Royal Assassin - Страница 60

“I beg pardon that I am late. I was detained. But I am ready to begin now.”

“How do you feel?” The question came from Burrich, asked with genuine curiosity. I turned to find him regarding me as sternly as before, but also with some puzzlement.

“Stiff, sir. A bit. The run up the stairs warmed me up some. Sore, from yesterday. But otherwise I am all right.”

A bit of amusement quirked at his face. “No tremors, FitzChivalry? No darkening at the edge of your vision, no dizzy spells?”

I paused to think for a moment. “No.”

“Be damned.” Burrich gave a snort of amusement. “Evidently the cure has been to beat it out of you. I’ll remember that the next time you need a healer.”

Over the next hour he seemed intent on applying his new theory of healing. The heads of the axes were blunt ones, and he had bundled them both in rags for this first lesson, but that did not prevent bruises. To be honest, most of them I earned with my own clumsiness. Burrich was not trying to land any blows that day, but only to teach me to use the whole weapon, not just the head of it. To keep Verity with me was effortless, for he remained in the same room with us. He was silent within me that day, offering no counsels or observations or warnings, but merely riding with my eyes. Burrich told me that the ax was not a sophisticated weapon, but was a very satisfactory one if used correctly. At the end of the session, he pointed out to me that he had been gentle with me, in consideration of the wounds I already bore. Verity dismissed us, and we both went down the stairs rather more slowly than I had come up.

“Be on time tomorrow,” Burrich charged me as we parted at the kitchen door, he going back to his stables, and I to find breakfast. I ate as I had not in days, with a wolf’s appetite, and wondered at the source of my own sudden vitality. Unlike Burrich, I did not put it down to any beating I had received. Molly, I thought, had healed with a touch what all the herbs and rest in a year could never have put to rights. The day suddenly stretched long in front of me, full of unbearable minutes of unendurable hours before nightfall and the kindly dark allowed us to be together again.

I set her resolutely from my mind and resolved to fill the day with tasks. A dozen immediately leaped to mind. I had been neglecting Patience. I had promised my aid with Kettricken’s garden. An explanation was owed to Brother Nighteyes. A visit was owed King Shrewd. I tried to order them in importance. Molly kept moving to the top of the list.

I resolutely set her to last. King Shrewd, I decided. I gathered my crockery from the table and took it back to the kitchen. The bustle was deafening. It puzzled me for a moment, until I recalled that tonight was the first night of Winterfest. Old Cook Sara looked up from the bread she was kneading and motioned me over. I went and stood beside her as I often had as a child, admiring the deft way her fingers shaped handfuls of dough into rolls and set them to rise. She was flour to her dimpled elbows, and flour smudged one cheek as well. The racket and rush of the kitchen created a strange sort of privacy. She spoke quietly through the clatter and chatter, and I had to strain to hear her.

“I just wanted you to know,” she grunted as she folded and pushed a new batch of dough, “that I know when a rumor is nonsense. And I speak it so when anyone tries to tell it here in my kitchen. They can gossip all they like in the laundry court, and tattle tales as much as they wish while they spin, but I’ll not have ill said of you here in my kitchen.” She glanced up at me with snapping black eyes. My heart stood still with dread. Rumors? Of Molly and me?

“You’ve et at my tables, and often enough, stood aside me and stirred a pot while we chatted when you were small. I think that maybe I know you better than most. And them what says you fight like a beast because you’re more than half beast are talking evil nonsense. Them bodies was tore up bad, but I’ve seen worse done by men in a rage. When Sal Flatfish’s daughter was raped, she cut up that beast with her fish knife, chop, chop, chop, right there in the market, just like she was cutting bait to set her lines. What you done was no worse than that.”

I knew an instant of dizzying terror. More than half beast . . . It wasn’t so long ago or far away that folk with the Wit were burned alive. “Thank you,” I said, fighting for a calm voice. I added a modicum of truth when I said, “Not all of that was my doing. They were fighting over . . . their prey when I came on them.”

“Ginna’s daughter. You need not hide words from me, Fitz. I’ve children of my own, growed now, but if any was to attack them, why, I’d pray there’d be one like to you to defend them, no matter how. Or avenge them, if that’s all you could do.”

“I’m afraid it was, Cook.” The shudder that ran over me was not feigned. I saw again the lines of blood trickled over a fat little fist. I blinked, but the image stayed. “I’ve got to hurry off now. I’m to wait on King Shrewd this day.”

“Are ye? Well, there’s a spot of good news, then. You just run these up with you, then.” She trundled over to a cupboard to take out a covered tray of small pastries baked rich with soft cheese and currants. She set a pot of hot tea beside them and a clean cup. She arranged the pastries lovingly. “And you see he eats them, Fitz. His favorites, they are, and if he tastes one, I know he’ll eat them all. And do him good, too.”

Mine, too.

I jumped as if poked with a pin. I tried to cover, it with a cough, as if I had suddenly choked, but Cook still looked at me oddly. I coughed again, and nodded at her. “I’m sure he’ll love them,” I said in a choked voice, and bore the tray out of the kitchen. Several sets of eyes followed me. I smiled pleasantly and tried to pretend I didn’t know why.

I didn’t realize you were still with me, I told Verity. A tiny part of me was reviewing every thought I’d had since I left his tower, and was thanking Eda that I had not decided to seek out Nighteyes first, even as I pushed such thoughts aside, unsure how private they were.

I know. I didn’t intend to be spying on you. Only to show you that when you do not focus so tightly on this, you are able to do it.

I groped after his Skilling. More your effort than mine, I pointed out as I climbed the stairs.

You’re annoyed with me. Beg pardon. From now on, I shall be sure you are aware of me whenever I am with you. Shall I leave you to your day?

My own surliness had left me feeling embarrassed. No. Not yet. Ride with me a bit more while I visit King Shrewd. Let’s see how far we can carry this.

I sensed his assent. I paused before Shrewd’s door and balanced the tray with one hand as I hastily smoothed my hair back and tugged my jerkin straight. My hair had begun to be a problem lately. Jonqui had cut it short during one of my fevers in the mountains. Now that it was growing out, I didn’t know whether to tie it back in a tail as Burrich and the guardsmen did, or keep it at my shoulders as if I were a page still. I was much too old to wear it in the half braid of a child.

Tie it back, boy. I’d say you’d earned the right to wear it as a warrior, as much as any guardsman. Just don’t start fussing about it and twining it into oiled curls as Regal does.

I fought the smirk off my face and knocked at the door.

I waited a bit, then knocked again, more loudly.

Announce yourself and open it, Verity suggested.

“It’s FitzChivalry, sire. I’ve brought you something from Cook.” I set my hand to the door. It was latched from within.

That’s peculiar. It has never been my father’s way to latch a door. Put a man on it, yes, but not latch it and ignore someone knocking. Can you slip it?

Probably. But let me try knocking again first. I all but pounded on the door.

“A moment! A moment!” someone whispered from inside. But it was considerably more than that before several latches were undone and the door opened a hand’s width. Wallace peered out at me like a rat from under a cracked wall. “What do you want?” he demanded accusingly.

“Audience with the King.”

“He’s asleep. Or was before you came pounding and shouting. Be off with you.”

“A moment.” I shoved my booted foot into the closing door. With one free hand, I turned up the collar of my jerkin to expose the red-stoned pin I was seldom without. The door was closed firmly on my foot. I put a shoulder against it, leaned as much as I could without dropping the tray I still carried. “This was given to me by King Shrewd a number of years ago. With it he gave the promise that whenever I showed it, I would be admitted to see him.”

“Even if he’s asleep?” Wallace asked snidely.

“He placed no limitations on it. Do you?” I glared at him through the cracked door. He considered a moment, then stepped back from it.

“By all means, then, do come in. Come and see your King asleep, trying to get the rest he so badly needs in his condition. But do you disturb it, I as his healer shall tell him to take away that pretty pin and see that you do not bother him again.”

“You may recommend that as you wish. And if my King desires it, I shall not dispute it.”

He stood aside from me with an elaborate bow. I desperately wanted to knock that knowing sneer from his face, but I ignored it.

“Wonderful,” he elaborated as I passed him. “Sweet pastries to upset his digestion and tax him all the more. Thoughtful lad, aren’t you?”