Fool’s Quest

She hesitated and I knew her difficulty. I hadn’t been there and my bed hadn’t been slept in.

“I’m here. I’ll find my breakfast when I go down. Don’t be concerned, Spark.”

“Oh, it wasn’t the food, sir. I was given a message by the steward, to be given to you as soon as you were awake.”

“And?”

“The king will be meeting with the Duke of Farrow this morning, in his private chambers. He desires you wait in the antechamber so he can speak with you afterward.”

“Very well. Thank you, Spark.”

“You’re very welcome, sir, I’m sure.” She hesitated. She was going to offer me her condolences. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want to hear anyone say again how sorry they were that Bee was gone. She saw my face and just nodded. To the Fool she said, “Sir, did you want your breakfast now, or in a while?”

The Fool made a sound between amusement and disgust. “Actually, I’m just off to bed. Perhaps later, Spark?”

“Certainly, sir.” She dropped an effortless curtsy, and I thought I glimpsed a brief smile, as if this were a new skill and one that pleased her. Then she whisked herself away.

“Well, Dutiful has saved you for today. But I warn you, Fitz: If you don’t decide what you will do with the rest of your life, someone else will decide it for you.”

“Scarcely a new situation for me,” I reminded him. “I’d best go and wait for Dutiful to see me.”

“You’d best head to the steams before you go to meet the king. I actually smelled you before I heard you.”

“Oh.” I scowled as I realized I was still wearing the clothes I’d had on when I left Ringhill Keep. And I’d slept in Kettricken’s bed in them.

“One thing still bothers me,” the Fool said suddenly. He had leaned back in his chair, and his fingers were once more dancing between him and the fire’s light. The pale fingers gleamed almost golden.

“What’s that?”

“Shine told you that Dwalia led them into the Skill-pillar. Not Vindeliar, who I suppose has some measure of Skill or a similar magic. But Dwalia. I knew her. She is a Servant, through and through. Not a drop of White in her, and certainly not Skilled. How did she do it?”

What did it matter? She’d done it. I cast my mind back for the details of Shine’s account. “Shine said that Dwalia made them all hold hands. Then she put on a glove before she touched the stone. A very thin glove with silver fingertips . . .”

We both understood in the same instant. I stared as he turned his scarred fingers toward himself as if he could see the sliced surfaces. “I wondered why they took them,” he observed. “Now we know.”

They had sliced the Skill from his fingertips, sewn it into a glove, and used it to take my child into the stone. I had to gasp to remember how to breathe. I felt a surge of revulsion and then, for a blink, fury cracked through my sorrow.

I had to look aside from him for a time. When I looked back, he was rubbing the tips of his scarred fingers together, as if recalling when they were silvered with magic.

Chapter Thirty Prince FitzChivalry