Fool’s Quest

He nodded and I walked away. I hadn’t eaten, I hadn’t slept, and I hurt all over. I didn’t care. I entered by the kitchen door, as if I were still Nameless the dog-boy. I walked stolidly until I reached the door of Dutiful’s private audience room. Once it had been King Shrewd’s. Here judgment was passed and justice delivered to those of the nobler bloodlines. In older times, princes had been sent into exile from this room, and princesses found guilty of adultery and banished to distant keeps. What fate would Dutiful decree for me? I wondered again why I had come back to Buckkeep. Perhaps because thinking of something else to do was too difficult. The doors were tall, lovely panels of mountain oak. They were ajar. I pushed them open and walked in.

For all its gravitas, it was a simple room. An elevated chair, a stark judgment throne for the king or queen, presided over it. A lower chair beside it for any counselor the ruler might wish. Other chairs, of oak with straight backs, lined the walls for possible witnesses to the misdeed or those bringing the grievance. And in the center, a short wooden railing enclosed a low wooden block where the accused would kneel while awaiting his ruler’s judgment. The floor was bare stone, as were the walls. The only decoration was a large tapestry of the Farseer Buck that graced the wall behind the judgment seat. At the other end of the room, a fire burned in a large hearth, but it was not enough to banish the chill or dismiss the smell of disuse in the chamber.

They were waiting for me. Dutiful and Elliania, and the princes Integrity and Prosper. Nettle and Riddle. Kettricken, clad in simple black, her head cowled against the chill, looked older than when I had last seen her. Chade was seated, and next to him, in a heavy woolen shawl as if she would never be warm again, hunched Shine. She leaned on her father as if she were a child. Her cheeks, nose, and brow were still scalded red from the cold she had endured. Lant sat straight at Chade’s other side. Chade looked at me but his gaze betrayed nothing. Thick was there also, I noted, seated and looking about with round eyes. King Dutiful had not yet assumed the judgment seat, but he was formally attired and crowned. His queen Elliania had a fine scarf embroidered with narwhals and bucks over her head, and her crown upon that. She looked grave and ethereal. Nettle had changed her clothes but still looked cold and weary. Riddle, dressed in Buck blue with black trim, stood beside her. His arm sheltered her as I never had. Her brother Steady was beside her, as if to offer his strength.

I squared my shoulders, stood straight, and waited. I was surprised to hear someone else enter. I turned to see Hap, my foster son, dragging a wool cap from his head, his cheeks still red with cold. Swift entered on his heels, and his twin, Nimble, behind him. Must they, too, witness my disgrace and failure? Chivalry, Burrich’s eldest son, came in behind them. The page who had guided them up bowed deeply and then withdrew, shutting the doors behind him. No one had spoken. Chivalry looked at me with deeply grieved eyes before joining his siblings. Swift and Nimble had gone to Nettle’s side, to flank their sister. They huddled together. Hap looked at me but I would not meet his gaze. He hesitated, and then went to stand with Nettle and her brothers.

I stood alone.

I turned to look at Dutiful but he was watching the door. Someone tapped cautiously and then pushed the door open slowly. Spark entered, clad in sedate Buckkeep blue, the guise of a serving girl. And walking slowly beside her, his pale hand on her shoulder, came the Fool. He was clad in a black tunic over a loose-sleeved white shirt, with black leggings and low shoes. A soft black hat covered his sparse hair. His sightless eyes roved the chamber but I knew that it was his hand on Spark’s shoulder that guided him. She took him to one of the chairs along the wall and helped him seat himself. Steady looked round at the gathering and then at King Dutiful. The king gave a short nod. Steady walked to the door and shut it firmly.

I waited. I’d only witnessed this once, when I was twelve, and then it had been through a spy-hole in the wall. I remembered it well. I knew that Dutiful would walk to the raised chair and take his place. The others would find chairs along the walls. And I would be commanded to take my place standing at the rail and explain what I had done. And what I had failed to do.

Dutiful drew a deep and ragged breath. I wondered how hard this would be for him, and suddenly I deeply regretted putting him through it. Not what I had done; no regrets there, save that I had not rescued my daughter. He did not speak loudly, but his voice carried. “I think we are all here. I am sorry we must gather like this. Under the circumstances, we must keep this private. Within the family, in a sense.”