'And tell everything,' the Fool replied glumly. I heard him fling down another tool in annoyance. 'I see I have but one choice then.'
'You will see them?'
A snort of laughter from the Fool. 'Of course not. I mean that I will lie to them.'
Afternoon sun slanting across my closed eyes. I woke to voices, arguing.
'I only wish to see him.' A woman's voice, annoyed. 'I know he is here.'
'Ah, I suppose I shall admit you are right. But he sleeps.' The Fool, with his maddening calm.
'I still would see him.' Starling, pointedly.
The Fool heaved a great sigh. 'I could let you in to see him. But then you would wish to touch him. And once you had touched him, you would wish to wait until he awakened. And once he awakened, you would wish to have words with him. There would be no end to it. And I have much to do today. A toymaker's time is not his own.'
'You are not a toymaker. I know who you are. And I know who he truly is.' The cold was flowing in the open door. It crept under my blankets, tightened my flesh and tugged at my pain. I wished they would shut it.
'Ah, yes, you and Kettle know our great secret. I am the White Prophet, and he is Tom the shepherd. But today I am busy, prophesying puppets finished tomorrow, and he is asleep. Counting sheep, in his dreams.'
'That's not what I mean.' Starling lowered her voice, but it carried anyway. 'He is FitzChivalry, son of Chivalry the Abdicated. And you are the Fool.'
'Once, perhaps, I was the Fool. It is common knowledge here in Jhaampe. But now I am the Toymaker. As I no longer use the other title, you may take it for yourself if you wish. As for Tom, I believe he takes the title Bed Bolster these days.'
'I will be seeing the Queen about this.'
'A wise decision. If you wish to become her Fool, she is certainly the one you must see. But for now, let me show you something else. No, step back, please, so you can see it all. Here it comes.' I heard the slam and the latch. 'The outside of my door,' the Fool announced gladly. 'I painted it myself. Do you like it?'
I heard a thud as of a muffled kick, followed by several more. The Fool came humming back to his worktable. He took up the wooden head of a doll and a paintbrush. He glanced over at me. 'Go back to sleep. She won't get in to see Kettricken any time soon. The Queen sees few people these days. And when she does, it's not likely she'll be believed. And that is the best we can do for now. So sleep while you may. And gather strength, for I fear you will need it.'
Daylight on white snow. Belly down in the snow amongst the trees, looking down on a clearing. Young humans at play, chasing one another, leaping and dragging one another down to roll over and over in the snow. They are not so different from cubs. Envious. We never had other cubs to play with while we were growing. It is like an itch, the desire to race down and join in. They would be frightened, we caution ourselves. Only watch. Their shrill yelps fill the air. Will our she-cub grow to be like these, we wonder? Braided hair flies behind as they race through the snow chasing one another.
'Fitz. Wake up. I need to talk to you.'
Something in the Fool's tone cut through both fog and pain. I opened my eyes, then squinted painfully. The room was dark, but he had brought a branch of candles to the floor by my bedside. He sat beside them, looking into my face earnestly. I could not read his face; it seemed that hope danced in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but also he seemed braced as if he brought me bad tidings. 'Are you listening? Can you hear me?' he pressed.
I managed a nod. Then, 'Yes.' My voice was so hoarse I hardly knew it. Instead of getting stronger for the healer to pull the arrow, I felt as if the wound were getting stronger. Each day the area of pain spread. It pushed always at the edge of my mind, making it hard to think.
'I have been to dine with Chade and Kettricken. He had tidings for us.' He tilted his head and watched my face carefully as he said, 'Chade says there is a Farseer child in Buck. Just a babe yet, and a bastard. But of the same Farseer lineage as Verity and Chivalry. He swears it is so.'
I closed my eyes.
'Fitz. Fitz! Wake up and listen to me. He seeks to persuade Kettricken to claim the child. To either say that it is her rightful child by Verity, hidden by a false stillbirth to protect her from assassins. Or to say the child is Verity's bastard, but that Queen Kettricken chooses to legitimize her and claim her as heir.'
I could not move. I could not breathe. My daughter, I knew. Kept safe and hidden, guarded by Burrich. To be sacrificed to the throne, Taken from Molly, and given to the Queen. My little girl, whose name I didn't even know. Taken to be a princess and in time a queen. Put beyond my reach forever.
'Fitz!' The Fool put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently. I knew he longed to shake me. I opened my eyes.
He peered into my face. 'Have you nothing to say to me?' he asked carefully.
'May I have some water?'
While he got it for me, I composed myself. He helped me drink. By the time he took the cup, I had decided what question would be most convincing. 'What did Kettricken say to the news that Verity had fathered a bastard? It could scarcely bring her joy.'
The uncertainty I had hoped for spread across the Fool's face.
'The child was born at the end of harvest. Too late for Verity to have sired it before he left on his quest. Kettricken grasped it faster than I did.' He spoke almost gently. 'You must be the father. When Kettricken asked Chade directly, he said as much.' He cocked his head to study me. 'You did not know?'
I shook my head slowly. What was honor to one such as I? Bastard and assassin, what claim did I have to nobility of soul? I spoke the lie I would always despise. 'I could not have fathered a child born at harvest. Molly had turned me out of her bed months before she left Buck.' I tried to keep my voice steady as I spoke. 'If the mother is Molly, and she claims the child is mine, she lies.' I strove to be sincere as I added, 'I am sorry, Fool. I have fathered no Farseer heir for you, nor do I intend to.' It was no effort to let my voice choke and tears mist my eyes. 'Strange.' I shook my head against the pillow: 'That such a thing could bring me such pain. That she could seek to pass the babe off as mine.' I closed my eyes:
The Fool spoke gently. 'As I understand it, she has made no claims for the child. As of yet, I believe she knows nothing of Chade's plan.'
'I suppose I should see both Chade and Kettricken. To tell them I am alive and reveal the truth to them. But when I am stronger. Just now, Fool, I would be alone,' I begged him. I wanted to see neither sympathy nor puzzlement on his face. I prayed he would believe my lie even as I despised myself for the foul thing I had said of Molly. So I kept my eyes closed, and he took his candles and went away.
I lay for a time in the dark, hating myself. It was better this way, I told myself. If ever I returned to her, I could make all right. And if I did not, at least they would not take our child from her. I told myself over and over again I had done the wise thing. But I did not feel wise. I felt traitorous.
I dreamed a dream at once vivid and stultifying. I chipped black stone. That was the entire dream, but it was endless in its monotony. I was using my dagger as a chisel and a rock as a hammer. My fingers were scabbed and swollen from the many times my grip had slipped and I'd struck them instead of the dagger hilt. But it didn't stop me. I chipped black stone. And waited for someone to come and help me.
I awoke one evening to find Kettle sitting by my bed. She looked even older than I recalled. Hazy winter daylight seeped through a parchment window to touch her face. I studied her for a time before she realized I was awake. When she did, she shook her head at me. 'I should have guessed, from all your strangeness. You were bound for the White Prophet yourself.' She leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. 'He will not allow Starling in to see you. He says you are too weak for so lively a visitor. And that you wish no one to know you are here, just yet. But I'll take word of you to her, shall I?'
I closed my eyes.
A time of bright morning and a knock at the door. I could not sleep, nor could I stay awake for the fever that racked me. I had drunk willowbark tea until my belly was sloshing. Still my head pounded, and I was always shivering or sweating. The knock came again, louder, and Kettle set down the cup she had been plaguing me with. The Fool was at his worktable. He put aside his carving tool, but Kettle called 'I'll get it!' and opened the door, even as he was saying, 'No, let me.'
Starling pushed in, so abruptly that Kettle exclaimed in surprise. Starling came past her, into the room,
