Fool’s Assassin

She looked at the bared blade in her hand and then at me.

“For now, set that aside. Begin by avoiding my blade.”

And so I danced with my daughter, swaying counterpoints to each other. At first I touched her effortlessly, tapping her upper arm, her breastbone, her belly, her shoulder. “Don’t watch the knife,” I suggested. “Watch all of me. By the time the knife is moving toward you, it’s almost too late. Watch my whole body, and see if you can tell when I’m going to try to tap you, and where.”

I was not as rough with her as Chade had been with me. Chade’s jabs had left little bruises, and he had laughed at me every time he scored a hit. I was not Chade and she was not me. Bruising her or mocking her would not wring greater effort from her. As I recalled, it had provoked me to anger, and led to errors and swifter defeat. I was not, I reminded myself, trying to teach my daughter to be an assassin. I merely wanted to teach her how to avoid a knife.

She improved rapidly, and soon I was the one being poked at with a sheath. The first time I allowed her to hit me, she stopped and then stood very still. “If you don’t want to teach me, then say so,” she said coldly. “But don’t pretend I’ve learned something I haven’t.”

“I just didn’t want you to get discouraged,” I said to excuse my subterfuge.

“And I just don’t want to think I’ve learned something I haven’t. If someone wants to kill me, I need to be able to kill him back.”

I stood still and fought to keep a smile from forming in my face or eyes. She would not have taken it well. “Very well, then,” I said, and after that I was honest with her. It meant that she did not touch me again that afternoon, but it also meant that my back ached and I was sweating before she conceded that she’d had enough instruction for one day. Her short hair was damp and stood up in spikes as she sat down on the floor to thread the knife’s sheath onto her belt. When she stood up, the knife hung heavy on her child’s body. I looked at her. She didn’t lift her eyes to mine. She suddenly looked to me like a neglected puppy. Molly had never let her run about in such disarray.

I felt as if I were tearing a piece from my heart as I lifted Molly’s silver-backed brush and horn comb from my trove. I set it with her other treasures. I had to clear my throat before I spoke. “Let’s take these to your new room. Then I want you to use your mother’s brush to smooth your hair. It’s still too short to tie back. But you can put on one of your new tunics.” Her fuzzy head nodded. “I think we will keep the knife lessons private, shall we?”

“I wish you had kept all my lessons private,” she muttered sullenly.

“Do we need to talk about that?”

“You do things without asking me,” she complained.

I crossed my arms on my chest and looked down on her. “I’m your father,” I reminded her. “I don’t ask your permission to do what I think is right.”

“It’s not about that! It’s about not knowing before it happens. It’s about …” She faltered. Then she looked up at me and fought to keep her gaze on mine as she told me earnestly, “They will try to hurt me.”

“I am sure your tutor will keep order among his students.”

She shook her head wildly and made a noise like a cornered cat. “They don’t have to hit me to hurt me. Girls can …” Her clenched fists suddenly opened wide into claws. She clasped her own little head in taloned hands and squinched her eyes tight. “Forget that I asked you. I will take care of this myself.”

“Bee,” I began warningly, but she interrupted me with, “I told you. Girls don’t have to hit to hurt.”

I did not let it go. “I want you to understand why I invited the other children to be taught as well.”

“I do understand.”

“Then tell me why.”

“To show everyone that you are not a stingy man. Or hardhearted.”

“What?”

“Perse—the stable boy. He told me that some people say you have a dark look to you, and that after Mother died they feared you would become harsh with the servants. You didn’t. But this will show that you are actually a good man.”

“Bee. It’s not about me showing anybody anything. In Buckkeep Castle any child that wishes to learn is allowed to come to lessons at the Great Hearth. I, a bastard, was allowed to come there and learn. And so I think that, in my turn, I will allow any child who wishes to learn the chance.”

She wasn’t looking at me. I took a deep breath and nearly added more words, but then sighed instead. If she didn’t understand what I had told her, more words would only weary her. She looked aside from me when I sighed.

“It’s the right thing to do.”