Fool's Fate (117 page)

    On the fourth night, I worked the lever that opened the door in Nettle's bedchamber. I did not go in and summon her, as Chade had me. Instead, I went halfway down those steep steps and left a candle burning there. Then I went back up and waited.

    The wait seemed to last forever. I do not know which wakened her at last, the light or the draft, but I finally heard her hesitant tread on the stair. I had built up the fire well in the comfortable end of the room.

    She peered round the corner of the concealed door, saw me, but still came in cautious as a cat. She walked slowly past the worktable with the stained scrolls stretched out on it, and more slowly past the work hearth with its racks of tongs and measures and stained pans. She came at last to the chairs by the fireside. She had on a nightgown and a woven shawl across her shoulders. She was shivering.

    “Sit down,” I invited her, and she did, slowly. “This is where I work,” I told her. The kettle was just on the boil and I asked her, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

    “In the middle of the night?”

    “I do a lot of my work in the middle of the night.”

    “Most people sleep then.”

    “I am not like most people.”

    “That's so.” She stood up and studied the items on the mantel above the hearth. There was a carving of the wolf that the Fool had done, and next to it, the memory stone with a similar image turned face out. She touched the handle of the fruit knife embedded there and gave me a puzzled glance. Then she reached up and set her hand to the hilt of Chivalry's sword.

    “You can take it down if you like. It was your grandfather's. Be careful. It's heavy.”

    She took her hand away. “Tell me about him.”

    “I can't.”

    “Is it another secret, then?”

    “No. I can't tell you because I never knew him. He gave me to Burrich when I was five or six. I never saw him, that I can recall. I believe he looked in on me with the Skill from time to time, through Verity's eyes. But I knew nothing of that, then.”

    “It sounds like you and me,” she said slowly.

    “Yes, it does,” I admitted. “Except that I have a chance to know you now. If we are both bold enough to take it.”

    “I'm here,” she pointed out, settling deeper into the chair. And then she fell silent and I could not think of anything to say. Then she pointed at the Fool's carving. “Is that your wolf? Nighteyes?”

    “Yes.”

    She smiled. “He looks exactly like I thought you would. Tell me more about him.”

    And so I did.

    Riddle returned three days later, complaining of bad roads and the cold. A storm had followed him home. I scarcely heard him. I took the little roll of bark paper he offered me and carried it carefully up to my lair before I opened it. At first glance, it looked like a drawing. Then I realized it was a hastily sketched map. There were only a few words on the bottom of the page. “Nettle said you were having a hard time finding your way back to me. Perhaps this will help.”

    A deep wet snow was falling outside Buckkeep Castle. The clouds were heavy; I did not expect it would stop soon. I went to my workroom and stuffed a change of clothing into a saddlebag. I Skilled to Chade, I'll be gone for a while.

    Very well. We can finish working on that scroll translation tonight.

    You misunderstand me. I'll be gone several days at least. I'm going to Molly.

    He hesitated and I could feel how badly he wanted to object. There was too much going on for me to leave. There were translations, the refinement of his powder that I'd been helping him with, and the Calling to arrange. The scrolls cautioned that the people of the kingdom had to be prepared for the Calling, lest parents or friends think those who heard voices in their heads were going mad. Yet it also cautioned that the exact day of the Calling be kept secret, to prevent charlatans from wasting the time of the Skillmaster.

    Irritably I pushed such considerations aside. I waited.

    Go then. And good luck. Have you told Nettle?

    Now it was my turn to hesitate. I've told only you. Do you think I should tell her?

    The things you ask my advice on! Never the ones I hope you'll ask me about, always the ones that...never mind. Yes. Tell her. Only because not telling her might seem deceptive.

    So I reached out to my daughter and said, Nettle. I've had a note from Molly. I'm going to go visit her. And then the obvious occurred to me. Do you want to go along?

    It's storming outside, with worse to come by the look of it. When are you leaving?

    Now.

    It isn't wise.

    I've never been wise. The words echoed oddly in my mind, and I smiled.

    Go then. Dress warmly.

    I shall. Farewell.

    And I went. Myblack was not pleased at being taken from her warm, dry stall to face the storm. It was a cold, wet, and tedious journey. The one inn I stopped at was full of trapped travelers and I had to sleep on the floor near the hearth wrapped in my cloak. The next night, a farmer allowed me to shelter in his barn overnight. The storm did not let up and the journey only became more unpleasant, but I pushed on.

    Luck had it that the snow would stop and the clouds blow clear one valley before I reached Burrich's holding. As I pushed Myblack down the buried road toward the house, the place looked like something out of a tale. Snow was heaped on cottage and stable roof. Smoke curled up from the chimney into the blue sky. A path was already worn between the house and the barns. I pulled in Myblack and sat looking down on it. As I watched, Chivalry opened a barn door and then trundled out a barrow of dirty straw. I whistled to give him warning of a visitor and then rode Myblack down the hill. He stood unmoving, watching me come. In the yard before the house I pulled her in and sat still, trying to think of a greeting. Myblack tugged twice at her bit, and then threw her head back irritably.

    “That horse wants training,” Chivalry observed with disapproval. He came closer, then stopped. “Oh. It's you.”

    “Yes.” The hard words. “May I come in?” He might be barely fifteen, but he was the man of these holdings now.

    “Of course.” But there was no smile with the words. “I'll take your horse for you.”

    “I'd rather put her up myself, if you don't mind. I've neglected her and it shows. I'll need to handle her a lot to undo it.”

    “As you will. This way.”

    I dismounted and glanced toward the cottage, but if anyone inside was aware of me, it did not show. I led Myblack and followed Chivalry into a well-ordered stable. Nimble and Just were mucking out stalls. Steady came in, carrying buckets of water. They all halted at the sight of me. I suddenly felt surrounded and the ghost of a memory floated to the surface of my mind. Nighteyes, standing at the outskirts of the pack's gathering. Wanting to go in, so badly, but knowing that if he approached them the wrong way they would drive him out.

    “I see your father's hands everywhere here,” I said, and it was true. I knew at once that Burrich had built this building to meet his own demands. The stalls were larger than the ones at Buckkeep. When the storm shutters were opened, air and light would flood in. I saw Burrich in the way the brushes were stored and the tack put up. I could almost feel him here. I blinked and came back to myself, suddenly aware of Chivalry watching me.

    “You can put her in there,” he said, gesturing to a stall. They went about their work as I cared for Myblack. I watered her and grained her lightly and left her clean and dry. Chivalry came to look over the door of the stall at her, and I wondered if my work would pass his inspection. “Nice horse,” was all he said.

    “Yes. She was a gift from a friend. The same one who sent Malta to your father when he knew he wouldn't need her anymore.”

    “Now there's a mare!” Chivalry exclaimed, and I followed him down the stalls to look at her. I saw Brusque, a four-year-old stallion out of Ruddy that Chivalry had wanted to use to stud her. And I visited Ruddy. I think the old stallion almost remembered me. He came and rested his head against my shoulder for a time. He was old and getting tired.

    “This will probably be the last foal he sires,” I said quietly. “I think that's why Burrich wanted to use him. One last chance to get that cross of bloodlines. He was a fine stud in his day.”

    “I remember when he first came. Barely. Some woman came down the hill with two horses and just gave them to my father. We didn't even have a barn then, let alone a stable. Papa moved all the wood out of the woodshed that night so the horses wouldn't be left outside.”

    “I'll bet Ruddy was glad to see him.”

    Chivalry gave me a puzzled look.

    “You didn't know Ruddy was your father's horse, long before that? Verity gave him the pick of the two-year-olds. He chose Ruddy. He'd known this horse since the day his dam dropped him. The night the Queen had to flee Buckkeep for her life, Burrich put her on this horse. He carried her all the way to the Mountains. Safely.”

    He was properly amazed. “I didn't know that. Papa didn't talk much about his days at Buckkeep.”

    And so I ended up helping with the mucking out and the feeding before ever I went in to see Molly. I told stories of horses I had known and Chivalry walked me through the barns with pardonable pride. He'd done a good job of keeping it all up and I told him so. He showed me the mare with the infected hoof, sound now, and then I walked through the shed to the milk cow and the dozen chickens.

    By the time Chivalry led me back to the cottage with the lads trooping behind us, I felt I had acquitted myself well with them. “Mother, you've a visitor,” Chivalry called as he pushed open the door. I stamped snow and manure from my feet and followed him in.

    She had known I was out there. Her cheeks were pink and her shortened hair smoothed back. She saw me looking at it and lifted a self-conscious hand to it. In that moment, we were both reminded of why it was shortened and Burrich's shadow stepped between us.

    “Well, chores are done and I'm off to Staffman's,” Chivalry announced before I could even greet her.

    “I want to go, too! I want to see Kip and play with the puppies,” Hearth announced.

    Molly bent down to the boy. “You can't always go with Chivalry when he goes to visit his sweetheart,” she admonished him.

    “He can today,” Chivalry announced abruptly. He gave me a sideways glance, as if making sure I knew he was doing me a vast favor. “I'll put him up behind me; his pony can't deal with this snow. Hurry up and get ready.”

    “Would you like a cup of tea, Fitz? You must be cold.”

    “Actually, there's nothing like stable chores for warming a man after a long ride. But yes, I would.”

    “The boys put you to work in the stable? Oh, Chiv, he's a guest!”

    “He knows his way around a shovel,” Chivalry said, and it was a compliment. Then, “Hurry up, Hearth. I'm not going to wait all day for you.”

    There were a few moments of noisy chaos that seemed necessary for preparing a six-year-old boy to go anywhere, although no one but me was astonished at it. It made the guards' mess seem a calm place by comparison. By the time the two were out of the door, Steady had already retreated to the loft while Just and Nimble had seated themselves at the table. Nimble pretended to be cleaning his nails, while Just stared at me frankly.

    “Fitz, please, sit down. Nimble, move your chair over, make room. Just, I could do with more kindling.”

    “You're just sending me outside to get me out of the way!”

    “How perceptive of you! Now go. Nimble, you may help him. Clear some of the snow from the wood stack, and move some of it into the woodshed to dry.”

    They both went out, but not quietly or graciously. When the door had closed behind them, Molly took a deep breath. She removed a kettle from the fire, poured hot water over spice tea in a large pot and then brought it to the table. She set out cups for us, and a pot of honey. She sat down across from me.

    “Hello,” I said.

    She smiled. “Hello.”

    “I asked Nettle if she wanted to come with me, but she didn't want to ride through the storm.”

    “I can't blame her. And I think it's hard for her to come home, sometimes. Things are far humbler here than at Buckkeep Castle.”

    “You could move to Withywoods. It's yours now, you know.”

    “I know.” A shadow passed over her face and I wished I hadn't mentioned it. “But it would be too many changes, too fast. The boys are still becoming accustomed to the idea that their father is never coming back. And, as you see, Chivalry is courting.”

    “He seems very young for that,” I ventured.

    “He's a young man with a large holding. Another woman in the house would make things much easier for all of us. What should he wait for, if he's found a woman who loves him?” she countered. When I had no answer to that, she added, “If they marry, I don't think Thrift will want to move far from her parents' home. She is very close to her sister.”

    “I see.” And I did. I suddenly saw that Molly was no longer someone's daughter, to be whisked off from her father's house and become mine. She was the center of a world here, with roots and ties.

    “Life is complicated, isn't it?” she said to my silence.

    I looked at her, in her simple, somber-hued robe. Her hands were no longer smooth and slender; there were lines in her face that had not been there when she was mine. Her body had softened and rounded with the years. She was no longer the girl in the red skirts, running down the beach before me.

    “I have never wanted anything so much in my life as I've always wanted you.”

    “Fitz!” she exclaimed, glancing up at the loft, and I suddenly realized I had spoken the words aloud. Her cheeks glowed and she lifted both hands to cover her mouth with her fingertips.

    “I'm sorry,” I said. “I know it's too soon. You've told me that. And I will wait. I'll wait however long you want me to wait. I just want to be sure you know that I am waiting.”

    I saw her swallow. She said huskily, “I don't know how long it will take.”