Royal Assassin

With a peculiar lightening of heart, I reflected that I could cheat him. Within my blood-matted sleeve cuff was the tiny pocket that still held the poison I had so long ago prepared for Wallace. Had it offered a less horrendous death, I would have taken it right then. But I had not formulated that poison for a quick and painless sleep, but for cramps and flux and fever. Later, I thought, it might become preferable to whatever Regal offered. There was no comfort in that thought. I lay back on my slab and rolled myself up well in Brawndy's ample cloak. I hoped he would not miss it too much. It was probably the last kind thing anyone would ever do for me. I did not fall asleep. I fled, willfully submerging myself into my wolf's world.

I awoke later from a human dream in which Chade had been lecturing me for not paying attention. I drew myself smaller in Brawndy's cloak. Torchlight trickling into my cell. Day or night, I could not tell, but I thought it was deep night. I tried to find sleep again. Chade's urgent voice had been pleading with me ....

I sat up slowly. The cadence and tone of the mufed voice was definitely Chade's. It seemed fainter when I sat up. I lay down again. Now it was louder, but I still couldn't pick out the words. I pressed my ear to the stone bench. No. I got up slowly and moved about my small cell, from wall to corner and back again. There was one corner in which the voice was loudest, but I still could not make out the words. "I can't understand you," I said to my empty cell.

The mufed voice paused. Then it spoke again, a questioning inflection.

"I can't understand you!" I said more loudly. .

Chade's voice resumed, more excitedly, but no louder.

"I can't understand you!" I shouted in frustration.

Footsteps outside my cell. "FitzChivalry!"

The guard was short. She couldn't see in. "What?" I asked sleepily.

"What were you shouting?"

"What? Oh. Bad dream."

The footsteps went away. I heard her laugh to the other guard and say, "Hard to imagine what dream could be worse than waking up for him." She had an inland accent.

I went back to my bench and lay down. Chade's voice had stopped. I tended to agree with the guard. I would not sleep again for a while, but would wonder what Chade had been so desperately trying to tell me. I doubted it would be good news, and I did not want to imagine bad. I was going to have to die here. At least let it be because I had aided the Queen's escape. I wondered how far she was on her journey. I thought of the Fool, and wondered how well he would withstand the rigors of a winter journey. I forbade myself to wonder why Burrich was not with them. Instead, I thought of Molly.

I must have drowsed, for I saw her. She was toiling up a path, a yoke of water buckets on her shoulders. She looked pale and sick and worn. On top of the hill was a tumbledown cottage, snow banked against its walls. She stopped and set her water buckets down at the door and stood looking out, over the sea. She frowned at the fair weather and the light wind that only tipped the waves with white. The wind lifted her thick hair just as I used to and slid its hand along the curve of her warm neck and jaw. Her eyes went suddenly wide. Then tears brimmed them. "No," she said aloud. "No. I won't think of you anymore. No." She stooped and lifted the heavy buckets and went into the cottage. She shut the door firmly behind her. The wind blew past it. The roof was poorly thatched. The wind blew harder and I let it carry me away.

I tumbled on it, dove through it, and let it flow my pains away. I thought of diving deeper, down into the main flow of it, where it could sweep me entirely away, right out of myself and all my petty worries. I trailed my hands in that deeper current, swift and heavy as a moving river. It tugged at me.

I'd stand back from that if I were you.

Would you? I let Verity consider my situation for a moment.

Perhaps not, he replied grimly. Something like a sigh. I should have guessed at how bad it was. It seems it takes great pain, or illness, or extreme duress of some kind to break down your walls so you can Skill. He paused long and we were both silent, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. So. My father is dead. Justin and Serene. I should have guessed somehow. His weariness and dwindling strength; those are the hallmarks of a King's Man, drained too low too often. I suspect it had been going on long, probably since before Galen ... died. Only he could have conceived such a thing, let alone devised a way to do it. What a loathsome way to use the Skill. And they spied upon us?

Yes. I do not know how much they learned. And there is another to fear. Will.