Royal Assassin - Страница 93

Celerity and Faith both looked back to me as they rode off, and Celerity dared to lift a hand in farewell. I returned the gesture. I stood watching them go, chilled by more than the rain. I had supported Verity and Kettricken this day, but at what cost to myself? What was I doing to Celerity? Was Molly, perhaps, right about all this?

Later that evening, I went to pay my respects to my King. He had not summoned me. I did not intend to discuss Celerity with him. I went, wondering if Verity willed it in me or if it was my own heart cautioning me not to abandon him. Wallace grudgingly admitted me, with a stern warning that the King was still not feeling completely himself, and I must not weary him.

King Shrewd was sitting up before his fireplace. The air of the room was cloying with Smoke. The Fool, his face still an interesting landscape of purples and blues, sat at the King’s feet. He had the good fortune to be below the most pungent level of the haze. I had no such luck as I took the low backless stool that Wallace so thoughtfully provided for me.

A few moments after I had presented myself and sat down, the King turned to me. He regarded me blearily for a few moments as his head swayed on his neck. “Ah, Fitz,” the King greeted me belatedly. “How have your lessons been? Is Master Fedwren pleased with your progress?”

I glanced at the Fool, who did not meet my eyes, but poked morosely at the fire.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “He has said my lettering is good.”

“That’s fine. A clear hand is a thing any man may be proud of. And what of our bargain? Have I kept my word to you?”

It was our old litany. Once more I considered the terms he had offered me. He would feed me, clothe me, and educate me, and in return he would have my complete loyalty. I smiled at the familiar words, but my throat closed at how the man who said them had wasted away, and what they had come to cost me.

“Yes, my King. You have,” I answered softly.

“Good. Then see you keep your word to me as well.” He leaned back heavily in his chair.

“I shall, Your Majesty,” I promised, and the Fool’s eyes met mine as he witnessed again that promise.

For a few moments the room was still, save for the crackling of the fire. Then the King sat up as if startled by a sound. He looked about confusedly. “Verity? Where’s Verity?”

“He’s gone on a quest, my King. To seek the help of the Elderlings to drive the Red-Ships from our shores.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Of course he has. But just for a moment, I thought . . .” He leaned back in his chair. Then all the hair on my skin prickled up. I could feel him vaguely Skilling, in an unfocused fumbling way. His mind tugged at mine like old hands seeking for a grip. I had believed him incapable of Skilling anymore, I had thought that he had burned out his talent years ago. Verity had told me once that Shrewd used his talent but seldom anymore. I had set those words aside as his loyalty to his father. But the ghostly Skill plucked at my thoughts like unschooled fingers at harp strings. I sensed Nighteyes hackling at this new invasion. Silence, I cautioned him.

My breath snagged suddenly on an idea. Fostered by Verity within me? I set aside all cautions, reminded myself that this was what I had promised this man so long ago. Loyalty in all things. “My King?” I asked his permission as I moved my stool closer to his chair. I took his withered hand in mine.

It was like plunging myself into a rushing river. “Ah, Verity, my boy, there you are!” Just for a moment I glimpsed Verity as King Shrewd still saw him. A chubby boy of eight or nine, more friendly than smart, not so tall as his big brother, Chivalry. But a sound and likable Prince, an excellent second son, not too ambitious, not too questioning. Then, just as if I had stepped off a riverbank, I tumbled into a black, rushing roar of Skill. It was disorienting to see suddenly through Shrewd’s eyes. The edges of his vision were filmy with haze. For a moment I glimpsed Verity forging wearily through snow.

What’s this? Fitz? Then I was whirled away, carried into the heart of King Shrewd’s pain. Skilled deep inside him, beyond where the herbs and smoke deadened him, I was scorched with the agony. It was a slow growing pain, along his spine and in his skull, a pushing crowding thing that would not be ignored. His choices were to be consumed by the agony that would not let him think, or to deaden his body and mind with herbs and smokes to hide from it. But deep inside his fogged mind, a King still lived and raged at his confinement. The spirit was still there, battling the body that no longer obeyed him and the pain that devoured the last years of his life. I swear I saw him, a young man, perhaps a year or so older than myself. His hair had been as bushy and unruly as Verity’s, his eyes were wide and lively, and once his face’s only lines had been from a wide grin. This was who he still was, in his soul, this young man, trapped and desperate. He seized on me, asking wildly, “Is there a way out?” I felt myself sinking with his grip.

Then, like two rivers merging, another force crashed against me, sent me spinning with its current. Boy! Contain yourself. It was as if strong hands steadied me and established me as a separate strand in the twisting rope we were forming. Father. I am here. Are you in need?

No. No. All is as it has been for some time. But Verity. . .

Yes. I am here.

Bearns is no longer true to us. Brawndy harbors Red-Ships there, in exchange for protection for his own villages. He has turned on us. When you come home, you must. . .

The thought wandered, lost strength.

Father. Whence come these tidings? I sensed Verity’s sudden desperation. If what Shrewd spoke was true, there was no hope for Buckkeep to stand the winter.

Regal has spies. They bring word to him, and he comes to me. This must remain a secret, for a time, until we have the strength to strike back at Brawndy. Or until we decide to abandon him to his Red-Ship friends. Yes. That is Regal’s plan. To hold the Red-Ships off from Buck, and then they will turn on Brawndy and punish him for us. Brawndy even sent a false call for help, in the hopes of luring our warships to their destruction.

Can this be so?

All Regal’s spies confirm it. And I fear we can no longer trust your foreign wife. While Brawndy was here, Regal marked how she dallied with him, and made many excuses for private talk. He fears that she plots with our enemies to overthrow the throne.

THIS IS NOT SO! The force of this denial went through me like a sword’s point. For an instant I was drowning again, lost, selfless, in the flood of Skill passing through me. Verity sensed it, steadied me again. We must be careful of the boy. He has not the strength to be used like this. Father. I beg you. Trust my Queen. I know she is not false. And be wary of what Regal’s spies report to you. Put spies upon the spies, before you act on any of their reports. Consult with Chade. Promise me this.

I am not a fool, Verity. I know how to hold my throne.

Good. Good then. Make sure the boy is tended to. He is not trained for this.

Someone snatched my hand back then, as if from a burning stove. I sagged forward, put my head down between my knees while the world spun around me. Next to me, I could hear King Shrewd panting for his breath as if he had run a race. The Fool pushed a glass of wine into my hand, then went back to urging small sips of wine into the King. And over all, suddenly, Wallace’s voice, demanding, “What have you done to the King?”

“It is both of them!” There was a sharp edge of fear to the Fool’s voice. “They were talking together, quite calmly, then suddenly this! Take the damned smoke censers away! I fear you have killed them both!”

“Silence, Fool! Do not accuse my healing of this!” But I heard the hurry in Wallace’s step as he made the rounds of the room, pinching out the burning twists in each censer or capping them with brass cups. In a moment the windows were thrown wide to the icy winter night. The cool air steadied me. I managed to sit up and take a sip of the wine. Gradually my senses came back to me. Even so, I was still sitting there when Regal came bustling into the room, demanding to know what had happened. He addressed the question to me, as the Fool was helping Wallace put the King to bed.

I shook my head at him dumbly, and the giddiness was not all pretended.

“How is the King? Will he recover?” he called to Wallace.

Wallace immediately came hurrying to Regal’s side. “He seems to be steadying, Prince Regal. I do not know what overcame him. There was no sign of a struggle, but he is as wearied as if he had run a race. His health will not stand this sort of excitement, my prince.”

Regal turned an appraising glance on me. “What did you do to my father?” he growled.

“I? Nothing.” That at least was truthful. Whatever had happened, it had been the King’s doing and Verity’s. “We were talking quietly. Suddenly I felt overwhelmed. Dizzy. Weak. As if I were losing consciousness.” I turned my gaze to Wallace. “Could it have been the Smoke?”

“Perhaps,” he conceded unhappily. He looked nervously at Regal’s darkening stare. “Well, it seems every day I must make it stronger, for it to have any effect at all. And still he complains that—”

“SILENCE!” Regal cut him off with a roar. He gestured at me as if I were offal. “Get him out of here. Then get back here to tend the King.”