Assassin's Quest

He gave a disdainful sniff. I think I'd prefer to scratch it off a bit at a time.

Well, you needn't sit and watch me and be bored. Go hunting if you wish.

I would, but the high bitch has asked me to watch you. So I shall.

Kettricken?

So you name her.

How asked you? He gave me a puzzled glance. As you would. She looked at me and I knew her mind. She worried that you were alone.

Does she know you hear her? Does she hear you?

Almost, at times. He lay down abruptly on the sward and stretched, curling his pink tongue. Perhaps when your mate bids you set me aside, I shall bond to her.

Not funny.

He made no reply to me, but rolled over onto his back and proceeded to roll about scratching his back. The topic of Molly was now an edge of uneasiness between us, a rift I dared not approach and one he obsessively peered into. I wished abruptly that we were as we once had been, joined and whole, living only in the now. I leaned back, resting my head on the bank, half in and half out of the water. I closed my eyes and thought of nothing.

When I opened them again, the Fool was standing looking down on me. I startled visibly. So did Nighteyes, springing to his feet with a growl. "Some guardian," I observed to the Fool.

He has no scent, and walks lighter than falling snow! the wolf complained.

"He is always with you, isn't he?" the Fool observed.

"One way or another," I agreed, and lay back in the water. I would have to get out soon. The late afternoon was becoming evening. The additional chill in the air only made the hot water more soothing. After a moment, I glanced over at the Fool. He was still just standing and staring at me. "Is something wrong?" I asked him.

He made an inconclusive gesture, and then sat down awkwardly on the bank. "I've been thinking about your candlemaker girl," he said suddenly.

"Have you?" I asked quietly. "I've been doing my best not to."

He thought about this for a bit. "If you die, what will become of her?"

I rolled over on my belly and propped myself on my elbows to stare at the Fool. I half expected this was the lead line to some new mockery of his, but his face was grave. "Burrich will take care of her," I said quietly. "For as long as she needs help. She's a capable woman, Fool." After a moment's consideration, I added, "She took care of herself for years before … Fool, I've never really taken care of her. I was near her, but she always stood on her own." I felt both shamed and proud as I said that. Shamed that I had given her so little besides trouble, and proud that such a woman had cared for me.

"But you would at least want me to take word to her, would you not?"

I shook my head slowly. "She believes me dead. They both do. If in fact I die, I'd just as soon let her believe I died in Regal's dungeons. For her to learn otherwise would only tar me blacker in her eyes. How could you explain to her that I did not come to her immediately? No. If something happens to me, I wish no tales told her." Bleakness gripped me once more. And if I survived and went back to her? That was almost worse to consider. I tried to imagine standing before her and explaining to her that once more, I had put my king ahead of her. I clenched my eyes tight shut at the thought of it.

"Still, when all this is done and gone, I should like to see her again," the Fool observed.

I opened my eyes. "You? I did not know that you had even spoken to one another."

The Fool seemed a bit taken aback at this. "But, that is, I meant for your sake. To see for myself that she is well provided for. "

I felt oddly touched. "I don't know what to say," I told him.

"Say nothing, then. Tell me only where I may find her," he suggested with a smile.

"I don't precisely know that myself," I admitted to him. "Chade knows. If … if I do not live through what we must do, ask it of him." It felt unlucky to speak of my own death, so I added, "Of course, we both know we shall survive. It is foretold, is it not?"

He gave me an odd look. "By whom?"

My heart sank. "By some White Prophet or other, I had hoped," I muttered. It occurred to me that I had never asked the Fool if my survival was foretold. Not every man survives winning a battle. I found my courage. "Is it foretold that the Catalyst lives?"

He appeared to be thinking hard. He suddenly observed, "Chade leads a dangerous life. There is no assurance that he will survive either. And if he does not, well, surely you must have some idea of where the girl is. Will not you tell me?"

That he had not answered my question seemed suddenly answer enough. The Catalyst did not survive. It was like being hit by a wave of cold salt water. I felt tumbled in that cold knowledge, drowning in it. I'd never hold my daughter, never feel Molly's warmth again. It was almost a physical pain, and it dizzied me.

"FitzChivalry?" the Fool pressed me. He lifted a hand to suddenly cover his mouth tightly, as if he could speak no more. His other hand rose to grip his wrist suddenly. He looked sickened.