Assassin's Quest

"I will not make mock of her," Jofron said seriously. "She has traveled a vast distance to seek you and on the journey lost all but her life. Come, holy one. She waits outside. Will not you talk to her, just for a bit?"

"Holy one," the Fool snorted with disdain. "You have been reading too many old scrolls. As has she. No, Jofron." Then he sighed, and relented. "Tell her I will talk with her two days hence. But not today."

"Very well." Jofron plainly did not approve. "But there is another one with her. A minstrel. I don't think she will be put off as easily. I think she is seeking him."

"Ah, but no one knows he is here. Save you, me, and the healer. He wishes to be left alone for a time, while he heals."

I moved my mouth. I tried to say I would see Starling, that I had not meant to turn Starling away.

"I know that. And the healer is still at Cedar Knoll. But she is a smart one, this minstrel. She has asked the children for news of a stranger. And the children, as usual, know everything."

"And tell everything," the Fool replied glumly. I heard him fling down another tool in annoyance. "I see I have but one choice then."

"You will see them?"

A snort of laughter from the Fool. "Of course not. I mean that I will lie to them."

Afternoon sun slanting across my closed eyes. I woke to voices, arguing.

"I only wish to see him." A woman's voice, annoyed. "I know he is here."

"Ah, I suppose I shall admit you are right. But he sleeps." The Fool, with his maddening calm.

"I still would see him." Starling, pointedly.

The Fool heaved a great sigh. "I could let you in to see him. But then you would wish to touch him. And once you had touched him, you would wish to wait until he awakened. And once he awakened, you would wish to have words with him. There would be no end to it. And I have much to do today. A toymaker's time is not his own."

"You are not a toymaker. I know who you are. And I know who he truly is." The cold was flowing in the open door. It crept under my blankets, tightened my flesh and tugged at my pain. I wished they would shut it.

"Ah, yes, you and Kettle know our great secret. I am the White Prophet, and he is Tom the shepherd. But today I am busy, prophesying puppets finished tomorrow, and he is asleep. Counting sheep, in his dreams."

"That's not what I mean." Starling lowered her voice, but it carried anyway. "He is FitzChivalry, son of Chivalry the Abdicated. And you are the Fool."

"Once, perhaps, I was the Fool. It is common knowledge here in Jhaampe. But now I am the Toymaker. As I no longer use the other title, you may take it for yourself if you wish. As for Tom, I believe he takes the title Bed Bolster these days."

"I will be seeing the Queen about this."

"A wise decision. If you wish to become her Fool, she is certainly the one you must see. But for now, let me show you something else. No, step back, please, so you can see it all. Here it comes." I heard the slam and the latch. "The outside of my door," the Fool announced gladly. "I painted it myself. Do you like it?"

I heard a thud as of a muffled kick, followed by several more. The Fool came humming back to his worktable. He took up the wooden head of a doll and a paintbrush. He glanced over at me. "Go back to sleep. She won't get in to see Kettricken any time soon. The Queen sees few people these days. And when she does, it's not likely she'll be believed. And that is the best we can do for now. So sleep while you may. And gather strength, for I fear you will need it."

Daylight on white snow. Belly down in the snow amongst the trees, looking down on a clearing. Young humans at play, chasing one another, leaping and dragging one another down to roll over and over in the snow. They are not so different from cubs. Envious. We never had other cubs to play with while we were growing. It is like an itch, the desire to race down and join in. They would be frightened, we caution ourselves. Only watch. Their shrill yelps fill the air. Will our she-cub grow to be like these, we wonder? Braided hair flies behind as they race through the snow chasing one another.

"Fitz. Wake up. I need to talk to you."

Something in the Fool's tone cut through both fog and pain. I opened my eyes, then squinted painfully. The room was dark, but he had brought a branch of candles to the floor by my bedside. He sat beside them, looking into my face earnestly. I could not read his face; it seemed that hope danced in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but also he seemed braced as if he brought me bad tidings. "Are you listening? Can you hear me?" he pressed.

I managed a nod. Then, "Yes." My voice was so hoarse I hardly knew it. Instead of getting stronger for the healer to pull the arrow, I felt as if the wound were getting stronger. Each day the area of pain spread. It pushed always at the edge of my mind, making it hard to think.