Assassin's Quest

"Save your hope of keeping secrets. A minstrel knows Molly's name; minstrels keep no secrets." His dislike of Starling glittered in his voice. In a colder tone, he added, "So what did you really plan to do, Chade? Pass off Fitz's daughter as Verity's? Steal her from Molly and give her to the Queen, to raise as her own?" The Fool's voice had gone deadly soft.

"I … the times are hard and the need so great … but … not steal her, no. Burrich would understand, and I think he could make the girl understand. Besides. What can she offer the child? A penniless candlemaker, bereft of her trade … how can she care for her? The child deserves better. As does the mother, truly, and I would do my best to see she was provided for, also. But the baby cannot be left with her. Think, Fool. Once others knew the babe was of Farseer lineage she could only be safe on the throne, or in line for it. The woman listens to Burrich. He could make her see that."

"I'm not so sure you could make Burrich see that. He gave one child up to royal duty. He may not feel it's a wise choice a second time."

"Sometimes all the choices are poor ones, Fool, and still a man must choose."

I think I made some small sound, for they both came to me quickly. "Boy?" Chade demanded anxiously. "Boy, are you awake?"

I decided I was. I opened one eye a crack. Night. Light from the hearth and a few candles. Chade and the Fool and a bottle of brandy. And me. My back felt no better. My fever felt no less. Before I could even try to ask, the Fool held a cup to my lips. Damnable willowbark tea. I was so thirsty, I drank it all. The next cup he offered was meat broth, wonderfully salty. "I'm so thirsty," I managed to say when I'd finished it. My mouth felt sticky with thirst, thick with it.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Chade explained needlessly.

"Do you want more broth?" the Fool asked.

I managed the tiniest nod. The Fool took the cup and went to the hearth. Chade leaned close and whispered, strangely urgent, "Fitz. Tell me one thing. Do you hate me, boy?"

For a moment, I didn't know. But the thought of hating Chade meant too great a loss to me. Too few folk in the world cared for me. I could not hate even one of them. I shook my head a tiny bit. "But," I said slowly, carefully forming the thick words, "don't take my child."

"Do not fear," he told me gently. His old hand smoothed my hair back from my face. "If Verity's alive, there will be no need of it. For the time being, she is safest where she is. And if King Verity returns and assumes his throne, he and Kettricken will get children of their own."

"Promise?" I begged.

He met my eyes. The Fool brought the broth to me, and Chade stepped aside to make room for him. This cup was warmer. It was like life itself flowing back into me. When it was gone, I could speak more strongly. "Chade," I said. He had walked over to the hearth and was staring into it. He turned back to me when I spoke.

"You did not promise, "I reminded him.

"No," he agreed gravely. "I did not promise. Times are too uncertain for that promise."

For a long time I just looked at him. After a time, he gave his head a tiny shake and looked aside. He could not meet my eyes. But he offered me no lies. So it was up to me.

"You can have me," I told him quietly. "And I will do my best to bring Verity back, and do all I can to restore to him his throne. You can have my death, if that is what it takes. More than that, you can have my life, Chade. But not my child's. Not my daughter's."

He met my eyes and nodded slowly.

Recovery was a slow and painful business. It seemed to me that I should have relished each day in a soft bed, each mouthful of food, each moment of safe sleep. But it was not so. The frostbitten skin on my fingers and toes peeled and snagged on everything, and the new skin beneath was horribly tender. Every day the healer came to poke at me. She insisted that the wound on my back must be kept open and draining. I grew weary of the foul smelling bandages she took away, and wearier still of her picking at my wound to see that it did not close too soon. She reminded me of a crow on a dying animal, and when I tactlessly told her so one day, she laughed at me.