Royal Assassin

She had spoken plainly, and of things I had believed her ignorant. How much did she know of my enemies? Did she think it merely social? Though that would be enough at court. I thought of Regal, and his sly witticisms, and how he could turn and speak softly to his hangers-on at a feast and all would smirk to one another and add soft-voiced comments to the Prince's criticism. I thought how I would have to kill him.

"By the set of your jaw, I see you understand." Patience arose, setting her teacup on the table. "Lacey. I believe we should leave FitzChivalry to rest now."

"Please, at least tell her not to be angry with me," I begged. "Tell her I wasn't drunk last night. Tell her I never meant to deceive her, or to cause her any harm."

"I will carry no such message! Nor shall you, Lacey! Don't think I didn't see that wink. Both of you, I insist that you will be decorous. Remember this, FitzChivalry. You do not know Molly. Mistress Chandler. She does not know you. It is how it must be. Now come, Lacey. FitzChivalry, I expect you to get some rest tonight."

They left me. Although I tried to catch Lacey's eyes and win her alliance, she refused to glance at me. The door closed behind them and I leaned back on my pillows. I tried not to let my mind rattle against the restrictions Patience had set upon me. Annoying as it was, she was right. I could only hope that Molly would see my behavior as thoughtless rather than deceitful or conniving.

I arose from my bed and went to poke at the fire. Then I sat on the hearth and looked about my chamber. After my months in the Mountain Kingdom, it seemed a bleak place indeed. The closest my chamber came to decoration was a rather dusty tapestry of King Wisdom befriending the Elderlings. It had come with the chamber, as had the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I stared up at the tapestry critically. It was old and moth-eaten; I could see why it had been banished to here. When I had been younger, it had given me nightmares. Woven in an old style, King Wisdom appeared strangely elongated, while the Elderlings bore no resemblance to any creatures I had ever seen. There was a suggestion of wings on their bulging shoulders. Or perhaps that was meant to be a halo of light surrounding them. I leaned back on the hearth to consider them.

I dozed. I awakened to a draft on my shoulder. The secret door beside the hearth that led up to Chade's domain was wide-open and beckoning. I arose stiffly, stretched, and went up the stone stairs. Thus had I first gone, so long ago, clad then as I was now in just my nightshirt. I had followed a frightening old man with a pocked visage and eyes sharp and bright as a raven's. He had offered to teach me to kill people. He had also offered, wordlessly, to be my friend. I had accepted both offers.

The stone steps were cold. Here there were still cobwebs and dust and soot above the sconces on the walls. So the housecleaning hadn't extended to this staircase. Nor to Chade's quarters. They were as chaotic, disreputable, and comfortable as ever. At one end of his chamber was his working hearth, bare stone floors and an immense table. The usual clutter overflowed it: mortars and pestles, sticky dishes of meat scraps for Slink the weasel, pots of dried herbs, tablets and scrolls, spoons and tongs, and a blackened kettle, still sending a reeking smoke curling into the chamber.

But Chade was not there. No, he was at the other end of the chamber, where a fatly cushioned chair faced a hearth with a dancing fire. Carpets overlay one another over the floor there, and an elegantly carved table held a glass bowl of fall apples and a decanter of summer wine. Chade was ensconced in the chair, a partially unrolled scroll held to the light as he read it. Did he hold it farther from his nose than once he had, and were his spare arms more desiccated? I wondered if he had aged in the months I had been away, or if I had simply not noticed before. His gray woolen robe looked as well-worn as ever, and his long gray hair overlay its shoulders and seemed the same color. As always, I stood silent until he deigned to look up and recognize my presence. Some things changed, but some things did not.

He finally lowered the scroll and looked my way. He had green eyes, and their lightness was always surprising in his Farseer face. Despite the poxlike scars that stippled his face and arms, his bastard bloodlines were almost as plain-marked as mine. I suppose I could have claimed his as a great-uncle, but our apprentice-to-master relationship was closer than a blood tie. He looked me over and I self-consciously stood straighter under his scrutiny. His voice was grave as he commanded, "Boy, come into the light."