was not with them. Instead, I thought of Molly.
I must have drowsed, for I saw her. She was toiling up a path, a yoke of water buckets on her shoulders. She looked pale and sick and worn. On top of the hill was a tumbledown cottage, snow banked against its walls. She stopped and set her water buckets down at the door and stood looking out, over the sea. She frowned at the fair weather and the light wind that only tipped the waves with white. The wind lifted her thick hair just as I used to and slid its hand along the curve of her warm neck and jaw. Her eyes went suddenly wide. Then tears brimmed them. 'No,' she said aloud. 'No. I won't think of you anymore. No.' She stooped and lifted the heavy buckets and went into the cottage. She shut the door firmly behind her. The wind blew past it. The roof was poorly thatched. The wind blew harder and I let it carry me away.
I tumbled on it, dove through it, and let it flow my pains away. I thought of diving deeper, down into the main flow of it, where it could sweep me entirely away, right out of myself and all my petty worries. I trailed my hands in that deeper current, swift and heavy as a moving river. It tugged at me.
I'd stand back from that if I were you.
Would you? I let Verity consider my situation for a moment.
Perhaps not, he replied grimly. Something like a sigh. I should have guessed at how bad it was. It seems it takes great pain, or illness, or extreme duress of some kind to break down your walls so you can Skill. He paused long and we were both silent, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. So. My father is dead. Justin and Serene. I should have guessed somehow. His weariness and dwindling strength; those are the hallmarks of a King's Man, drained too low too often. I suspect it had been going on long, probably since before Galen… died. Only he could have conceived such a thing, let alone devised a way to do it. What a loathsome way to use the Skill. And they spied upon us?
Yes. I do not know how much they learned. And there is another to fear. Will.
Damn me thrice for a fool. Look at it, Fitz. We should have known. The ships worked so well for us at first, and then, as soon as they knew what we were up to, you and I, they found ways to block us. The coterie has been in Regal's pocket since they were formed. Thus we have delayed messages, or messages not delivered. Help always sent too late, or never sent at all. He is as full of hate as a tick is full of blood. And he has won.
Not quite, my king. I reined my mind back from thinking of Kettricken safely on her way to the Mountains. Instead, I repeated, There is still Will. And Burl and Carrod. We must be circumspect, my. prince.
A shade of warmth. l shall. But you know the depths of my thanks. Perhaps we paid highly, but what we bought was worth it. To me, at least.
To me, also. I sensed the weariness in him, and the resignation. Are you giving up?
Not yet. But like yours, my future does not seem promising. The others are all dead or fled, I will go on. But I don't know how much farther I must go. Or what I must do when I get there. And I am so very tired. To give in would be so easy.
Verity read me with ease, I knew. But I had to reach for him and for all he was not conveying to me. I sensed the great cold that surrounded him, and an injury that made it painful to breathe. His aloneness, and the pain of knowing that those who had died had died so far from home, and for him. Hod, I thought, my own grief echoing his. Charim. Gone forever. And something else, something he could not quite convey. A temptation, a teetering at the brink. A pressure, a plucking, very similar to the Skillish plucking I had felt from Serene and Justin. I tried to push past him, to look at it more closely, but he held me back.
Some dangers become more dangerous when confronted, he warned me. This is one of them. But I am sure it is the path I must follow, if I am to find the Elderlings.
'Prisoner!'
I jolted out of my trance. A key turned in the lock of my door and it swung open. A girl stood in the doorway. Regal was beside her, one hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Two guards, Inlanders both by the cut of their clothes, flanked them. One leaned forward to thrust a torch into my cell. I cowered back inadvertently, then sat blinking in the unaccustomed light. 'Is that him?' Regal asked the girl gently. She peered at me fearfully. I peered back, trying to decide why she looked familiar.
'Yes, sir, Lord Prince, King, sir. That's him. I went to the well that morning, had to, had to have water, or the baby would die, just as sure as if the Raiders killed him. And it had been quiet awhile, all Neatbay as quiet as the dead. So I went to the well in the early morning, creeping like through the mist, sir. Then there was this wolf there, right by the well, and he starts up and stares at me. And the wind moves the mist, and the wolf is gone, he's a man now. That man, sir. Your Majesty King.' She continued to stare at me wide-eyed.
I recalled her now. The morning after the battle for Neatbay and Bayguard. Nighteyes and I had paused to rest by the well. I recalled how he had jostled me awake as he fled at the girl's approach.
'You're a brave girl,' Regal praised her, and patted her shoulder again. 'Here, guard, take her back above to the kitchens, and see she gets a good meal and a bed somewhere. No, leave me the torch.' They backed out of the door, and the guard shut it firmly behind him. I heard departing footsteps, but the light outside the door stayed. After the footsteps had dwindled, Regal spoke again.
'Well, Bastard, it looks as if this game is played out. Your champions will abandon you fairly quickly, I suspect, once they understand what you are. There are other witnesses, of course. Ones who will speak of how there were wolf tracks and men dead of bites everywhere you fought at Neatbay. There are even some of our own Buckkeep guard who, when put to oath, must admit that when you have fought Forged ones, some of the bodies have borne the marks of teeth and claws.' He heaved a great sigh of satisfaction. I heard the sounds of him setting the torch into a wall sconce. He came back to the door. He was just tall enough to peer in at me. Childishly I stood, and approached the door to look down at him. He stepped back. I felt petty satisfaction.
It had tweaked his temper. 'You were so gullible. Such a fool. You came limping home from the Mountains with your tail between your legs, and thought that Verity's favor would be all you needed to survive. You and all your foolish plottings. I knew of them all. All of them, Bastard. All your little chats with our queen, the tower- garden bribes to turn Brawndy against me. Even her plans to leave Buckkeep. Take warm things, you told her. The King will go with you.' He stood on tiptoe to be sure I could see his smile. 'She left with neither, Bastard. Not the King, nor the warm things she had packed.' He paused. 'Not even a horse.' His voice caressed the last words as if he had been saving them for a long time. He watched my face avidly.
I suddenly knew myself for nine kinds of a fool. Rosemary. Sweet, sleepy child, always nodding off in a corner. So bright one could trust her with any errand. So young one forgot she was even there. Yet I should have known. I was no older when Chade had first begun to teach me my trade. I felt ill, and it must have shown on my face. I could not recall what I had or had not said in front of her. I had no way of knowing what secrets Kettricken had confided over that little dark curly head. What talks with Verity had she witnessed, what chats with Patience? The Queen and the Fool were missing. That only I knew for certain. Had they ever gotten out of Buckkeep alive? Regal was grinning, well satisfied with himself. The barred door between us was the only thing that kept my promise to Shrewd intact.
He left, still grinning.
Regal had his proof that I had the Wit. The Neatbay girl was the binding knot for that. All that remained now was for him to torture from me a confession that I had killed Shrewd. He had plenty of time for that. However much time as it would take, he had.
I sank down onto the floor. Verity had been right. Regal had won.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE. Torture
BUT NOTHING WOULD satisfy the Willful Princess but that she rode the Piebald Stallion to the hunt. All her ladies warned her, but she turned aside her head and would not hear them. All the lords warned her, but she scoffed at their fears. Even the stablemaster sought to say her nay, telling her, 'Lady Princess, the stallion should be put down in blood and fire, for he was trained by Sly o' the Wit, and only to him is he true!' Then the Willful Princess grew wroth and said, 'Are these not my stables and my horses, and may I not choose which of my beasts I shall ride?' Then all grew silent before her temper, and she ordered the Piebald Stallion saddled for the hunt.
