Fool’s Quest

“You may come in,” Amber’s voice replied. And when I entered, she was seated before the mirror she could not see, pushing a brush through her short pale hair and then patting at it. She seemed to feel me looking at her. “Does it bother you?” she asked me.

I did not ask her what she meant. “Strange to say, no. You are you. Fool, Lord Golden, Amber, and Beloved. You are you, and we know each other as well as any two people can.”

“Beloved,” she said, and smiled sadly. I did not know if she repeated my word, or if the Fool called me by his own name. She dropped her hands to the top of the table, gloved one atop the bared one. “There was a time,” she began, “when you would have hated this masquerade.”

“There was,” I agreed. “And this is a different time.”

She smiled at that. And nodded. She turned her head as if glancing at me. “Did you . . . would you like to be the Fitz you were last night? The man who had only himself to care for?”

I did not answer swiftly. I could have blamed it on the tea, or claimed not to recall it. But I did. Perhaps it had been the tea, but he was right. I had simply let go of everything and everyone and thought only of myself. Once, it was all I had longed for. I wanted to be free of obligations to family, to duty to the Farseer throne: I’d wanted to do only what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. Last night I’d had a taste of that. I had no idea how the Fool had found his way around an unfamiliar room, how he had washed himself or found the garments he’d slept in. I’d abandoned him to his own diminished resources.

“I don’t think you’d like him much,” I replied ashamedly.

“On the contrary. Why do you think I urged you to drink it?” Slowly he held out a hand to me. “Fitz. Would you come here?”

I walked over to him. “I’m here.”

His gloved hand groped over my belly and then found my hand. He took it in his. He sighed. “I hate what I do to you. What I’ve done to your life. I am dependent on you, now more than ever, though I have always needed my Catalyst to accomplish anything. I am ashamed when I think of the danger, pain, and loss I’ve caused you. I hate knowing that you are ever mindful of me and my needs.”

“Loss?” I was confused.

“But for me, you might never have lost Molly for all those years.”

“No. I’d have been dead instead.”

His laugh was a hoarse bark. “True. But against all odds, I became fond of you early in our acquaintance. The look on your face when Shrewd pushed that pin through the front of your jerkin. You gave him your heart, as I had given him mine, and for a moment I knew purest envy. Because I suddenly wanted you for my own. Not just as my Catalyst. As my friend.”

“We’ve been that.”

“And more. And that was what the Servants never grasped until I betrayed you. That you were more to me than my Catalyst. Yet even I did not realize the full import of that closeness. That a child who was as much mine as yours and Molly’s would be the result. A child given to us. Because I used you so mercilessly. And a child stolen, because I betrayed you.”

“Fool. Stop. You gave me as much as you took from me.” The look of abject apology on his face was making me uncomfortable.

“Not really, Fitz. Not really.”

“You saved my life. More than once.”

“After endangering it, usually. Fitz. If you save a colt’s life because you intend later to ride it into battle, it tinges the act with a high degree of selfishness.”

There was a knock at the door. He released my hand. For a moment longer, I stood still. He spoke quietly. “Last night, you had one night without feeling obligations. For one night, you were able to let go of your grief. For one night, I released you to think only of yourself. One night of living as most men do every day. A very small respite.” He patted my chest. “You should see who is at the door.”

When I answered it, it was Spark. “I thought perhaps Lady Amber would need my assistance,” she said, and Amber immediately called to her to come and help. She hurried past me, pulling the door almost shut behind her, and for a time I listened to a lady give directions to her maid. When a second knock was a servant with a little wheeled table, they both emerged. Spark had painted Amber’s lips and rouged the tops of her cheeks. It more accented the pale scaling than concealed it, but I said nothing.

“I can serve them,” Spark suggested and the servant girl seemed only too happy to leave. Spark uncovered platters and poured tea for us both, and I sat down to a simple breakfast with Amber. Porridge with raisins cooked in it, and honey to sweeten it. Bacon. Stewed dried plums.

“Spark, have you eaten?” I asked the girl. She looked surprised.

“Of course. Hours ago, with the other servingfolk. They’ve made us very welcome. Everyone is very fond of Ephron. You are the hero of the day.”

“Hero,” I said softly. So strange.

“The bacon tastes a bit odd,” Amber observed.