Royal Assassin - Страница 114

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“Did you? It seemed to me the Fool had a pretty convincing argument against it. Yet you went ahead. You and King Shrewd, both of you.”

“So.”

“I know a bit about the Skill,” Burrich said quietly. “I was king’s man to Chivalry. Not often, and it did not leave me as bad as you are now, save for once or twice. But I’ve felt the excitement of it, the—” He groped for words, sighed. “The completion of it. The oneness with the world. Chivalry once spoke to me about it. A man can get addicted, he said. So that he looks for excuses to Skill, and then finally he is absorbed into it.” He added after a moment, “It is not unlike the rush of battle, in some ways. The sense of moving unhampered by time, of being a force more powerful than life itself.”

“As I cannot Skill alone, I daresay it is not a danger to me.”

“You offer yourself very often to those who can.” Bluntly spoken. “As often as you willingly plunge yourself into dangerous situations that offer that same kind of excitement. In a battle, you go into a frenzy. Is that what happens to you when you Skill?”

I had never considered the two together in such a light. Something like fear nibbled at me. I pushed it aside.

“To be a King’s Man is my duty. Besides, was not this evening your suggestion?”

“It was. But I would have let the Fool’s words dissuade us from it. You were determined. You put no value at all on what it would do to you. Perhaps you should have a care for yourself.”

“I know what I’m doing.” I spoke more sharply than I intended, and Burrich did not reply. He poured the tea he had made, and handed it to me with a “see what I mean” look on his face. I took the mug and stared into the fire. He sat down on my clothing chest.

“Verity is alive,” I said quietly.

“So I heard the Queen say. I had never believed he was dead.” He accepted it very calmly. As calmly, as he added, “But we have no proof.”

“Proof? I spoke to him. The King spoke to him. Isn’t that enough?”

“For me, more than enough. For most other folks, well . . .”

“When the King recovers, he will hear me out. Verity lives.”

“I doubt it will be enough to prevent Regal from proclaiming himself King-in-Waiting. The ceremony is scheduled for next week. I think he would have done it tonight, save that every Duke must be present to witness it.”

Elfbark battling with exhaustion, or simply the unrelenting march of events, suddenly made the room tilt around me. I felt I had thrown myself in front of a wagon to stop it, and instead it had rolled over me. The Fool had been right. What I had done tonight counted for little, save the peace of mind it brought Kettricken. A sudden welling of despair filled me. I set down my empty cup. The Six Duchies kingdom was falling apart. My King-in-Waiting, Verity, would return to a mockery of what he had left: a sundered country, a ravaged coastline, a plundered and empty Keep. Perhaps if I had believed in Elderlings, I could have found some way to believe it would all come out right. All I could see now was my failure.

Burrich was looking at me oddly. “Go to bed,” he suggested. “A bleak spirit is sometimes what follows an overindulgence in elfbark. Or so I have heard.”

I nodded. To myself, I wondered if that might account for Verity’s often dour moods.

“Get some real rest. In the morning, things may look better.” He gave a bark of laughter and smiled wolfishly. “Then again, they may not. But the rest will at least leave you better prepared to face them.” He paused, sobering. “Molly came to my room, earlier.”

“Is she all right?” I demanded to know.

“Bringing candles she knew I did not need,” Burrich went on as if I had not spoken. “Almost as if she wanted an excuse to speak to me . . .”

“What did she say?” I rose from my chair.

“Not very much. She is always very correct with me. I am very direct with her. I simply told her you missed her.”

“And she said?”

“Nothing.” He grinned. “But she blushes very prettily.” He sighed, suddenly serious. “And, as directly, I asked her if anyone had given her any further cause to fear. She squared her little shoulders and tucked in her chin like I was trying to force a bit in her teeth. She said she thanked me kindly for my concern, as she had before, but that she was capable of seeing to herself.” In a quieter voice, he asked, “Will she ask for help if she needs it?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “She has her own store of courage. Her own way of fighting. She turns and confronts things. Me, I slink about and try to hamstring them when they aren’t looking. Sometimes, she makes me feel a coward.”

Burrich stood up, stretching so that his shoulders cracked. “You’re no coward, Fitz. I’ll vouch for you there. Perhaps you just understand odds better than she does. I wish I could put your mind at rest about her. I can’t. I’ll watch over her as well as I can. As much as she’ll let me.” He gave me a sideways glance. “Hands asked me today who the pretty lady is who calls on me so often.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I just looked at him.”

I knew the look. There would be no more questions from Hands.

Burrich left and I sprawled on my bed, trying to rest. I could not. I made my body be still, reasoning that at least my flesh would take some rest, even if my mind persisted in rattling on. A better man’s thoughts would have been solely of his king’s plight. I am afraid a good share of mine went to Molly, alone in her room. When I could stand it no more, I rose from my bed and ghosted out into the Keep.

Sounds of dying revelry still drifted up from the Great Hall below. The corridor was empty. I ventured silently toward the stairs. I told myself I would be very, very careful, that all I would do was tap at her door, perhaps go in for a few moments, just to see she was all right. No more than that. Just the briefest of visits. . .

You are followed. Nighteyes’ new caution of Burrich made his voice but the tiniest whisper in my head.

I did not halt. That would have let my follower know I was suspicious. Instead I scratched my shoulder, making it an excuse to swivel my head about and glance behind me. I saw no one.

Snuff.

I did, a short breath followed by a deeper intake. A bare scent on the air. Sweat and garlic. I quested gently and my blood went cold. There, at the far end of the hall, concealed in a doorway. Will. Dark, slender Will, with his eyes always halflidded. The coterie member who had been recalled from Bearns. Very cautiously I touched the Skill shield that hid him from me, a subtle bidding that I not notice him, a quiet scent of self-confidence sent my way to bolster me in doing whatever I wished to do. Very guileful. Very artful, much more delicate a touch than either Serene or Justin had ever shown me.

A much more dangerous man.

I went to the landing of the stairs and took candles from the extra ones stored there, then returned to my room as if that had been my sole errand.

When I closed my door behind me, my mouth was dry. I sighed out a shuddering breath. I forced myself to examine the guards that warded my mind. He had not been in me, that I could tell. He was not sniffing out my thoughts, then, but only imposing his on me to make it easier for him to shadow me. Had it not been for Nighteyes, he would have followed me right to Molly’s door tonight. I forced myself to lie down on my bed again, to try to recall all of my actions since Will had returned to Buckkeep. I had been dismissing him as an enemy simply because he did not radiate the hatred for me that Serene and Justin did. He had always been a quiet and unimposing youth. He had grown to be an unremarkable man, scarce worth anyone’s attention.

I had been a fool.

I do not think he has followed you before. But I cannot be sure either.

Nighteyes, my brother. How do I thank you?

Stay alive. A pause. And bring me ginger cake.

You shall have it, I promised fervently.

Burrich’s fire had burned low and I still had not slept when I felt Chade’s draft sweep through my room. It was almost a relief to rise and go to him.

I found him awaiting me impatiently, pacing about his small room. He pounced on me as I came out of the stairwell.

“An assassin is a tool,” he informed me in a hiss. “Somehow, I never got that across to you. We are tools. We do not do anything of our own volition.”

I stopped still, shocked at the anger in his voice. “I haven’t killed anyone!” I said indignantly.

“Shush! Speak softly. I would not be too sure of that, were I you,” he replied. “How many times have I done my job, not by putting the knife in myself, but simply by giving someone else sufficient reason and opportunity to do it for me?”

I said nothing.

He looked at me and sighed, the anger and strength going out of him. Softly he said, “Sometimes, the best you can do is just salvage work. Sometimes we have to resign ourselves to that. We are not the ones to set the wheels in motion, boy. What you did tonight was ill-considered.”

“So the Fool and Burrich have both told me. I don’t think Kettricken would agree.”

“Kettricken and her child could both have lived with her grief. As could King Shrewd. Look at what they were. A foreign woman, widow of a dead King-in-Waiting, mother of a child that isn’t visible yet, and who will be unable to wield power for years to come. Regal judged Shrewd to be but a doddering helpless old man, useful as a puppet perhaps, but harmless enough. Regal had no immediate reason to put them aside. Oh, I agree Kettricken’s position was not as secure as it could be, but she was not in direct opposition to Regal. That is where she is now.”

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