The Farseer Series Books 2 and 3: Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest. Robin Hobb
it with his mouth. He took a long deep draught of it. He swallowed, then sat still a moment longer, eyes closed as if listening. When he opened his eyes to look up at me once more, he seemed briefly puzzled. After a moment, he recollected himself. ‘I would see you with a title, and land to steward.’ He lifted the goblet and drank again. He sat holding it, warming his thin hands around it while he considered me. ‘I should like to remind you it is no small thing that Brawndy deems you a fit match for his daughter. He does not hesitate over your birth. Celerity will come to you with a title and estates of her own. Your match gives me the opportunity to see that you have the same. I wish only the best for you. Is this so hard to understand?’
The question left me free to speak. I took a breath and tried to reach him. ‘My king, I know you wish me well. I am well aware of the honour that Duke Brawndy does me. The Lady Celerity is as fair a woman as any man could wish. But the lady is not of my choosing.’
His look darkened. ‘Now there you sound like Verity,’ he said crossly. ‘Or your father. I think they suckled stubbornness from their mother’s breasts.’ He lifted the goblet and drained it off. He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. ‘Fool. More wine, please.’
‘I have heard the rumours,’ he resumed heavily after the Fool had taken his cup. ‘Regal brings them to me and whispers them like a kitchen maid. As if they were important. Chickens clucking. Dogs barking. Just as important.’ I watched the Fool obediently refill the goblet, his reluctance plain in every muscle of his slender body. Wallace appeared as if summoned by magic. He heaped more Smoke onto the censer, blew on a tiny coal with carefully pursed lips until the heap smouldered and then drifted away. Shrewd leaned carefully so that the fumes curled past his face. He breathed in, gave a tiny cough, then drew in more of the Smoke. He leaned back in his chair. A silent Fool stood holding his wine.
‘Regal claims you are enamoured of a chambermaid. That you pursue her relentlessly. Well, all men are young once. As are all maids.’ He accepted his goblet and drank again. I stood before him, biting the inside of my cheek, willing my eyes to stoniness. My traitorous hands began the shaking that physical exertion no longer wrung from them. I longed to cross my arms on my chest to still them, but I kept my hands at my side. I concentrated on not crushing the small scroll I gripped.
King Shrewd lowered the goblet. He set it on the table at his elbow and sighed heavily. He let his lax hands uncurl quietly in his lap as he leaned his head back against the cushions of his chair. ‘FitzChivalry,’ he said.
I stood numbly before him and waited. I watched as his eyelids drooped, then closed. Then opened again a crack. His head wavered slightly as he spoke. ‘You have Constance’s angry mouth,’ he said. His eyes drooped again. ‘I would like to do well by you,’ he muttered. After a moment, a snore buzzed from his slack mouth. And still I stood before him and gazed at him. My king.
When finally I dropped my eyes from him, I saw the only thing that could have wrenched me into greater turmoil. The Fool huddled disconsolately at Shrewd’s feet, his knees drawn up to his chest. He stared at me furiously, his mouth a flat line. Clear tears brimmed in his colourless eyes.
I fled.
Within my chamber, I paced a bit before my hearth. The feelings inside me seared me. I forced myself to calmness, sat down and took out pen and paper. I penned a brief, correct note of thanks to Duke Brawndy’s daughter, carefully rolled it up, and sealed it with wax. I stood up, tugged my shirt straight, smoothed my hair back, and then threw the scroll onto my hearth fire.
Then I sat down again with my writing tools. I wrote a letter to Celerity, the shy girl who had flirted with me at table, and stood with me on the cliffs in the wind and waited for a challenge that never came. I thanked her for the scroll. And then I wrote to her of my summer. Of pulling an oar on the Rurisk, day after day. Of my clumsiness with a sword that made the axe my weapon. I wrote of our first battle, in ruthless detail, and of how sickened I had been afterwards. I told her of sitting frozen with terror at my oar while a Red Ship attacked us. I neglected to mention the white ship I had seen. I finished by confiding that I was still troubled by tremors occasionally as the aftermath of my long illness in the mountains. I read it over carefully. Satisfied that I had presented myself as a common oarsman, an oaf, a coward and an invalid, I rolled the letter into a scroll and tied it with the same yellow ribbon she had used. I did not seal it. I did not care who read it. Secretly, I hoped that Duke Brawndy might peruse this letter to his daughter, and then forbid her to ever mention my name again.
When I knocked again at King Shrewd’s door, Wallace answered it with his usual grim displeasure. He took the scroll from me as if it were dirtied with something, and shut the door firmly in my face. As I went back up to my room, I thought of what three poisons I would use on him, were I given the opportunity. It was less complicated than thinking of my king.
Back in my room, I flung myself down on my bed. I wished it were night and safe to go to Molly. Then I thought of my secrets, and even that pleasant anticipation vanished. I bounced up from my bed, to fling open the window shutters wide to the storm. But even the weather cheated me.
Blue had cracked the overcast wide, to admit a watery sunlight. A bank of black clouds boiling and mountaining over the sea promised that this respite would not last long. But for now the wind and the rain had ceased. There was even a hint of warmth in the air.
Nighteyes came to my mind immediately.
It’s too wet to hunt. Water clings to every blade of grass. Besides, it’s full daylight. Only men are stupid enough to hunt in full daylight.
Lazy hound, I rebuked him. I knew he was curled, nose to tail, in his den. I sensed the warm satiation of his full belly.
Perhaps tonight, he suggested, and drifted back to sleep.
I pulled back from him, then snatched up my cloak. My feelings were not conducive to a day within walls. I left the keep and headed down toward Buckkeep Town. Anger at Shrewd’s decision for me warred with dismay at how he had weakened. I walked briskly, trying to escape the King’s trembling hands, his drugged sleep. Damn Wallace! He had stolen my king from me. My king had stolen my life from me. I refused to think any more.
Dripping water and yellow-edged leaves fell from the trees as I passed. Birds sang clearly and joyously at the unexpected respite from the downpour. The sun grew stronger, making everything sparkle with the wet, and steaming rich scents up from the earth. Despite my turmoil, the beauty of the day touched me.
The recent downpours had washed Buckkeep Town clean. I found myself in the market, in the midst of an eager crowd. Everywhere folk hurried to make purchases and rush them home before the storm could drench us again. The amiable busyness and friendly clatter was at odds with my sour mood, and I glared about the market until a bright scarlet cloak and hood caught my eye. My heart turned over inside me. Molly might wear servant-blue about the keep, but when she came to market, she still wore her old cloak of red. No doubt Patience had sent her out on errands during this respite from the rain. I watched her, unnoticed, as she haggled stubbornly over packets of spiced tea from Chalced. I loved the jut of her chin as she shook her head at the merchant. A sudden inspiration lifted my heart.
I had coin in my pockets, my oarsman’s pay. With it I bought four sweet apples, two current buns, a bottle of wine and some pepper-meat. I bought too, a string bag to carry it in, and a thick wool blanket. Red. It took every bit of every skill Chade had ever taught me to make my purchases and still keep sight of Molly without being seen. Even more taxing was to follow her unobtrusively as she went to the milliners to buy silk ribbon, and then to trail behind her as she started up toward Buckkeep.
At a certain bend in the path, overshadowed by trees, I caught up to her. She gasped as I light-footed up behind her, to lift and swing her suddenly in my arms. I landed her on her feet and kissed her soundly. Why it felt so different to kiss her out of doors and under the bright sun, I cannot say. I only know all my troubles suddenly fell from me.
I made a sweeping bow to her. ‘Will my lady join me for a brief repast?’
‘Oh, we cannot,’ she replied, but her eyes sparkled. ‘We’ll be seen.’
I