hearth. He leaned forward to rub his bad knee.
'Don't come in here when you're drunk,' Molly told him flatly.
'I know that's how you feel. I was drunk yesterday. I had a bit, earlier today, but I'm not drunk. Not now. Now I'm just … tired. Very tired.' He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
'You can't even sit up straight.' I could hear the anger rising in Molly's voice. 'You don't even know when you're drunk.'
Burrich looked up at her wearily. 'Perhaps you're right,' he conceded, shocking me. He sighed. 'I'll go,' he told her. He rose, wincing as he put weight on his leg, and Molly felt a pang of guilt. He was still cold, and the shed where he slept at night was drafty and damp. But he'd brought it on himself. He knew how she felt about drunkards. Let a man have a drink or two, that was fine, she had a cup herself now and then, but to come staggering home like this and try to tell her …
'Can I see the baby for a moment?' Burrich asked softly. He had paused at the door. I saw something in his eyes, something Molly did not know him well enough to recognize, and it cut me to the bone. He grieved.
'She's right there, on the bed. I just got her to sleep,' Molly pointed out briskly.
'Can I hold her … just for a minute?'
'No. You're drunk and you're cold. If you touch her, she'll wake up. You know that. Why do you want to do that?'
Something in Burrich's face crumpled. His voice was hoarse as he said, 'Because Fitz is dead, and she's all I have left of him or his father. And sometimes …' He lifted a wind-roughened hand to rub his face. 'Sometimes it seems as if it's all my fault.' His voice went very soft on those words. 'I should never have let them take him from me. When he was a boy. When they first wanted to move him up to the keep, if I'd put him on a horse behind me and gone to Chivalry, maybe they'd both still be alive. I thought of that. I nearly did it. He didn't want to leave me, you know, and I made him. I nearly took him back to Chivalry instead. But I didn't. I let them have him, and they used him.'
I felt the trembling that ran suddenly through Molly. Tears stung suddenly at her own eyes. She defended herself with anger. 'Damn you, he's been dead for months. Don't try to get around me with drunkard's tears.'
'I know,' Burrich said. 'I know. He's dead.' He took a sudden deep breath, and straightened himself in that old familiar way. I saw him fold up his pains and weakness and hide them deep inside himself. I wanted to reach out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. But that was truly me and not Molly. He started for the door, and then paused. 'Oh. I have something.' He fumbled inside his shirt. 'This was his. I … took it from his body, after he died. You should keep it for her, so she has something of her father's. He had this from King Shrewd.'
My heart turned over in my chest as Burrich stretched out his hand. There on his palm was my pin, with the ruby nestled in the silver. Molly just looked at it. Her lips were set in a flat line. Anger, or tight control of whatever she felt. So harsh a control even she did not know what she hid from. When she did not move toward him, Burrich set it carefully on the table.
It all came together for me suddenly. He'd gone up to the shepherd's cabin, to try again to find me, to tell me I had a daughter. Instead, what had he found? A decayed body, probably not much more than bones by now, wearing my shirt with the pin still thrust safely into the lapel. The Forged boy had been dark haired, about my height and age.
Burrich believed I was dead. Really and truly dead. And he mourned me.
Burrich. Burrich, please, I'm not dead. Burrich, Burrich!
I rattled and raged around him, battering at him with every bit of my Skill-sense, but as always, I could not reach him. I came suddenly awake trembling and clutching at myself, feeling as if I were a ghost. He'd probably already gone to Chade. They'd both think me dead. A strange dread filled me at that thought. It seemed terribly unlucky to have all of one's friends believe one to be dead.
I rubbed gently at my temples, feeling the beginning of a Skill-headache. A moment later I realized my defenses were down, that I'd been Skilling as fiercely as I was able toward Burrich. I slammed my walls up and then curled up shivering in the dusk. Will hadn't stumbled onto my Skilling that time, but I could not afford to be so careless. Even if my friends believed me dead, my enemies knew better. I must keep those walls up, must never take a chance of letting Will into my head. The new pain of the headache pounded at me, but I was too weary to get up and make tea. Besides, I had no elfbark, only the Tradeford woman's untried seeds. I drank the rest of Bolt's brandy instead, and went back to sleep. At the edge of awareness, I dreamed of wolves running. I know you live. I shall come to you if you need me. You need but ask. The reaching was tentative but true. I clung to the thought like a friendly hand as sleep claimed me.
In the days that followed, I walked to Blue Lake. I walked through wind carrying scouring sand in it. The scenery was rocks and scree, crackly brush with leathery leaves, low-growing fat-leaved succulents and far ahead, the great lake itself. At first the trail was no more than a scarring in the crusty surface of the plain, the cuts of hooves and the long ridges of the wagon paths fading in the ever-present cold wind. But as I drew closer to the lake, the land gradually became greener and gentler. The trail became more of a road. Rain began to fall with the wind, hard pattering rain that pelted its way through my clothes. I never felt completely dry.
I tried to avoid contact with the folk that traveled the road. There was no hiding from them in that flat country, but I did my best to look uninteresting and forbidding. Hard-riding messengers passed me on that trail, some headed toward Blue Lake, others back toward Tradeford. They did not pause for me, but that was small comfort. Sooner or later, someone was going to find five unburied King's Guards and wonder at that. And the tale of how the Bastard had been captured right in their midst would be too juicy a gossip for Creece or Starling to forbear telling. The closer I got to Blue Lake, the more folk were on the road, and I dared to hope I blended in with other travelers. For in the rich grassy pasturelands, there were holdings and even small settlements. One could see them from a great distance, the tiny hummock of a house and the wisp of smoke rising from a chimney. The land began to have more moisture in it, and brush gave way to bushes and trees. Soon I was passing orchards and then pastures with milk cows, and chickens scratching in the dirt by the side of the road. Finally I came to the town that shared the name of the lake itself.
Beyond Blue Lake was another stretch of flat land, and then the foothills. Beyond them, the Mountain Kingdom. And somewhere beyond the Mountain Kingdom was Verity.
It was a little unsettling when I considered how long it had taken me to come this far afoot compared to the first time when I had traveled with a royal caravan to claim Kettricken as bride for Verity. Out on the coast, summer was over and the wind of the winter storms had begun their lashing. Even here, it would not be long before the harsh cold of an inland winter seized the plains in the grip of the winter blizzards. While up in the Mountains, I supposed the snow had already begun to fall in the highest stretches. It would be deep before I reached the Mountains, and I did not know what conditions I would face as I traveled up into the heights to find Verity in the lands beyond. I did not truly know if he still lived; he had spent much strength helping me win free of Regal. Yet Come to me, come to me seemed to echo with the beating of my heart, and I caught myself keeping step to that rhythm. I would find Verity or his bones. But I knew I would not truly belong to myself again until I had done so.
Blue Lake town seems a larger city than it is because it sprawls so. I saw few dwellings of more than one story. Most were low, long houses, with more wings added to the building as sons and daughters married and brought spouses home. Timber was plentiful on the other side of Blue Lake, so the poorer houses were of mud brick while those of veteran traders and fishers were of cedar plank roofed with wide shingles. Most of the houses were painted white or gray or a light blue, which made the structures seem even larger. Many had windows with thick, whorled panes of glass in them. But I walked past them and went to where I always felt more at home.
The waterfront was both like and unlike a seaport town's. There were no high and low tides to contend with, only storm driven waves, so many more houses and businesses were built out on pilings quite a way into the lake itself. Some fisherfolk were able to tie up literally at their own doorsteps, and others delivered their catch to a back door so that the fish merchant might sell it out the front. It seemed strange to smell water without salt or iodine riding the wind; to me the lake air smelled greenish and mossy. The gulls were different, with black-tipped wings, but in all other ways as greedy and thieving as any gulls I'd ever known. There were also entirely too many guardsmen for my liking. They prowled about like trapped cats in Farrow's gold-and-brown livery. I did not look in their faces, nor give them reason to notice me.
I had a total of fifteen silvers and twelve coppers, the sum of my funds and what Bolt had been carrying in his own purse. Some of the coins were a style I did not recognize, but their weight felt good in my hand. I assumed
