Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (40 page)

They fell silent again. Burrich went back to
work. The blood tingeing the warm water wasn't mine, for the most
part. Other than a lot of bruises and sore muscles, I'd escaped
with mostly scratches and scrapes and one huge lump on my forehead.
I was somehow ashamed that I hadn't been hurt. The little girl had
died; I should have at least been injured. I don't know why that
thought made sense to me. I watched Burrich make a neat white
bandage snug on my forearm. The healer brought me a mug of tea.
Burrich took it from him, sniffed it thoughtfully, then gave it
over to me. I would have used less valerian, was all he said to the
man. The healer stepped back and went to sit by the
hearth.

Charim came in with a tray of food. He cleared a
small table and began to set it out on it. A moment later Verity
strode into the room. He took his cloak off and flung it over a
chairback. I found her husband in the market, he said. He's with
her now. She had left the child playing on the doorstep while she
went to the stream for water. When she got back, the child was
gone. He glanced toward me, but I couldn't meet his eyes. We found
her calling her little girl in the woods. I knew.... He glanced
abruptly at the healer. Thank you, Dem. If you've finished with
FitzChivalry, you may go.

I haven't even looked at-

He's fine. Burrich had run a length of bandaging
across my chest and under my opposite arm and up again in an effort
to keep a dressing in place on my neck. It was useless. The bite
was right atop the muscle between the tip of my shoulder and my
neck. I tried to find something amusing in the irritated look the
healer gave Burrich before he left. Burrich didn't even notice
it.

Verity dragged up a chair to face me. I began to
lift the mug to my lips, but Burrich casually reached over and took
it from my hand. After you've talked. There's enough valerian in
here to drop you in your tracks. He took it and himself out of the
way. Over by the hearth, I watched him dump out half of the tea and
dilute what was left with more hot water. That done, he crossed his
arms on his chest and leaned against the mantelpiece, watching
us.

I shifted my gaze to Verity's eyes, and waited
for him to speak.

He sighed. I saw the child with you. Saw them
fighting over her. Then you were suddenly gone. We lost our
joining, and I couldn't find you again, not even with all my
strength. I knew you were in trouble and set out to reach you as
soon as I could. I'm sorry I wasn't faster.

I longed to open myself up and tell Verity
everything. But it might be too revealing. To possess a Prince's
secrets does not give one the right to divulge them. I glanced at
Burrich. He was studying the wall. I spoke formally. Thank you, my
prince. You could not have come faster. And even if you had, it
would have been too late. She died at almost the same instant I saw
her.

Verity looked down at his hands. I knew that.
Knew it better than you did. My concern was for you. He looked up
at me and tried for a smile. The most distinctive part of your
fighting style is the incredible way you have of surviving
it.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Burrich shift,
open his mouth to speak, then close it again. Cold dread uncoiled
in me. He had seen the bodies of the Forged ones, seen the tracks.
He knew I hadn't fought alone against them. It was the only thing
that could have made the day worse. I felt as if my heart were
suddenly caught in a cold stillness. That Burrich had not spoken of
it yet, that he was reserving his accusations for a private time
only made it worse.

FitzChivalry? Verity called my attention back to
him.

I started. I beg your pardon, my
prince.

He laughed, almost, a brief snort. Enough of `my
prince.' Rest assured that I do not expect it of you just now, and
neither does Burrich. He and I know each other well enough; he did
not `my prince' my brother at moments like this. Recall that he was
king's man to my brother. Chivalry drew on his strength, and
oftentimes not gently. I am sure Burrich knows that I have used you
likewise. And knows also that I rode with your eyes today, at least
as far as the top of that ridge.

I looked to Burrich, who nodded slowly. Neither
of us was certain why he was being included here.

I lost touch with you when you went into a
battle frenzy. If I am to use you as I wish, that cannot happen.
Verity drummed his fingers lightly on his thighs for a moment, in
thought. The only way I can see for you to learn this thing is to
practice it. Burrich. Chivalry once told me that in a tight spot,
you were better with an ax than a sword.

Burrich looked startled. Plainly he had not
expected Verity to know this about him. He nodded again, slowly. He
used to mock me about it. Said it was a brawler's tool, not a
gentleman's weapon.

Verity permitted himself a tight smile.
Appropriate for Fitz's style, then. You will teach him to use one.
I don't believe it's something Hod teaches as a general rule.
Though no doubt she could if I asked her. But I'd rather it was
you. Because I want Fitz to practice keeping me with him while he
learns it. If we can tie the two lessons together, perhaps he can
master them both at once. And if you are teaching him, then he'll
not be too distracted about keeping my presence a secret. Can you
do it?

Burrich could not completely disguise the dismay
that crept over him. I can, my prince.

Then do so, please. Beginning tomorrow. Earlier
is better for me. I know you have other duties as well, and few
enough hours to yourself. Don't hesitate to pass some of your
duties on to Hands while you are busy with this. He seems a very
capable man.

He is, Burrich agreed. Guardedly. Another tidbit
of information that Verity had at his fingertips.

Fine, then. Verity leaned back in his chair. He
surveyed us both as if he were briefing a whole roomful of men.
Does anyone have any difficulties with any of this?

I saw the question as a polite
closing.

Sir? Burrich asked. His deep voice had gone very
soft and uncertain, If I may ... I have ... I do not intend to
question my prince's judgment, but ...

I held my breath. Here it came. The
Wit.

Speak it out, Burrich. I thought I had made it
clear that the `my princing' was to be suspended here. What worries
you?

Burrich stood up straight, and met the
King-in-Waiting's eyes. Is this ... fitting? Bastard or no, he is
Chivalry's son. What I saw up there, today ... Once started, the
words spilled out of Burrich. He was fighting to keep anger from
his voice. You sent him ... He went into a slaughterhouse
situation, alone. Most any other boy of his age would be dead now.
I ... try not to pry into what is not my area. I know there are
many ways to serve my king, and that some are not as pretty as
others. But up in the Mountains ... and then what I saw today.
Could not you find someone besides your brother's child for
this?

I glanced back to Verity. For the first time in
my life I saw full anger on his face. Not expressed in a sneer or a
frown, but simply as two hot sparks deep in his dark eyes. The line
of his lips was flat. But he spoke evenly. Look again, Burrich.
That's no child sitting there. And think again. I did not send him
alone. I went with him, into a situation that we expected to be a
stalk and a hunt, not a direct confrontation. It didn't turn out
that way. But he survived it. As he has survived similar things
before. And likely will again. Verity stood suddenly. The whole air
of the room was abruptly charged to my senses, boiling with
emotion. Even Burrich seemed to feel it, for he gave me a glance,
then forced himself to stand still, like a soldier at attention
while Verity stalked about the room.

No. This isn't what I would choose for him. This
isn't what I would choose for myself. Would that he had been born
in better times! Would that he had been born in a marriage bed, and
my brother still upon the throne! But I was not given that
situation, nor was he. Nor you! And so he serves, as I do. Damn me,
but Kettricken has had it right all along. The King is the
sacrifice of the people. And so is his nephew. That was carnage up
there today. I know of what you speak; I saw Blade go aside to puke
after he saw that body, I saw him walk well clear of Fitz. I know
not how the boy ... this man survived it. By doing whatever he had
to, I suppose. So what can I do, man? What can I do? I need him. I
need him for this ugly, secret battling, for he is the only one
equipped and trained to do it. Just as my father sets me in that
tower, and bids me burn my mind out with sneaking, filthy killing.
Whatever Fitz must do, whatever skills he must call
upon-

(My heart stood still, my breath was ice in my
lungs.)

--then let him use. Because that is what we are
about now. Survival. Because-

They are my people. I did not realize I had
spoken until they both swung to stare at me. Sudden silence in the
room. I took a breath. A long time ago an old man told me that I
would someday understand something. He said that the Six Duchies
people were my people, that it was in my blood to care about them,
to feel their hurts as my own. I blinked my eyes, to clear Chade
and that day at Forge from my vision. He was right, I managed to
say after a moment. They killed my child today, Burrich. And my
smith, and two other men. Not the Forged ones. The Red-Ship
Raiders. And I must have their blood in return, I must drive them
from my coast. It is as simple now as eating or breathing. It is a
thing I must do.

Their eyes met over my head. Blood will tell,
Verity observed quietly. But there was a fierceness in his voice,
and a pride that stilled the daylong trembling of my body. A deep
calm rose in me. I had done the right thing today. I suddenly knew
it as a physical fact. Ugly, demeaning work, but it was mine, and I
had done it well. For my people. I turned to Burrich, and he was
looking at me with that considering gaze usually reserved for when
the runt of a litter showed unusual promise.

I'll teach him, he promised Verity. What few
tricks I know with an ax. And a few other things. Shall we begin
tomorrow, before first light?

Fine, Verity agreed before I could object. Now
let us eat.

I was suddenly famished. I rose to go to the
table, but Burrich was suddenly beside me. Wash your face and
hands, Fitz, he reminded me gently.

The scented water in Verity's basin was dark
with the smith's blood when I was through.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Winterfest

WINTERFEST IS AS much a celebration of the
darkest part of the year as a festival of the returning light. For
the first three days of Winterfest, we pay homage to the darkness.
The tales told and puppet shows presented are those that tell of
resting times and happy endings. The foods are salt fish and smoked
flesh, harvested roots and fruit from last summer. Then, on the
midday of the festival, there is a hunt. New blood is shed to
celebrate the breaking point of the year, and new meat is brought
fresh to the table, to be eaten with grain harvested from the year
before. The next three days are days that look toward the coming
summer. The looms are threaded with gayer thread, and the weavers
take over an end of the Great Hall to vie among themselves for the
brightest patterns and lightest weave. The tales told are ones that
tell of beginnings of things, and of how things came to
be.

I tried to see the King that afternoon. Despite
all that had transpired, I had not forgotten my promise to myself.
Wallace turned me away, saying that King Shrewd felt poorly and was
seeing no one. I longed to hammer on the door and shout for the
Fool to make Wallace admit me. But I did not. I was not so sure of
the Fool's friendship as I had once been. We'd had no contact since
that last mocking song of his. Thinking of him put me in mind of
his words, and when I went back to my room, I once more rooted
through Verity's manuscripts.

Reading made me sleepy. Even the diluted
valerian had been a strong dose. Lethargy took over my limbs. I
pushed the scrolls aside, no wiser than when I had begun. I
pondered other avenues. Perhaps a public trumpeting at Winterfest
that those trained in the Skill, no matter how old or how weak,
were being sought? Would that make targets of any who responded? I
thought again of the obvious candidates. Those who had trained
alongside me. None of them had any fondness for me, but that did
not mean they were not still faithful to Verity. Tainted perhaps by
Galen's attitudes, but could not that be cured? I ruled August out
immediately. His final experience of the Skill at Jhaampe had
burned his abilities out of him. He had retired quietly to some
town on the Vin River, old before his time, it was said. But there
had been others. Eight of us had survived the training. Seven of us
had come back from the testing. I had failed it, August had been
burned clean of it. That left five.

Not much of a coterie. I wondered if they all
hated me as much as Serene did. She blamed me for Galen's death and
made no secret of it to me. Were the others as knowledgeable as to
what had happened? I tried to recall them all. Justin. Very taken
with himself and too proud of his Skilling. Carrod. He had once
been a sleepy, likable boy. The few times I had seen him since he
had become a coterie member, his eyes had seemed almost empty. As
if nothing was left of who he had been. Burl had let his physical
strength run to fat once he could Skill instead of carpenter for a
living. Will had always been unremarkable. Skilling had not
improved him. Still, they were all proven to have Skill ability.
Could not Verity retrain them? Perhaps. But when? When did he have
time for such an undertaking?