Fool’s Assassin

“Careful helped me,” I told him. I touched the lace at my neck. “The collar and cuffs are hers. She was surprised I had no earrings. And then she said she would not let the kitchen girls outshine me.”

“They could not possibly do so, even if you were in rags and dirt.”

I just looked at him.

“Not to say that you look ragged or dirty! No. No! I simply meant that no matter …” He stopped, and looked so comically woeful that I had to laugh.

“It is fine, Da. It is not as if they do not see me every day, dressed as I ordinarily am. I will fool no one.”

My father looked mildly alarmed. “I do not think our aim is to trick anyone, Bee. Rather, you dress in a way that conveys respect to the scribe who teaches you.” His speech slowed as he added, “And to convey your proper status in the household.” He halted and I could see he was frantically considering something. I let him, for my mind was suddenly just as occupied.

A dreadful thought had come to me. Lessons were to be something I did four of every hand of days. Did that mean that I would be dressed like this every day? Did it mean that every morning Careful would invade my rooms to prepare me? Slowly I understood that it would be a full four days before I could next do as I wished with my morning. No more riding in the morning. Not that there had been any since I’d had my falling-out with Perseverance. But I thought that eventually, somehow, I would mend things with him. My mornings being taken out of my control, though, was a permanent change. Almost daily, I’d be forced to deal with people I disliked in the schoolroom. And even at the breakfast table …

“Well, Bee, such a surprise! You’ve combed your hair. You look almost like a girl this morning.”

I turned at Shun’s greeting. Riddle had followed her into the room. She was smiling at me. My father looked uncertain, while Riddle’s eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. I smiled back at her and carefully curtsied. “Why, thank you, Shun. You yourself look almost like a well-bred lady this day.” I kept my voice as smooth as sweet cream. It would have been almost comical to watch my father’s expression switch from uncertainty to alarm, had it not been that Scribe FitzVigilant had entered just in time to hear my words. And only my words, not the comment that had provoked them. He gave me a look that a nasty and disrespectful child would merit, then greeted Shun warmly and escorted her to her chair at table as if he were rescuing her from a small, ill-tempered animal.

As I took my place at the table, I noticed that Shun did not immediately begin eating, but waited until FitzVigilant had taken his seat beside her. They were most companionable diners, greeting my father and Riddle, but sparing neither word nor glance for me. They passed food to each other, and Shun poured him more tea. For the most part I kept my eyes on my plate and ate. Whenever I did steal a glance at them, the matched beauty they presented clawed at my heart with jealous nails. Truly, they looked as if they had been struck from the same mold, created to be matches. They both possessed the same glossy curls, decided chins, and fine noses. Their gazes admired each other as if they were staring into a vanity mirror. I stared back at my plate and pretended a great interest in my sausage.

My father was offering Riddle a side of good bacon, wines from the cellar, and smoked river fish to take back to Buckkeep Castle with him. If Riddle had said yes to all of it, he could have loaded a wagon and borrowed a team. But he was insisting that he had to travel light, and that he would try to call again soon.

Then my ears caught a fragment of Shun’s words. “… pretend it doesn’t bother me. But I am so glad that you are well enough to teach. A day filled with useful pursuits is, I believe, best for children. And discipline. Will you have a strict hand, do you think?”

FitzVigilant’s voice was low and soft, like a big cat’s rumble. “Very strict to begin with. Better to start with a firm hand, I think, than to try to establish one later.”

My heart sank.

We finished our breakfast, and our scribe bid my father have a good morning. When he looked at me, he did not smile. “I expect to see you promptly in the schoolroom, Lady Bee.”

Courtesy might change his opinion of me. “I shall follow you there, Scribe FitzVigilant.”

He looked at my father rather than me as he said, “I suggest that my students call me Scribe Lant. It is less of a mouthful for young folk to remember.”