Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (89 page)

Chade's timing was slightly off. The candles did
not seriously begin to flicker blue until the Dukes were wending
their ways forward to pledge once more to House Farseer. Regal
tried to ignore this phenomenon, until the muttering of the folk
threatened to drown out Duke Ram of Tilth's oath. Then Regal turned
and casually pinched out the offending candle. I admired his
aplomb, especially when a second candle almost immediately went
blue, and he repeated the gesture. I myself thought it was a bit
too much of a portent when a torch set in a sconce by the main door
suddenly whooshed out a blue flame and a foul stench before it
guttered dark. All eyes had turned to watch it. Regal waited it
out, but I saw the clench of his jaw and the tiny vein that
throbbed on his temple.

I do not know how he had planned to end his
ceremony, but he brought it to a rather abrupt close after that. At
his curt signal, minstrels struck up abruptly, while at another nod
the doors opened and men bore in table boards already laden, while
boys hastened after them with the trestles to set them upon. At
least for this feast he had spared nothing, and the well-prepared
meats and pastries were welcomed by all. If there seemed to be
something of a shortage of bread, no one thought to complain of it.
Cloths and tables had been set in the Lesser Hall for the grand
folk, and thither I saw Kettricken slowly escorting King Shrewd
while the Fool and Rosemary trailed after them. For those of us
with lesser rank, there were simpler but plentiful foods to hand
and a cleared floor for dancing.

I had planned to make myself a hearty meal at
the feasting, but again and again I was accosted by men who clapped
my shoulder too firmly or women who met my eyes too knowingly. The
Coastal Dukes were at table with the other high nobles, ostensibly
breaking bread with Regal and cementing their new relationship to
him. I had been told that all three Coastal Dukes would know I
concurred with their plan. It was unnerving to find evidence that
this was known among the lesser nobility as well. Celerity made no
overt claim upon me as escort, but made me nervously aware of
myself by following me about as mutely as a hound. I could not turn
but I found her a half-dozen steps away. Plainly she wished me to
speak to her, but I did not trust my wits to find suitable words. I
almost broke when a lesser noble from Shoaks casually asked me if I
thought any of the warships would be harbored as far south as False
Bay.

With a sinking heart, I suddenly realized my
error. None of them feared Regal. They saw no danger, only a
spoiled popinjay of a boy who wished to wear fine clothes and a
circlet and claim a title to himself. They believed he would go
away and they could ignore him. I knew better.

I knew what Regal was capable of, in search of
power, or on a whim, or simply because he believed he could get
away with it. He would leave Buckkeep. He did not want it. But if
he thought I did, he would do everything within his power to see
that I did not get it. I was supposed to be dumped here, like a
stray, left to starve or be raided. Not ascend to power on the
wreckage he had left.

If I were not very careful, they would get me
killed. Or worse, if there was anything Regal could devise that he
saw as worse.

Twice I tried to slip away, and each time was
cornered by someone who wanted a quiet moment of talk with me. I
finally pleaded a headache and openly announced I was seeking my
bed. Then I must be resigned to at least a dozen folk hastening to
wish me good night before I retired. Just as I thought I was free
Celerity touched a shy hand to mine and wished me good night in
such a dispirited voice that I knew that I had hurt her feelings.
That, I think, rattled me more than anything else that evening. I
thanked her and, in my most cowardly act of that night, dared to
kiss her fingertips. The resurgence of light in her eyes shamed me.
I fled up the stairs. As I climbed them I wondered how Verity had
ever stood this sort of thing, or my father. If I had ever thought
or dreamed of being a real Prince instead of a bastard, I abandoned
the dream that night. It was entirely too public a profession. With
a sinking heart, I realized that this was how life would be for me
until Verity returned. The illusion of power clung to me now, and
too many would be dazzled by it.

I went to my own chamber and, with great relief,
changed into sensible clothes. As I tugged on my shirt I felt the
tiny bulge of Wallace's poison, still sewn into my cuff. Perhaps, I
reflected bitterly, it would bring me luck. I left my room and then
committed possibly my most foolish act of the evening. I went up to
Molly's chamber. The servants' hall was empty, the corridor but
dimly lit with two wavering torches. I tapped at her door. There
was no reply. I tried the latch softly, but it was not fastened.
The door swung open at my touch.

Darkness. Emptiness. The small hearth held no
fire. I found a bit of a candle and kindled it at a torch. Then I
went back in her room and shut the door. I stood there while the
devastation finally became real. It was all too Molly. The stripped
bed, the hearth swept clean, but with a small stack of wood set
ready for a fire for the next resident: Those were the touches that
told me she had tidied herself out of the room. Not a ribbon, not a
taper, not even a scrap of wicking remained of the woman who had
lived a servant's life here. The ewer set upside down in the basin
to keep the dust out. I sat in her chair before the cold hearth, I
opened her clothing chest and peered within. But it was not her
chair, or hearth, or chest. These were just objects she had touched
in the brief time she had been here.

Molly was gone.

She wasn't coming back.

I had held myself together by refusing to think
of her. This empty room jerked the blindfold from my eyes. I looked
into myself and despised what I saw. I wished I could call back the
kiss I had placed on Celerity's fingertips. Balm for a girl's
wounded pride, or the lure to bind her and her father to me? I no
longer knew which it had been. Neither could be justified. Both
were wrong, if I believed at all in the love I had pledged to
Molly. That one act was proof I was guilty of all she had charged
me with. I would always put the Farseers ahead of her. I had
dangled marriage before Molly like bait, left her with no pride in
herself nor belief in me. She had hurt me by leaving me. What she
could not leave behind was what I had done to her belief in
herself. That she must carry with her forever, a belief that she
had been tricked and used by a selfish lying boy who lacked even
the courage to fight for her.

Can desolation be a source of courage? Or was it
merely recklessness and a desire for self-destruction? I went
boldly back downstairs and went directly to the King's chambers.
The torches in the wall sconces outside his door annoyed me by
spitting blue sparks as I passed. A little too dramatic, Chade. I
wondered if he had treated every candle and torch in the Keep. I
pushed the hanging curtain aside and entered. No one was there. Not
in the sitting room, not even in the King's bedchamber. The place
had a threadbare look to it, with all the best things taken away
and carted off upriver. It reminded me of a room in a mediocre inn.
Nothing left here was worth stealing, or Regal would have left a
guard on the door. In a strange way, it reminded me of Molly's
room. Here there were objects left, bedding, garments, and the
like. But this was no longer my king's room. I went and stood by a
table, in the exact spot where I had stood as a young boy. Here,
while Shrewd breakfasted, he had quizzed me astutely on my lessons
each week, and made me aware, every time he spoke to me, that if I
was his subject, he was also my king. That man was gone, stripped
from this room. The clutter of an active man, the boot trees, the
blades, the scatter of scrolls had been replaced with censers for
burning herbs and sticky cups of drug tea. King Shrewd had left
this room a long time ago. Tonight I would take away a sick old
man.

I heard footsteps and cursed myself for my
clumsiness. I slipped behind a hanging and stood motionless. I
heard the murmur of voices from the sitting room. Wallace. That
mocking reply would be the Fool. I ghosted from my hiding place to
stand just inside the bedchamber and peer through the make shift
curtain. Kettricken sat on the couch beside the King, talking with
him softly. She looked weary. Dark circles smudged beneath her
eyes, but she smiled for the King. I was pleased to hear him murmur
a reply to whatever she had asked him. Wallace crouched on the
hearth, adding sticks of wood to the fire with excessive care. On
the other side of the hearth, Rosemary had collapsed in a heap, her
new dress bunched up about her. As I watched she yawned sleepily,
then heaved a sigh and straightened herself up. I pitied her. The
long ceremony had left me feeling exactly the same way. The Fool
stood behind the King's chair. He suddenly turned and stared
directly at me, as if the curtain were no barrier at all. I could
see no one else in the room.

The Fool turned abruptly back to Wallace. Yes,
blow, Sir Wallace, blow well and hot. Perchance we shall not need
the fire at all, with the warmth of your breath to drive the chill
from the room.

Wallace did not rise from his crouch, but turned
to glare at the Fool over his shoulder. Bring me some wood, would
you? Not a stick of this will catch. The flame runs along it well,
but the wood does not burn. I need hot water if I am to make the
King his sleeping tea.

Would I bring wood? Wood? Would I? Wooden am I
not, fair Wallace. Nor would I burn, no matter how closely you
huffed and puffed upon me. Guards! Ho, guards! Enter, and bring
with you wood, if you would! The Fool leaped up from his place
behind the King and capered to the door, where he made a great show
of attempting to treat the curtain as if it were a proper door. At
last he thrust his head out into the hall and called loudly again
for the guards. He drew his head back in after a moment and
returned to the room with a dejected air. No guards, no wood. Poor
Wallace. He gravely studied the man. Wallace was on his hands and
knees, poking angrily at the fire. Perhaps were you to turn, bow to
stern, and blow thus upon the fire, the flames might dance more
merrily for you. Fore to aft, to create a draft, brave
Wallace.

One of the candles that lit the room suddenly
spat blue sparks. All, even the Fool, flinched to its hissing,
while Wallace lumbered to his feet. I would not have thought him a
superstitious man, but there was a brief wildness in his eyes that
spoke well of how little he liked this omen. The fire simply will
not burn, he announced, and then as if realizing the significance
of what he said, he paused, mouth agape.

We are witched, said the Fool benignly. On the
hearth, little Rosemary drew her knees up under her chin and looked
about with round eyes. All trace of sleepiness was gone from
her.

Why are there no guards? Wallace demanded
angrily. He strode to the door of the room and peered out into the
hallway. The torches burn blue, every one of them! he gasped. He
drew his head back in, looked about wildly. Rosemary. Run and fetch
the guards. They said they would follow us shortly.

Rosemary shook her head and refused to budge.
She hugged her knees tightly.

Guards would follow us? Wood follow us? Followed
by wood? Now that's a knotty subject! Would wooden guards
burn?

Stop your nattering! Wallace snapped at the
Fool. Go fetch the guards.

Go fetch? First he thinks I am wood, now that I
am his little pet dog. Ah! Go fetch the wood; the stick you mean.
Where's the stick? And the Fool began to bark like a feist and
frolic about the room as if in search of a thrown stick.

Go fetch the guards! Wallace all but
howled.

The Queen spoke firmly. Fool. Wallace. Enough.
You weary us with your antics, and Wallace, you are frightening
Rosemary. Go and fetch the guards yourself, if you are so set on
having them here. As for me, I would have a little peace. I am
weary. Soon I must retire.

My queen, there is something ill afoot this
night, Wallace insisted. He glanced about him warily. I am not a
man swayed by chance omens, but of late there have been too many to
ignore. I shall go fetch the guards, since the Fool here lacks the
courage-

He clamors and weeps for the guards to come
guard him from wood that will not burn, but I, I am the one who
lacks courage? Ah, me!

Fool, peace, please! The Queen's plea seemed
genuine. Wallace. Go bring, not guards, but simply different wood.
Our king wishes not this commotion, but simply rest. Go now.
Go.

Wallace hovered at the door, plainly reluctant
to brave the blue light of the corridor alone.

The Fool simpered at him. Shall I come with, to
hold your hand, brave Wallace?

That at last sent him striding from the room. As
his footsteps faded, the Fool once more looked toward my hiding
place, his invitation plain. My queen, I said softly, and a quickly
indrawn breath was the only sign that I startled her as I stepped
out of the King's bedchamber. If you wished to retire, the Fool and
I could see the King to his bed. I know you are weary and that you
wished to rest early this night. From the hearth, Rosemary regarded
me with round eyes.

Perhaps I shall, said Kettricken, rising with
surprising alacrity. Come, Rosemary. Good night, my
king.