Assassin's Apprentice

I bowed my head, miserable, but I did eat, and the elfbark in the tea worked to revive me faster than I had expected. Soon I could stand, to stack the dishes on the tray and then to carry them to the door. I felt defeated. I lifted the latch.

"FitzChivalry Farseer."

I halted, frozen by the words. I turned slowly.

"It's your name, boy. I wrote it myself, in the military log, on the day you were brought to me. Another thing I had thought you knew. Stop thinking of yourself as the bastard, FitzChivalry Farseer. And be sure that you see Shrewd today."

"Good-bye," I said quietly, but he was already staring out the window again.

And so high summer found us all. Chade at his tablets, Verity at his window, Regal courting a princess for his brother, and I, quietly killing for my king. The Inland and Coastal Dukes took sides at the council tables, hissing and spitting at one another like cats over fish. And atop it all was Shrewd, keeping each piece of web as taut as any spider, and alert to the least thrumming of a line. The Red-Ships struck at us, like ratfish on beef bait, tearing away bits of our folk and Forging them. And the Forged folk became a torment to the land, beggars or predators or burden to their families. Folk feared to fish, to trade, or to farm the river-mouth plains by the sea. And yet the taxes must be raised, to feed the soldiers and the watchers who seemed unable to defend the land despite their growing numbers. Shrewd had grudgingly released me from my service to Verity. My king had not called for me in over a month when one morning I was abruptly summoned to breakfast.

"It's a poor time to wed," Verity objected. I looked at the sallow, fleshless man who shared the King's breakfast table and wondered if this was the bluff, hearty prince from my childhood. He had worsened so much in just a month. He toyed with a bit of bread, set it down again. The outdoors had gone from his cheeks and eyes; his hair was dull, his musculature slack. The whites of his eyes were yellowed. Burrich would have wormed him if he'd been a hound.

Unasked, I said, "I hunted with Leon two days ago. He took a rabbit for me."

Verity turned to me, a ghost of his old smile playing on his face. "You took my wolfhound for rabbits?"

"He enjoyed it. He misses you, though. He brought me the rabbit, and I praised him, but it didn't seem to satisfy him." I couldn't tell him how the hound had looked at me, not for you as plain in his eyes as in his bearing.

Verity picked up his glass. His hand quivered ever so slightly. "I am glad he gets out with you, boy. It's better than-"

"The wedding," Shrewd cut in, "will hearten the people. I am getting old, Verity, and the times are troubled. The people see no end to their troubles, and I do not dare promise them solutions we do not have. The Outislanders are right, Verity. We are not the warriors who once settled here. We have become a settled people. And a settled people can be threatened in ways that nomads and rovers have no care for. And we can be destroyed in those same ways. When settled people look for security, they look for continuity."

Here I looked up sharply. Those were Chade's words, I'd bet my blood on it. Did that mean that this wedding was something Chade was helping to engineer? My interest became keener, and I wondered again why I had been summoned to this breakfast.

"It's a matter of reassuring our folk, Verity. You have not Regal's charm, nor the bearing that let Chivalry convince anyone that he could take care of any matter. This is not to slight you; you have as much talent for the Skill as I have ever seen in our line, and in many eras your soldierly skills in tactics would have been more important than Chivalry's diplomacy."

This sounded suspiciously like a rehearsed speech to me. I watched Shrewd pause. He put cheese and preserves on some bread and bit into it thoughtfully. Verity sat silent, watching his father. He seemed both attentive and bemused. Like a man trying desperately to stay awake and be alert when all he can think of is putting his head down and closing his eyes; well, Verity certainly looked at least that tired. My brief experiences of the Skill and the split concentration it demanded to resist its enticements, while bending it to one's will, made me marvel at Verity's ability to wield it every day.

Shrewd glanced from Verity to me and back to his son's face. "Putting it simply, you need to marry. More, you need to beget a child. It would put heart into the people. They would say, 'Well, it cannot be as bad as all that, if our prince does not fear to marry and have a child. Surely he would not be doing that if the whole kingdom were on the verge of crumbling.'"

"But you and I would still know better, wouldn't we, Father?" There was a hint of rust in Verity's voice, and a bitterness I had never heard there before.

"Verity-" Shrewd began, but his son cut in.