do must be done now, tonight.' I paused, tried to decide how best to explain it to her. 'Do you remember when you pledged yourself to Verity?'
'Of course!' She looked at me as if I were crazy.
'He used August, then, a coterie member, to come and stand with you in your mind, to show you his heart. Do you remember that?'
She colored. 'Of course I do. But I did not think anyone else knew exactly what had happened then.'
'Few did.' I looked around, to find Burrich and the Fool following the conversation wide-eyed.
'Verity Skilled to you, through August. He is strong in the Skill. You know that, you know how he guards our coasts with it. It is an ancestral magic, a talent of the Farseer line. Verity inherited it from his father. And I inherited a measure of it from mine.'
'Why are you telling me this?'
'Because I do not believe Verity is dead. King Shrewd used to be strong in the Skill, I am told. That is no longer the case. His illness has stolen it away, as it has stolen so many other things. But if we can persuade him to try, if we can rouse him to the effort, I can offer him my strength to sustain him. He may be able to reach Verity.'
'It will kill him.' The Fool spoke his challenge flatly. 'I have heard of what the Skill takes out of a man. My king has not that left to give.'
'I don't think it will. If we reach Verity, Verity will break it off before it hurts his father. More than once he has drawn back from draining my strength, to be sure of not injuring me.'
'Even a Fool can see the failure of your logic.' The Fool tugged at the cuffs of his fine new shirt. 'If you reach Verity, how will we know it is true, and not a show?'
I opened my mouth in an angry protest, but the Fool held up a forbidding hand. 'Of course, my dear, dear Fitz, we should all believe you, as you are our friend, who has only our very best interests at heart. But there may be a few others prone to doubt your word, or regard you as so selfless.' His sarcasm bit at me like acid, but I managed to stand silent. 'And if you don't reach Verity, what do we have? An exhausted and drained King to be further flaunted about as incapable. A grieving Queen, who must wonder, in addition to all her other pains, if perhaps she grieves for a man who is not dead yet. That is the worst type of grieving there is. No. We gain nothing, even if you succeed, for our belief in you would not be enough to stop the wheels that are already turning. And we have much to lose if you fail. Too much.'
Their eyes were on me. There was question even in Burrich's dark eyes, as if he debated the wisdom of what he had urged me to do. Kettricken stood very still, trying not to pounce on the bare bone of hope that I had thrown at her feet. I wished that I had waited, to talk first with Chade. I suspected I would never have another chance after this night, to have these people in this room, Wallace out of the way, and Regal busy below. It had to be now or it would not be.
I looked at the only one who was not watching me. King Shrewd idly watched the leap and play of the flames in his hearth. 'He is still the King,' I said quietly. 'Let us ask him, and let him decide.'
'Not fair! He is not himself!' The Fool flung himself between us. He stood high on his feet to try to look me in the eye. 'On the herbs fed him, he is as tractable as a plow horse. Ask him to cut his own throat, and he'll wait for you to hand him the knife.'
'No.' The voice quavered. It had lost its timbre and resonance. 'No, my fool, I am not so far gone as that.'
We waited, breathless, but King Shrewd spoke no more. At last I slowly crossed the room. I crouched down beside him, tried to make his eyes meet mine. 'King Shrewd?' I begged.
His eyes came to mine, darted away, came back unwillingly. At last he looked at me.
'Have you heard all we have said? My king, do you believe Verity is dead?'
He parted his lips. His tongue was grayish behind them. He took a long breath. 'Regal told me Verity is dead. He had word…'
'From where?' I asked gently.
He shook his head slowly. 'A messenger… I think.'
I turned to the others. 'It would have to have come by messenger. From the Mountains, for Verity must be there by now. He was nearly to the Mountains when Burrich was sent back. I do not believe a messenger would come all the way from the Mountains, and not stay to convey such news to Kettricken herself.'
'It might have come by relay,' Burrich said unwillingly. 'For one man and one horse, it is too exhausting a trip. A rider would have to exchange horses. Or pass on the word to another rider, who would go on, on a swift horse. The last is most likely.'
'Perhaps. But how long would such word take to come to us all the way from the Mountains? I know Verity was alive on the day Bearns departed here. Because that was when King Shrewd used me to speak to him. That night when I all but fainted on this hearth. That was what had happened, Fool.' I paused. 'I believe I felt him with me during the battle at Neatbay.'
I saw Burrich count back the days in his mind. He shrugged unwillingly. 'It is still possible. If Verity were killed that day, and word were sent out immediately, and the riders and horses were both good… it could be so. Barely.'
'I don't believe it.' I turned to the rest of them, tried to force my hope into them. 'I don't believe Verity is dead.' I turned my eyes up to King Shrewd once more. 'Do you? Do you believe your son could have died, and you not feel anything?'
'Chivalry… went like that. Like a fading whisper. `Father,' he said, I think. Father.'
A silence seeped into the room. I waited, crouched on my heels, for my king's decision. Slowly his hand lifted, as if it had a life of its own. It crossed the small space to me, rested on my shoulder. For a moment; that was all. Just the weight of my king's hand on my shoulder. King Shrewd shifted slightly in his chair. He took a breath through his nostrils. I closed my eyes and we plunged into the black river again. Once more I faced the desperate young man trapped in King Shrewd's dying body. We tumbled together in the sweeping current of the world. 'There's no one here. No one here but us anymore.' Shrewd sounded lonely.
I couldn't find myself. I had no body, no tongue here. He held me under with him in the rush and the roar. I could hardly think at all, let alone remember what little of the Skill lessons I had retained from Galen's harsh instruction. It was like trying to recite a memorized speech while being throttled. I gave up. I gave it all up. Then from somewhere, like a feather floating in a breeze, or a mote dancing in a sunbeam, came Verity's voice telling me, 'Being open is simply not being closed.'
The whole world was a spaceless place, all things inside of all other things. I did not say his name aloud or think of his face. Verity was there, had always been right there, and joining him was effortless. You live!
Of course. But you won't, spilling all over like this. You're pouring out everything you have in one gush. Regulate your strength. Be precise. He steadied me, shaped me back into myself, then gasped in recognition.
Father!
Verity pushed at me roughly. Get back! Let go of him, he hasn't the strength for this. You're draining him, you idiot! Let go!
It was like being repelled, but rougher. When I found myself and opened my eyes, I was sprawled on my side before the fireplace. My face was uncomfortably close to it. I rolled over, groaning, and saw the King. His lips were puffing in and out with each breath, and there was a bluish cast to his skin. Burrich and Kettricken and the Fool were a helpless circle standing about him. 'Do… something!' I gasped up at them.
'What?' demanded the Fool, believing I knew.
I floundered about in my mind, came up with the only remedy I could recall. 'Elfbark,' I croaked. The edges of the room kept turning black. I shut my eyes and listened to them panicking about. Slowly I understood what I had done. I had Skilled.
I had tapped my king's strength to do it.
'You will be the death of kings,' the Fool had told me. A prophecy or a shrewd guess? A Shrewd guess. Tears came to my eyes.
I smelled elfbark tea. Plain strong elfbark, no ginger or mint to disguise it. I pried my eyes open a crack.
'It's too hot!' hissed the Fool.
'It cools quickly in the spoon,' Burrich insisted, and ladled some into the King's mouth. He took it in, but I did
