Fool's Fate (13 page)

    So I made my resolution and tried to persuade myself that was the best I could do. I tried not to imagine Burrich going back to drinking every night, or Molly driven to distraction not only by her husband's dive into the bottle but by her son's vanishing. I tried not to wonder how much Burrich's vision had faded. Enough that he had either not tried to track his son, or had failed in the effort.

    I was up at dawn. I got bread and milk and bacon in the guardroom, and carried it out to the Women's Garden to eat it. I sat listening to the birdcalls and smelling the new day's warmth touching the earth. Such things have always been a deep comfort to me. This morning, they affirmed that the goodness of the earth always goes on and made me wish that I could stay to watch the summer grow strong and the fruit swell on the trees.

    I felt her before I saw her. Starling wore a morning robe of pale blue. Her hair was loose upon her shoulders, and her graceful narrow feet were in simple sandals. She carried a steaming mug between both her hands. I watched her and wished that things could have been simpler between us. When she noticed me sitting silently on the bench beneath the tree, she gaped in feigned astonishment, then changed her expression to a smile as she came to join me. She sat down, kicked her feet free of her sandals, and curled her legs on the bench between us.

    “Well, good morning,” she greeted me. There was mild surprise in her eyes. “I nearly didn't recognize you, Fitz. You look as if you've lost ten years.”

    “Tom,” I reminded her gently, well knowing that she had dropped my old name to rattle me. “And I feel as if you are right. Perhaps the daily routine of a guardsman was what I needed all along.”

    She made a skeptical noise in her throat, and took a sip from her mug. When she looked up, she added sourly, “I notice you don't think the same is true for me?”

    “What, that you'd do better as a guardsman?” I asked her innocently. Then, as she pretended a kick at me, I added, “Starling, you always look like Starling to me. Neither older nor younger than I expect you to be, but always Starling.”

    She furrowed her brow for a moment, then shrugged and laughed. “I never know if you mean the things you say as compliments or not.” Then she leaned closer to me, sniffing the air near me. “Musk? Are you wearing musk these days, Tom Badgerlock? If you are interested in attracting female companionship...?”

    “No, I wear no musk. I've just been sleeping with a ferret.”

    I had replied with honesty, and her whoop of laughter startled me. A moment later, I was grinning with her as she shook her head at me. She shifted on the bench so that her sun-warmed thigh pressed against mine. “That is so like you, Fitz. So like you.” She gave a sigh of contentment, and then asked lazily, “Then, can I surmise that you have ended your mourning and bonded again?”

    Her words dimmed the summer morning for me. I cleared my throat and spoke carefully. “No. I doubt that I ever will. Nighteyes and I fit together like a knife and a sheath.” I looked out over the chamomile bed and said quietly, “After him, there can be no other. It would be a disservice to whatever creature I joined, for he would be only a substitute, and never genuinely my partner.”

    She read more into my words than I intended. She put her arm along the back of the bench. Pillowing her head on it, she looked up at the sky through the tree branches that shaded us. I finished the milk I had brought with me and set the cup aside. I was about to excuse myself for my morning lesson with Swift when she asked, “Have you ever thought of taking Molly back, then?”

    “What?”

    She lifted her head. “You loved the girl. At least, so you've always maintained. And she had your child, at great cost to herself. You know that she could have shaken it from her body if she had chosen. That she didn't means that she felt something deep for you. You should go to her. Take her back.”

    “Molly and I were a long time ago. She is married to Burrich. They built a life together. They have six children of their own,” I pointed out stiffly.

    “So?” She brought her gaze to meet mine. “I saw him when he came to Buckkeep to fetch Swift home. He was closemouthed and grim when I greeted him. And he was old. He walks with a hitch and his eyes are clouding.” She shook her head over him. “If you decided to take Molly back from him, he could offer you no competition.”

    “I would never do that!”

    She sipped from her mug, looking at me steadily over the rim. “I know that,” she said when she took the cup from her lips. “Even though he took her from you.”

    “They both think I'm dead!” I pointed out to her, my voice harsher than I'd intended.

    “Are you sure you're not?” she asked flippantly. Then, at the look on my face, her eyes softened. “Oh, Fitz. You never do anything for yourself, do you? Never take what you want.” She leaned closer to me. “Do you think Molly would have thanked you for your decision? Do you truly think you had the right to decide for her?” She leaned back a little, watching my face. “You gave her and the child away as if you were finding a good home for a puppy. Why?”

    I'd answered that question so many times I didn't even need to think. “He was the better man for her. That was true then; it's true now.”

    “Is it? I wonder if Molly would agree.”

    “And how is your husband today?” I asked her roughly.

    Her glance went opaque. “Who knows? He's gone trout fishing in the hills with Lord and Lady Redoaks. As you know, I've never enjoyed that kind of outing.” Then, glancing aside, she added, “But their lovely daughter Ivy apparently does. I've heard that she leaped at the chance to make the trip.”

    She did not need to explain it to me. I took her hand. “Starling. I'm sorry.”

    She took a breath. “Are you? It matters little to me. I've his name and his holdings to enjoy. And he leaves me the freedom of my minstrel ways, to come and go as I please.” She cocked her head at me. “I've been thinking of joining Dutiful's entourage for the journey to the Out Islands. What do you think of that?”

    My heart lurched at the thought. Oh, no. “I think that it would be far worse than going trout fishing. I expect to be uncomfortable and cold for much of it. And Out Island food is terrible. If they give you lard, honey, and bone marrow mixed together, you've had the height of their cuisine.”

    She stood gracefully. “Fish paste,” she said. “You've forgotten their fish paste. Fish paste on everything.” She stood looking down on me. Then she reached a hand and pushed several strands of hair back from my face. Her fingertips walked the scar down my face. “Someday,” she said quietly. “Someday you'll realize that we were the perfect match, you and I. That in all of your days and places, I was the only one who truly understood you and loved you despite it.”

    I gaped at her. In all our years together, she'd never said the word “love” to me.

    She slid her fingers under my chin and closed my mouth for me. “We should have breakfast together more often,” she suggested. Then she strolled away, sipping from her cup as she went, knowing that I watched her go.

    “Well. At least you can make me forget all of my other problems for a time,” I observed quietly to myself. Then I took my mug back to the kitchen and headed for the Queen's Garden. Perhaps it was my conversation with Starling, for when I walked out on the tower top and found the boy feeding the doves, I was direct.

    “You lied,” I said before he could even give me “good morning.” “Your father never sent you away. You ran off. And you stole money to do it.”

    He gaped at me. His face went white. “Who...how did...?”

    “How do I know? If I answer that question for you, I'll answer it for Chade and the Queen, as well. Do you want them to know what I know?”

    I prayed I had his measure. When he gulped and shook his head suddenly and silently, I knew I had. Given the chance to run home, with no one here the wiser as to how he had shamed himself, he'd take it.

    “Your family is worried sick about you. You've no right to leave people who love you in suspense about your fate. Pack up and go, boy, just as you came. Here.” Impulsively I took my purse from my belt. “There's enough here to see you safely home, and pay back what you took. See that you do.”

    He couldn't meet my eyes. “Yessir.”

    When he didn't reach for the purse, I took his hand in mine, turned it palm up and put the sack into it. When I let go of his hand, he still stood staring up at me. I pointed at the door to the stairwell. He turned, stunned, and stumbled toward the door. With his hand on it, he halted. “You don't understand what it's like for me there,” he whispered feebly.

    “Yes. I do. Far better than you might imagine. Go home, bow your head to your father's discipline, and serve your family until you reach your majority, as an honest boy should. Didn't your parents raise you? Didn't they give you life, put food on your plate, clothes on your back, shoes on your feet? Then it is only right that your labor belongs to them, until you are legally a man. Then you can openly go your own way. You will have years after that to discover your magic, years of your own, rightfully earned, to live as you please. Your Wit can wait until then.”

    He halted by the door and leaned his head against it for a moment. “No. My magic won't wait.”

    “It will have to!” I told him harshly. “Now go home, Swift. Leave today.”

    He ducked his head, pushed the door open and left, shutting it behind him. I listened to his fading footsteps on the stair and felt his presence fade from my Wit-sense. Then I let out my breath in a long sigh. I had sent him to do a hard thing. I hoped Burrich's son had the spine to do it. I hoped, without real belief, that the boy's return would be enough to mend the family. I wandered over to the parapet wall and stood staring down at the rocks below.

DEPARTURES

    Do not disdain those who find that their strongest Skill-talent is in the fashioning of dreams. It is a talent most often manifested among Solos. These lone Skill-users, while not as effective as a coterie, can employ their unique talents to serve their monarchs in ways both subtle and effective. Ominous dreams sent to an enemy lord can make him reconsider his actions, while dreams of victory and glory can fortify the courage of any military leader. Dreams can be rewards, and in some cases can offer balm to those who are discouraged or weary at heart.

    --TREEKNEE 'S “LESSER USES OF THE SKILL”

    That evening I told Chade that Swift had become desperately homesick and that I'd sent him home in the hopes that he could mend things with Burrich. The old man nodded distractedly: the boy was the least of his concerns.

    I also told him of my conversation with Web, finishing with “He knows who I am. I think he has since he arrived here.”

    Chade's reaction to that was more emphatic. “Damn! Why must you start coming unraveled now, when I have so much else to deal with?”

    “I don't think I'm unraveling,” I said stiffly. “Rather I think that this is knowledge that someone has possessed all along, and now it has come round to bite us. What do you suggest I do?”

    “Do? What can you do?” he demanded testily. “It's known, boy. All we can do is hope that Web truly has as much goodwill toward us as he appears to have. And that the knowledge is not widespread amongst the Witted.” He thumped a leather case to settle the scrolls inside and then began to tie it shut. “Holly, you say?” he asked after a moment. “You think Holly told Web?”

    “So he seemed to imply.”

    “And when is the last time you saw her?”

    “Years ago, when I lived among the Witted. She was Rolf's wife.”

    “I know that! My wits aren't failing me that badly.” He pondered while he rolled the next scroll up. “There isn't time,” he finally announced. “I'd send you off to see this Holly if there was, to discover how many people she has told. But there just isn't time. So, think with me, Fitz. How will they use this?”

    “I'm not sure that Web intends to use it at all. The way he said it was as if he wished to help me; I felt no threat from him, nor even that he was holding my secret over my head. It was more as if he were urging me toward honesty with Swift as the best way to break through to him.”

    “Hm,” the old man replied thoughtfully, tying the last case shut. “Push the teapot this way.” Then, as he poured, “Web is a puzzle, isn't he? The man knows a great deal, and it isn't just those Witted tales he tells. I would not call him an educated man, yet, as he puts it, anything he has ever decided he needed to know, he's found a way to learn.” Chade's gaze went distant as he spoke. Plainly he had spent some time pondering Web's significance. “I did not like Civil's proposal that Dutiful have a 'Witted coterie' as he did not have a Skilled one. No public mention has been made of such a thing. Yet, nonetheless, it seems to have come into existence. There is Civil Bresinga with his cat, that minstrel Cockle, and Web. All plan to accompany us on this voyage. And I sense, though the Prince is reluctant to speak of it, that they are a 'coterie' of sorts. There is a closeness when all of them are in the room that excludes me. Web is plainly the heart stone of the group. He is more like a priest than a leader; that is, he does not command, but he counsels them, and speaks often of serving 'the spirit of the world' or 'the divine.' He has no qualms that such words may make him appear foolish. If he had ambitions, he'd be a dangerous man. With what he knows, he could bring all of us tumbling down. The very few times he has spoken to me, it has been in a very indirect way. I feel as if he is urging us toward an action, but he does not tell us what it is that he hopes we will do. Hm.”

    “So.” I ticked the possibilities off on my fingers. “Maybe Web simply wanted me to be honest with Swift. Well, with the boy gone, that's no longer an issue. But perhaps he wants me to reveal to all who I really am. Or perhaps he wants the Farseers to admit that the Prince is Witted. Or, if the two things were presented at once, it would be as good as saying that the Wit runs in the Farseer blood.” And then my tongue froze. Did the Wit truly run in the Farseer line? The last prince to have definitely had it was the Piebald Prince, and he had left no issue. The crown had passed to a different Farseer bloodline. So, perhaps I had gotten the Wit from my Mountain-bred mother. And passed it on when Verity had usurped my body for the conception of Dutiful. That was a little bit of the puzzle that I'd never given Chade, nor did I ever intend to. Dutiful, I was convinced, was the son of Verity's spirit. Yet now I wondered uncomfortably if by the use of my body, Verity had passed on some of my tainted magic to his son.