Assassin's Quest

The marionette he was working on wagged a rebuking finger at me while the Fool smirked at me over his head. It had an uncanny resemblance to Ratsy. "What I see," he observed to no one in particular, "is that it is not Verity's buck head he wears on his brow. No, the sigil he chose is more like one, oh, let me see, one that Prince Verity chose for his bastard nephew. Do not you see a resemblance?"

I was silent for a time. Then, "What of it?" I asked grudgingly.

The Fool swung his marionette to the floor, where the bony creature shrugged eerily. "Neither King Shrewd's death nor Verity's supposed death flushed that weasel out of hiding. Only when he believed you murdered did anger flare up in him hot enough for him to fling aside all hiding and pretense and declare he would yet see a true Farseer on the throne." The marionette wagged a finger at me.

"Are you trying to, say he does this for me, for my sake? When the last thing I would wish is to see the throne claim my child?"

The marionette crossed its arms and wagged its head thoughtfully. "It seems to me that Chade has always done what he thought was best for you. Whether you agreed or not. Perhaps he extends that to your daughter. She would be, after all, his grandniece, and the last living remnant of his bloodline. Excluding Regal and yourself, of course." The marionette danced a few steps. "How else would you expect a man that old to provide for a child so young? He does not expect to live forever. Perhaps he thought she would be safer astride a throne than ridden over by another who wished to claim it."

I turned away from the Fool and made some pretense of gathering clothing to wash. It would take me a long time to think through what he had said.

I was willing to accept Kettricken's choice of tents and clothing for her expedition, and honest enough to be grateful that she saw fit to provide for my clothing and shelter as well. Had she excluded me totally from her entourage, I could not have completely faulted her. Instead, Jofron came one day bearing a stack of clothing and bedding for me, and to measure my feet for the sack like boots the Mountain folk favored. She proved merry company, for she and the Fool exchanged playful barbs all the while. His fluency in Chyurda exceeded my own, and at times I was hard pressed to follow the conversation, while half of the Fool's wordplays escaped me. I wondered in passing exactly what went on between those two. When I had first arrived, I had thought her some sort of disciple to him. Now I wondered if she had not affected that interest simply as an excuse to be near him. Before she left, she measured the Fool's feet as well, and asked him questions as to what colors and trims he wished worked into the boots.

"New boots?" I asked him after she had gone. "As little as you venture outside, I would scarcely think you need them."

He gave me a level look. The recent merriment faded from his face. "You know I must go with you," he pointed out calmly. He smiled an odd smile. "Why else do you think we have been brought together in this far place? It is by the interaction of the Catalyst and the White Prophet that the events of this time shall be returned to their proper course. I believe that if we succeed, the Red-Ships will be driven from the Six Duchies coast, and a Farseer will inherit a throne."

"That would seem to fit most of the prophecies," Kettle agreed from her hearth corner. She was tying off the last row of knitting on a thick mitten. "If the plague of the mindless hunger is Forging, and your actions put a stop to that, that would fit another prophecy as well."

Kettle's knack of providing a prophecy for every occasion was beginning to grate on me. I took a breath, and then asked the Fool, "And what does Queen Kettricken say about your joining her party?"

"I haven't discussed it with her," he replied blithely. "I am not joining her, Fitz. I am following you." A sort of bemusement came over his face. "I have known since I was a child that together we should do this task. It had not occurred to me to question that I would go with you. I have been making preparations since the day you arrived here."

"As have I," Kettle observed quietly.

We both turned to stare at her. She feigned not to notice as she tried on the mitten and admired its fit.

"No." I spoke bluntly. Bad enough to look forward to dying pack animals. I was not going to witness the death of another friend. It was too obvious to voice that she was hopelessly too old for such a trek.

"I thought you might stay here, in my home," the Fool offered more gently. "There is plenty of firewood for the rest of the winter and some supplies of meal and-"