faltered to a halt. 'We have already had a sprinkling of rumors, because she came here seeking you. Or so the gossip was. I have crushed it, assuring everyone that Molly came to me because she was facing difficulties and her mother had been a tiring woman to Lady Heather during the time of Queen Constance's court. Which is true, and hence she does have the right to seek me out, for was not Lady Heather a friend to me when first I came to Buckkeep?'
'Did you know Molly's mother?' I asked curiously.
'Not really. She had left, to marry a chandler, before I came to Buckkeep. But I did know Lady Heather, and she was kind to me.' She dismissed my question.
'But couldn't I come to your chambers, and speak to her there, privately, and—'
'I will not have a scandal!' she declared firmly. 'I will not tempt a scandal. Fitz, you have enemies at court. I will not let Molly become their victim for their aims of hurting you. There. Have I spoken plainly enough at last?'
She had spoken plainly, and of things I had believed her ignorant. How much did she know of my enemies? Did she think it merely social? Though that would be enough at court. I thought of Regal, and his sly witticisms, and how he could turn and speak softly to his hangers-on at a feast and all would smirk to one another and add soft-voiced comments to the Prince's criticism. I thought how I would have to kill him.
'By the set of your jaw, I see you understand.' Patience arose, setting her teacup on the table. 'Lacey. I believe we should leave FitzChivalry to rest now.'
'Please, at least tell her not to be angry with me,' I begged. 'Tell her I wasn't drunk last night. Tell her I never meant to deceive her, or to cause her any harm.'
'I will carry no such message! Nor shall you, Lacey! Don't think I didn't see that wink. Both of you, I insist that you will be decorous. Remember this, FitzChivalry. You do not know Molly. Mistress Chandler. She does not know you. It is how it must be. Now come, Lacey. FitzChivalry, I expect you to get some rest tonight.'
They left me. Although I tried to catch Lacey's eyes and win her alliance, she refused to glance at me. The door closed behind them and I leaned back on my pillows. I tried not to let my mind rattle against the restrictions Patience had set upon me. Annoying as it was, she was right. I could only hope that Molly would see my behavior as thoughtless rather than deceitful or conniving.
I arose from my bed and went to poke at the fire. Then I sat on the hearth and looked about my chamber. After my months in the Mountain Kingdom, it seemed a bleak place indeed. The closest my chamber came to decoration was a rather dusty tapestry of King Wisdom befriending the Elderlings. It had come with the chamber, as had the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I stared up at the tapestry critically. It was old and moth-eaten; I could see why it had been banished to here. When I had been younger, it had given me nightmares. Woven in an old style, King Wisdom appeared strangely elongated, while the Elderlings bore no resemblance to any creatures I had ever seen. There was a suggestion of wings on their bulging shoulders. Or perhaps that was meant to be a halo of light surrounding them. I leaned back on the hearth to consider them.
I dozed. I awakened to a draft on my shoulder. The secret door beside the hearth that led up to Chade's domain was wide-open and beckoning. I arose stiffly, stretched, and went up the stone stairs. Thus had I first gone, so long ago, clad then as I was now in just my nightshirt. I had followed a frightening old man with a pocked visage and eyes sharp and bright as a raven's. He had offered to teach me to kill people. He had also offered, wordlessly, to be my friend. I had accepted both offers.
The stone steps were cold. Here there were still cobwebs and dust and soot above the sconces on the walls. So the housecleaning hadn't extended to this staircase. Nor to Chade's quarters. They were as chaotic, disreputable, and comfortable as ever. At one end of his chamber was his working hearth, bare stone floors and an immense table. The usual clutter overflowed it: mortars and pestles, sticky dishes of meat scraps for Slink the weasel, pots of dried herbs, tablets and scrolls, spoons and tongs, and a blackened kettle, still sending a reeking smoke curling into the chamber.
But Chade was not there. No, he was at the other end of the chamber, where a fatly cushioned chair faced a hearth with a dancing fire. Carpets overlay one another over the floor there, and an elegantly carved table held a glass bowl of fall apples and a decanter of summer wine. Chade was ensconced in the chair, a partially unrolled scroll held to the light as he read it. Did he hold it farther from his nose than once he had, and were his spare arms more desiccated? I wondered if he had aged in the months I had been away, or if I had simply not noticed before. His gray woolen robe looked as well-worn as ever, and his long gray hair overlay its shoulders and seemed the same color. As always, I stood silent until he deigned to look up and recognize my presence. Some things changed, but some things did not.
He finally lowered the scroll and looked my way. He had green eyes, and their lightness was always surprising in his Farseer face. Despite the poxlike scars that stippled his face and arms, his bastard bloodlines were almost as plain-marked as mine. I suppose I could have claimed his as a great-uncle, but our apprentice- to-master relationship was closer than a blood tie. He looked me over and I self-consciously stood straighter under his scrutiny. His voice was grave as he commanded, 'Boy, come into the light.'
I advanced a dozen steps and stood apprehensively. He studied me as intently as he had studied the scroll. 'Were we ambitious traitors, you and I, we would make sure folk marked your resemblance to Chivalry. I could teach you to stand as he stood; you already walk as he did. I could show you how to add lines to your face to make you appear older. You have most of his height. You could learn his catchphrases, and the way he laughed. Slowly, we could gather power, in quiet ways, with none even recognizing what they were conceding. And one day, we could step up and take power.'
He paused.
Slowly I shook my head. Then we both smiled, and I came to sit on the hearthstones by his feet. The warmth of the fire on my back felt good.
'It's my trade, I suppose.' He sighed and took a sip of his wine. 'I have to think of these things, for I know that others will. One day, sooner or later, some petty noble will believe it an original idea and approach you with it. Wait and see if I am not right.'
'I pray you are wrong. I have had enough of intrigues, Chade, and not fared as well at that game as I had expected to.
'You did not do badly, with the hand you were dealt. You survived.' He looked past me into the fire. A question hung between us, almost palpably. Why had King Shrewd revealed to Prince Regal that I was his trained assassin? Why had he put me in the position of reporting to and taking orders from a man who wished me dead? Had he traded me away to Regal, to distract him from his other discontents? And if I had been a sacrificial pawn, was I still being dangled as bait and a distraction to the younger Prince? I think not even Chade could have answered all my questions, and to ask any of them would have been blackest betrayal of what we were both sworn to be: King's Men. Both of us long ago had given our lives into Shrewd's keeping, for the protection of the royal family. It was not for us to question how he chose to spend us. That way lay treason.
So Chade lifted the summer wine and filled a waiting glass for me. For a brief time we conversed of things that were of no import to any save us, and all the more precious for that. I asked after Slink the weasel, and he haltingly offered sympathy over Nosy's death. He asked a question or two that let me know he was privy to everything I had reported to Verity, and a lot of stable gossip as well. I was filled in on the minor gossip of the Keep, and all the doings I had missed among the lesser folk while I was gone. But when I asked him what he thought of Kettricken, our queen-in-waiting, his face grew grave.
'She faces a difficult path. She comes to a Queenless court, where she herself is and yet is not the Queen. She comes in a time of hardship, to a kingdom facing both raiders and civil unrest. But most difficult for her is that she comes to a court that does not understand her concept of royalty. She has been besieged with feasts and gatherings in her honor. She is used to walking out among her own people, to tending her own gardens and looms and forge, to solving disputes and sacrificing herself to spare her people hardship. Here, she finds, her society is solely the nobility, the privileged, the wealthy. She does not understand the consumption of wine and exotic foods, the display of costly fabrics in dress, the flaunting of jewels that are the purpose of these gatherings. And so she does not `show well.' She is a handsome woman, in her way. But she is too big, too heartily muscled, too fair amongst the Buckkeep women. She is like a charger stabled among hunters. Her heart is good, but I do not know if she will be sufficient to the task, boy. In truth, I pity her. She came here alone, you know. Those few who accompanied her here have long since returned to the Mountains. So she is very alone here, despite those who court her favor.'
