Fool’s Assassin

Her voice trailed away, but I thought I heard her unasked question. “I don’t,” I told her bluntly. “I never desired to stay young and watch your mother age away from me. No. If I could have aged with her, Nettle, I would have. I am still bearing the consequences of that mad Skill-healing that our coterie did on me. Could I stop it, I would. It renews me when I wish it would not. I strain a shoulder doing some task, and that night I lose flesh as my body burns me up repairing itself. I wake ravenous and am tired for a week. But my shoulder will have healed.” I tossed my latest sheet of writing onto the fire, and shoved it deeper into the flames with the poker. “There. Now you know.”

“I knew already,” she told me tartly. “Do you think my mother didn’t know? Fitz, stop it. No one blames you for her death; nor should you feel guilty for not following her. She would not have wanted that. I love you for the life you gave her. After my father … after Burrich died, I thought she would never smile again. And when she discovered you were still alive, after she had so long mourned you as dead, I thought she would never stop being furious. But you came back to her and were patient enough to win her back. You were good for her, and she has lived her last years exactly as I wished all her life could have been.”

I wheezed in a breath past my constricted throat. I wanted to thank her but could not find words. I didn’t need to. She sighed and reached out to pat my arm. “So. We’ll be gone in the morning, then. I was a bit surprised to find that Bee does not have a pony, and seemed completely unfamiliar with the concept of riding. Nine years old and she can’t ride! Burrich put me on a horse when I was … well, I simply can’t remember a time when I couldn’t ride. When I tried to put Bee up on a horse, she struggled against me and clambered down the other side of the beast as swiftly as she could. So I think our journey to Buckkeep will be an interesting one for me. She is small enough that I think I can fit her into a pannier on a pack animal and balance her with her clothes and toys. Or some of them. I was totally astonished that one small child could possess so many toys and so much clothing!”

I felt as if I were running along behind her. “Bee?” I asked. “Why would you take Bee to Buckkeep?”

She gave me an exasperated look. “Where else can I take her? Both Chivalry and Nimble offered to have her, even though Nimble does not have a wife to help him with her. I said no to both of them. They’ve no idea of what they would be taking on. At least I’ve my experience of Thick. I think in time, I will be able to reach through her fog and get some understanding of her.”

“Her fog,” I said stupidly.

My elder daughter just stared at me. “She’s nine. She should be speaking by now. And she can’t. She used to babble at Mother, but I haven’t even heard her do that lately. With Mother gone, who will be able to understand the poor little thing? I wonder if she knows that Mother has died. I’ve tried to speak to her about it, but she just turns away from me.” Nettle sighed heavily. “I wish I knew how much of anything she grasps.” She cocked her head at me and spoke hesitantly. “I know Mother would not have approved, but I have to ask. Have you ever used the Skill to try to touch her mind?”

I shook my head slowly. I wasn’t following her trail of thought. I tried to make a connection. “Molly did not wish me to do that, and so I did not. I discovered the dangers of letting Skill touch children years ago. Don’t you recall?”

That wrung a bit of a smile from her. “Both Dutiful and I recall that well. But I thought that after years of silence from your daughter, you’d at least have tried to see if she had a mind.”

“Of course she does! She’s a clever little creature. Sometimes alarmingly so! And she talks when she pleases. It’s just not very clear. Or as often as one might expect.” I had not stopped to think that Nettle had never seen her little sister sewing a sampler at their mother’s knee, or standing on a table to take candles from their molds. All she had ever seen of Bee in her comings and goings was a shy and elfin child, quiet and watchful. And now she was a mute child, curled in a tight ball. I rose, paced around the room, and then stooped by my younger daughter. “Come here, Bee,” I said impulsively, but the moment I set my hand on the child’s back, she stiffened straight as a sun-dried fish, then scooted away from my touch and curled again, her face away from me.