Assassin's Quest

"Why … too late to save the folk of the Six Duchies." He peered at me as if I were simple. "Why else would I be doing it? Why else would I leave my land and my queen, to come here?"

I tried to grasp what he was telling me, but one overwhelming question popped out of my mouth. "You believe you have carved this whole dragon?"

Verity considered. "No. Of course not." But just as I felt relief that he was not completely mad, he added, "It isn't finished yet." He looked again over his dragon with the fondly proud look he had once reserved for his best maps. "But even this much has taken me a long time. A very long time."

"Won't you drink your tea while it's hot, sir?" Kettle asked, once more proffering the cup.

Verity looked at it as if it were a foreign object. Then he took it gravely from her hand. "Tea. I had almost forgotten about tea. Not elfbark, is it? Eda's mercy, how I hated that bitter brew!"

Kettle almost winced to hear him speak of it. "No, sir, no elfbark, I promise you. It is made from wayside herbs, I'm afraid. Mostly nettle, and a bit of mint."

"Nettle tea. My mother used to give us nettle tea as a spring tonic." He smiled to himself. "I will put that in my dragon. My mother's nettle tea." He took a sip of it, and then looked startled. "It's warm … it has been so long since I had time to eat anything warm."

"How long?" Kettle asked him conversationally.

"A … long time," Verity said. He took another sip of the tea. "There are fish in a stream, outside the quarry. But it is hard enough to take time to catch them, let alone cook them. Actually, I forget. I have put so many things into the dragon … perhaps that was one of them."

"And how long since you slept?" Kettle pressed him.

"I cannot both work and sleep," he pointed out to her. "And the work must be done."

"And the work shall be done," she promised him. "But tonight you will pause, just for a bit, to eat and drink. And then to sleep. See? Look down there. Starling has made you a tent, and within it will be warm, soft bedding. And warmed water, to wash yourself. And such fresh clothing as we can manage."

He looked down at his silvered hands. "I do not know if I can wash myself," he confided to her.

"Then FitzChivalry and the Fool will help you," she promised him blithely.

"Thank you. That would be good. But …" His eyes went afar for a time. "Kettricken. Was not she here, a while ago? Or did I dream her? So much of her was what was strongest, so I put it into the dragon. I think that is what I have missed the most, of all I have put there." He paused and then added, "At the times when I can recall what I miss."

"Kettricken is here," I assured him. "She has gone hunting, but she will return soon. Would you like to be washed and freshly clothed when she returns?" I had privately resolved to respond to the parts of his conversation that made sense, and not upset him by questioning the other parts.

"That one sees past such things," he told me, a shade of pride in his voice. "Still, it would be nice … but there is so much work to do."

"But it is getting too dark to work any more today. Wait until tomorrow. It will get done," Kettle assured him. "Tomorrow, I will help you."

Verity shook his head slowly. He sipped more of the tea. Even that thin beverage seemed to be strengthening him. "No," he said quietly. "I am afraid you cannot. I must do it myself, you see."

"Tomorrow, you will see. I think, if you have strength enough by then, then it may be possible for me to help you. But we shall not worry about it until then."

He sighed and offered the empty mug back to her. Instead, she quickly gripped his upper arm and drew him to his feet. She was strong for such an old woman. She did not seek to take the sword from his grasp, but he let it fall. I stooped to gather it up. He followed Kettle docilely, as if her simple act of taking his arm had deprived him of all will. As I followed, I ran my eyes down the blade that had been Hod's pride. I wondered what had possessed Verity to take such a kingly weapon and turn it into a rock-carving tool. The edges were turned and notched from the misuse, the tip no more pointed than a spoon. The sword was much like the man, I reflected, and followed them down to the camp.

When we got down to the fireside, I was almost shocked to see that Kettricken had returned. She sat by the fire, staring dispassionately into it. Nighteyes lay almost across her feet. His ears pricked toward me as I approached the fire, but he made no move to leave the Queen.

Kettle guided Verity directly to the makeshift tent that had been pitched for him. She nodded to the Fool, and without a word he took up a steaming basin of water from beside the fire and followed her. When I ventured to enter the tiny tent also, the Fool shooed both me and Kettle away. "He will not be the first king I have tended to," he reminded us. "Trust him to me."