Fool’s Assassin

“Why not?” she demanded. “It would solve all the problems. Everyone’s life would be simpler. My mother would be happy that her spoiled son would inherit with no cloud on his right. My hidden father would not have to fear that I’d somehow be discovered. And you wouldn’t have an inconvenient half-mad young woman invading your home!”

She dragged in a sobbing breath. “When I was fleeing to Buckkeep, despite all that had befallen me, I had hope. Hope at last! I’d get away from my life in the shadows. I thought that at last I would be at court, with other young people, with music and dancing and life. Just life! And then Lord Chade claimed me. He said I was in danger and I could not go to Buckkeep, but that in his care, once I had learned an assassin’s skills, well, then I could both defend myself and perhaps the Queen.” Her voice shrilled higher and choking. “Imagine that! Me, at the Queen’s side, defending her. Standing beside her throne. Oh, I wanted that so much. And I tried to learn all Quiver had to teach me. That awful, smelly woman, and her stupid endless drills! But I tried, and I tried. She was never happy with me. And then Rono died, poisoned, and it was meant for me. And I had to flee again. Sent off I knew not where, with only that ruffian to guard me. This time, I thought, this time surely I will be taken to Buckkeep! But where does Lord Chade put me? Here. I’ve done no wrong, yet here I am, in this drafty place with workmen hammering and where no one cares for me. Where there is no future, nothing lovely and cultured, nothing exciting. Where I’m nothing to anyone, only a burden and a disruption!”

One always falls back on one’s strongest talents in time of distress. So I lied. “You’re not a disruption, Shun. I know what it is to feel that there is no place that one belongs or is welcome. So I’ll tell you now that, however strange Withywoods may be to you now, you can consider it your home. You won’t be turned out of here, and for as long as you are here, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. You’re not a guest here, Shun. You’re home. While it may not suit you now, we can make the changes you need. It can be made lovely for you. You can find comfort here. You are welcome for as long as you need to be here.” I took a breath and added a small thread of the truth. “While you are here, I consider you part of my family.”

She looked at me, her mouth working strangely as if she were gumming food. Then she suddenly flung herself from her chair and launched herself at me, to land against my chest, sobbing loudly. I caught her before we both fell over. Her voice shook wildly as she said, “They tried to kill me with poison. The cook’s little boy stole a tart from the platter, my favorite, a little berry tart, and he died with blood and foam coming out of his mouth. That’s what they wanted to do to me. To make me die that way. Poor little Rono, who’d never done anyone any harm save thieving. He died instead of me, and he died in pain. Little Rono.”

She was shaking all over. I held her firmly to keep from tipping out of my chair. “It wasn’t your fault,” I told her. “And you are safe now. You’re safe.”

I wondered if that was true.

“Papa!”

I turned my head sharply. Something in Bee’s tone told me that she expected me to be ashamed of myself. She stared at me holding Shun, and then crossed her arms on her chest. “Shun’s very upset,” I told her, but the cold glare Bee was giving me told me that, in her opinion, that excused nothing. When Shun did not try to move clear of me, I managed to stand and sat her firmly in my vacated chair. “Are you feeling better, Bee?” I asked, to build on my falsehood that she had felt ill.

“No,” she replied icily. “Actually, I feel worse. Much worse. But that isn’t why I came to find you.” She tipped her little head at me, and I felt as if she were drawing back a bow. “I had to leave my room, just for a few minutes. When I came back … I came to tell you that our other guest is missing.”

“Missing?”

“Other guest?” Shun demanded.

“Missing?” Riddle echoed. As he entered the room, he looked tousled, as if he had run all the way back from the village. He was still breathing hard as he looked from Bee’s disapproval to Shun’s tearstained face and then at me. “The message I received was that the injured traveler had left.”

“Yes. She did.” I felt like a weathercock as I spun from Riddle to my daughter. “It’s all right. She’s not missing, Bee. She felt better and wanted to go. I should have told you.” With my eyes, I tried to convey to her that I was lying, and needed her help to be convincing. She glared at me.

“Injured traveler?” Shun demanded. “There was a stranger here? How do you know she wasn’t an assassin?” She caged her hands over her mouth and looked at all of us with alarm. Her green eyes were huge above her tangled fingers.