once we have a tactic and a target. Until we then, we gather information and we plan. We should not alarm our duchies until we have a defense to offer them.” He shook his head, his teeth set in a grimace.

“We are threatened on more than one front. An immense green dragon has been raiding Farrow, not only taking livestock but destroying barns to get at the animals. Two other dragons have been menacing Bearns. The Dragon Traders simultaneously claim they have no control over them and threaten retaliation against any who attack them. The Pirate Isles have increased levies against our trading ships by thirty percent, and have begun to insist those levies can only be paid in gold or Sandsedge brandy. Tilth is reporting a pestilence that is killing their sheep and their dogs. And in the Mountains—”

“It was ever so,” Kettricken said, interrupting his listing of woes. “Tragedy does not mean that other problems cease. But you are right, Dutiful. We came here to mourn, and to give one another whatever small comfort we can.” She rose and extended a hand toward her son's wife. Elliania took it and Kettricken helped her to rise. “Come.”

The two queens led and all followed them to the hearth. Chivalry, son of Burrich and Molly, came to me and offered me his arm. “Can you walk?” he asked me without pity.

“I can”—but I accepted his arm to stand, and he stayed beside me.

Spark had scissors in her apron pocket. Both Kettricken and Elliania had brought their shorn hair in silken bags. Into the flames they went, and the stench filled the room. The smell reminded me of how Bee and I had burned the messenger's body. My little girl had been so brave that night. My gorge rose suddenly. Such a fond memory to cherish of my little child: how she had helped me conceal a murder. I could not speak as each person contributed a lock of hair to the flames and spoke a memory or a regret or bowed a head silently. Hap spoke of a dress he had given her, and how she had looked like a “little holiday cake, trimmed with sugar and spice” when she wore it for him. Kettricken spoke, with regret, of how she had misjudged her viability when she saw my infant. Nettle shared something I'd never known, that she had passed a room and seen Bee dancing, alone, as she watched snow fall through the window. But when it came my turn all I could do was shake my head.

Dutiful took Spark's scissors. He cut a lock from the back of my neck, where it would scarcely show, and gave it to me to offer to the fire. He did the same for the others. There was no restoring Kettricken's or Elliania's hair, but we would give no others cause to wonder. When the Fool came forward to offer his lock of hair, he put his hand on my arm. “Later,” he said quietly.

And that was all. There was no little body to set on a pyre. All felt it. Our small farewell ceremony was unfinished and always would be. In the midst of my family, I had never felt more alone. Nettle embraced me. Kettricken took both my hands in hers, looked in my eyes, and simply shook her head. Spark came to take me over to Chade. He smiled at me and thanked me, very softly, for bringing his girl back to him. I could not tell if he even knew that Bee was lost to me forever.

Each of them came to me, with a word or a touch, and then quietly left the audience chamber. Nettle's brothers bore her away and Riddle trailed after them. Chade's children had taken him back to his room. Spark guided the Fool away, and Hap slipped out on their heels, probably to have quiet words with him. I made a grave farewell to Queen Elliania. Tears still streaked her cheeks as her sons escorted her away.

I was left alone in the stark room with Dutiful and Kettricken. Dutiful looked at me woefully. “I have to leave. Three of my dukes have traveled to discuss with me the depredations of the dragons and what can be done about them.”

He took a breath to say more, but I shook my head. “You must go and be the king. I know that.” And I did, but my desire to be alone made it so easy for me to urge him back to his own life. He left, walking sadly, and I turned to Queen Kettricken.

“No.” She spoke firmly.

“I beg your pardon?” Her single word startled me.

“You are going to escort me back to my sitting room. There will be food waiting there. Fitz, you will not leave. Nor will I allow you to waste away. I see every bone in your face, and your hands are skeletal. Come. Walk with me.”

I did not want to. I wanted to go to my room and sleep forever. Or get on a horse and ride off into the darkening winter night. Instead Kettricken took my arm and we paced through Buckkeep, up the stairs, and to the door of her sitting room, adjacent to her bedchamber. We entered, and she shooed away two ladies waiting for her.

A table of food and tea awaited us. The soup had been covered to stay warm, and the bread was soft and fresh. The tea had mint in it, and chamomile, and a rich spice I did not know. I ate without appetite, because it was easier than resisting her. I drank the warming tea and felt like a hard-ridden horse that had finally reached the stables. My sorrow had not eased, but it was giving way to weariness. Kettricken put another log on the fire. She came back to the table but did not sit down. Instead she walked behind me, set her hands to my shoulders, and kneaded them. I stiffened at her touch. She leaned down to speak by my ear. “There comes a time to stop thinking. For you that time is now. Drop your head forward.”

And I did. She rubbed my shoulders and my neck and spoke of other times. She made me remember the Mountains and how she had tried to poison me the first time we met. She spoke of our long trek in search of Verity, and recalled to me my wolf and how we had once moved as one. She spoke of the pain of finding Verity, and finding him so changed. And giving him up to his dragon.

The fire burned low, and outside the narrow window the winter day faded. “Get up. You need to sleep.” She led me to her bedchamber and drew back the rich purple coverlet to expose the clean white linens. “Rest here. No one will come to find you or ask you questions. Just sleep.”

“In the tea,” I said, and she nodded.

“For your own good,” she replied, “and fitting, after what you did to Riddle.”

I could not find an argument. I lay down on her clean sheets in the clothing I'd worn for days. She pulled the boots from my feet and covered me over as if I were a child.

In the dead of night I stirred. Wakefulness flowed back into me. I was a cup full of sorrow, but that sorrow was stilled, like a pain that abates as long as one does not move. Slowly it came to me that I was not in my own bed. Kettricken's scent was all around me. There was warmth and pressure down my back. She slept beside me, against my back with her arms around me. So wrong. So right. I took both her hands in mine and held them against my chest. I felt no desire other than to be held, for someone to sleep beside me and guard my back. She drew a deeper breath and sighed it out on a word. “Verity.”

Sorrow and loss never die. We can put them away in a chest and lock it tight, but whenever it is opened, even a crack, the aroma of lost sweetness will rise to fill our lungs to heaviness. Verity, lost to the Skill just as Bee was. Sometimes, to share a loss is the closest to balm. I missed my king and wished I had his strength. “Verity,” I agreed softly. “And Bee,” I added. I closed my eyes and sleep pulled me under again.

Before dawn she woke me. She wore her thick winter nightrobe, and her short hair stood out in a gray halo around her pink scalp. “You should go by the secret door,” she said, and I nodded. There was enough troubling Dutiful without scandal between his mother and his cousin. My body ached and I did not put on my boots, but carried them. She followed me to the door of the garderobe. My concealed exit was in the wall of that small chamber. There she caught my arm, turned me, and embraced me again. I kissed her brow, and then her cheek. As I let her go, she leaned up to kiss my mouth. “Do not punish yourself, Fitz. Grieve, but do not punish yourself. And do not run away from us, please. We need you here, now more than ever.”

I nodded but did not answer. Did she know what a heavy harness she had just put upon me?

The passage I entered, like all things that touched Kettricken, was clean and bare. There were no mouse droppings, no cobwebs there, and I traversed the distance by touch to Chade's old den. I entered it as softly as I could, hoping not to wake the Fool.

But he was in a chair before the fire. His hands were held up in front of him, and he moved his fingers against the dancing light of the flames. “There you are,” he greeted me. “I was worried about you when you didn't come by.”

I stopped. “You thought I'd run away.” It was a bit daunting to realize how many of my friends believed I'd do that.

He wagged his head in a dismissive way. “There's a pattern.”

“I did that once!”

He folded his lips and said nothing. His fingers continued their dance.

“Can you see your fingers?”

“I see darkness against a lighter background. And it limbers them. Even though it hurts.” He waggled them again. “Fitz. Words can't express—”

“No. They can't. So let us not try.”

“Very well.” Subdued.

Bee. Bee. Bee. Bee.
Think of something else. “I was glad to see you up and out of this room yesterday.”

“It was frightening for me. I wanted to come to you. To speak to Elliania. But … well. Not yet. I know that I must push myself. I cannot be a rat in the walls. I need to become lithe and strong again. So we can go back to Clerres, and end that place. Avenge our child.” Like a suddenly billowing flame, his fury, hatred, and pain erupted in his voice.

I could not take him with me. I told him the truth in a way that seemed a lie. “I have no stomach for plotting just now, Fool. All I can feel right now is sorrow.” And shame. I knew this stillness. I recalled it from Regal's torture chamber. One becomes motionless, assessing how badly one is hurt. One asks,
Can I move without dying?

“I understand, Fitz. Mourn you must. Your mourning is the seed that will grow into fury. I will wait for you to be ready. Though it grieves me to think of those who suffer there, waiting for us.”

The eyes he turned toward me were blind but I still felt the rebuke in his gaze. I spoke flatly. “It's no good, Fool. You are putting the spurs to a dead horse.”

“You have no hope, then?”

“None.” I did not want to talk about it.

“I thought that surely you would go after her.” He sounded as hurt as he was puzzled by my lack of fire.

“I would have if I could. I took the elfbark tea to be proof against their fogging magic. It has blanketed my Skill. I can no more go through a Skill-stone now than you can.”