Assassin's Quest

I think that was what broke her, to discover that her earthshaking tidings did not anger nor sorrow him, but only confused him. She had to feel betrayed. Her desperate flight from Buckkeep Castle and all the hardships she had endured to protect her unborn child, the long lonely months of her pregnancy, culminating in the heartrending stillbirth of her child, and her dread that she must tell her lord how she had failed him that had been her reality for the past year. And now she stood before her husband and her king, and he fumbled to recall her and of the dead child said only "Oh." I felt shamed for this doddering old man who peered at the Queen and smiled so wearily.

Kettricken did not scream or weep. She simply turned and walked slowly away. I sensed great control in that passage, and great anger. Starling, crouched by Kettle, looked up at the Queen as she passed. She started to rise and follow, but Kettricken made a tiny movement of her hand that forbade it. Alone she descended from the great stone dais and strode off.

Go with her?

Please. But do not bother her.

I am not stupid.

Nighteyes left me, to shadow off after Kettricken. Despite my caution to him, I knew he went straight to her, to come up beside her and press his great head against her leg. She dropped suddenly to one knee and hugged him, pushing her face against his coat, her tears falling into his rough fur. He turned and licked her hand. Go away, he chided me, and I pulled my awareness back from them. I blinked, realizing I had been staring at Verity all the while. His eyes met mine.

He cleared his throat. "FitzChivalry," he said, and drew a breath to speak. Then he let half of it out. "I am so weary," he said piteously. "And there is still so much to do." He gestured at the dragon behind him. Ponderously he sank, to sit beside the statue. "I tried so hard," he said to no one in particular.

The Fool recovered his senses before I did mine. "My lord Prince Verity," he began, then paused. "My king. It is I, the Fool. May I be of service to you?"

Verity looked up at the slender pale man who stood before him. "I would be honored," he said after a moment. His head swayed on his neck. "To accept the fealty and service of one who served both my father and my queen so well." For an instant I glimpsed something of the old Verity. Then the certainty flickered out of his face again.

The Fool advanced and then knelt suddenly beside him. He patted Verity on the shoulder, sending up a small cloud of rock dust. "I will take care of you," he said. "As I did your father." He stood up suddenly and turned to me. "I am going to fetch firewood, and find clean water," he announced. He glanced past me to the women. "Is Kettle all right?" he asked Starling.

"She nearly fainted," Starling began. But Kettle cut in abruptly with, "I was shocked to my core, Fool. And I am in no hurry to stand up. But Starling is free to go do whatever must be done."

"Ah. Good." The Fool appeared to have taken complete control of the situation. He sounded as if he were organizing tea. "Then, if you would be so kind, Mistress Starling, would you see to the setting up of the tent? Or two tents, if such a thing can be contrived. See what food we have left, and plan a meal. A generous meal, for I think we all need it. I shall return shortly with firewood, and water. And greens, if I am lucky." He cast a quick look at me. "See to the king," he said in a low voice. Then he strode away. Starling was left gaping. Then she arose and went in search of the straying jeppas. Kettle followed her more slowly.

And so, after all that time and travel, I was left standing alone before my King. "Come to me," he had told me, and I had. There was an instant of peace in realizing that that nagging voice was finally stilled. "Well, I am here, my king," I said quietly, to myself as much as to him.

Verity made no reply. He had turned his back to me and was busy digging at the statue with his sword. He knelt, clutching the sword by the pommel and by the blade and scraped the tip along the stone at the edge of the dragon's foreleg. I stepped close to watch him scratching at the black rock of the dais. His face was so intent, his movement so precise that I did not know what to make of it. "Verity, what are you doing?" I asked softly.

He did not even glance up at me. "Carving a dragon," he replied.