Assassin's Quest

"I have been to dine with Chade and Kettricken. He had tidings for us." He tilted his head and watched my face carefully as he said, "Chade says there is a Farseer child in Buck. Just a babe yet, and a bastard. But of the same Farseer lineage as Verity and Chivalry. He swears it is so."

I closed my eyes.

"Fitz. Fitz! Wake up and listen to me. He seeks to persuade Kettricken to claim the child. To either say that it is her rightful child by Verity, hidden by a false stillbirth to protect her from assassins. Or to say the child is Verity's bastard, but that Queen Kettricken chooses to legitimize her and claim her as heir."

I could not move. I could not breathe. My daughter, I knew. Kept safe and hidden, guarded by Burrich. To be sacrificed to the throne, Taken from Molly, and given to the Queen. My little girl, whose name I didn't even know. Taken to be a princess and in time a queen. Put beyond my reach forever.

"Fitz!" The Fool put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently. I knew he longed to shake me. I opened my eyes.

He peered into my face. "Have you nothing to say to me?" he asked carefully.

"May I have some water?"

While he got it for me, I composed myself. He helped me drink. By the time he took the cup, I had decided what question would be most convincing. "What did Kettricken say to the news that Verity had fathered a bastard? It could scarcely bring her joy."

The uncertainty I had hoped for spread across the Fool's face.

"The child was born at the end of harvest. Too late for Verity to have sired it before he left on his quest. Kettricken grasped it faster than I did." He spoke almost gently. "You must be the father. When Kettricken asked Chade directly, he said as much." He cocked his head to study me. "You did not know?"

I shook my head slowly. What was honor to one such as I? Bastard and assassin, what claim did I have to nobility of soul? I spoke the lie I would always despise. "I could not have fathered a child born at harvest. Molly had turned me out of her bed months before she left Buck." I tried to keep my voice steady as I spoke. "If the mother is Molly, and she claims the child is mine, she lies." I strove to be sincere as I added, "I am sorry, Fool. I have fathered no Farseer heir for you, nor do I intend to." It was no effort to let my voice choke and tears mist my eyes. "Strange." I shook my head against the pillow: "That such a thing could bring me such pain. That she could seek to pass the babe off as mine." I closed my eyes:

The Fool spoke gently. "As I understand it, she has made no claims for the child. As of yet, I believe she knows nothing of Chade's plan."

"I suppose I should see both Chade and Kettricken. To tell them I am alive and reveal the truth to them. But when I am stronger. Just now, Fool, I would be alone," I begged him. I wanted to see neither sympathy nor puzzlement on his face. I prayed he would believe my lie even as I despised myself for the foul thing I had said of Molly. So I kept my eyes closed, and he took his candles and went away.

I lay for a time in the dark, hating myself. It was better this way, I told myself. If ever I returned to her, I could make all right. And if I did not, at least they would not take our child from her. I told myself over and over again I had done the wise thing. But I did not feel wise. I felt traitorous.

I dreamed a dream at once vivid and stultifying. I chipped black stone. That was the entire dream, but it was endless in its monotony. I was using my dagger as a chisel and a rock as a hammer. My fingers were scabbed and swollen from the many times my grip had slipped and I'd struck them instead of the dagger hilt. But it didn't stop me. I chipped black stone. And waited for someone to come and help me.

I awoke one evening to find Kettle sitting by my bed. She looked even older than I recalled. Hazy winter daylight seeped through a parchment window to touch her face. I studied her for a time before she realized I was awake. When she did, she shook her head at me. "I should have guessed, from all your strangeness. You were bound for the White Prophet yourself." She leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. "He will not allow Starling in to see you. He says you are too weak for so lively a visitor. And that you wish no one to know you are here, just yet. But I'll take word of you to her, shall I?"

I closed my eyes.

A time of bright morning and a knock at the door. I could not sleep, nor could I stay awake for the fever that racked me. I had drunk willowbark tea until my belly was sloshing. Still my head pounded, and I was always shivering or sweating. The knock came again, louder, and Kettle set down the cup she had been plaguing me with. The Fool was at his worktable. He put aside his carving tool, but Kettle called "I'll get it!" and opened the door, even as he was saying, "No, let me."