Royal Assassin

Ah, but the lady beside him was another matter. Compared with the entourage that followed them, she showed as a rare and foreign blossom. She rode astride in loose trousers, and no Buckkeep dyeing vat had produced that crocus purple. Her trousers were adorned with intricate embroideries in rich colors, and tucked securely into her boot tops. Her boots came almost to her knee; Burrich would have approved that practicality. She wore, not a cloak, but a short jacket of voluminous white fir, with a high collar to shield her neck from the wind. A white fox, I guessed, from the tundra on the far side of the Mountains. Her hands were gloved in black. The wind had played with her long yellow hair, streaming it out and tangling it over her shoulders. Atop her head was a knitted cap of every bright color I could imagine. She sat her horse high and forward, in the Mountain style, and it made Softstep think she must prance instead of walk. The chestnut mare's harness was a jingle with tiny silver bells, ringing sharp as icicles in the brisk morning. Compared with the other women in their voluminous skirts and cloaks; she looked agile as a cat.

She brought to mind an exotic warrior from a northern clime or an adventurer from some ancient tale. It set her apart from her ladies, not as a highborn and well-adorned woman shows her status among those less royal, but almost as a hawk would appear caged with songbirds. I was not sure she should show herself so to her subjects. Prince Regal rode at Kettricken's side, smiling and talking to her. Their conversation was lively, spiced often with laughter. As I approached closer I let Sooty slow her pace. Kettricken reined in, smiling, and would have stopped to give me greeting, but Prince Regal nodded icily and kneed his horse to a trot. Kettricken's mare, not to be left behind, tugged at her bit and kept pace with him. I received as brisk a greeting from those who trailed after the Queen and Prince. I halted to watch them pass, and then continued up to Buckkeep with an uneasy heart. Kettricken's face had been animated, her pale cheeks pink with the cold air, and her smile at Regal had been as genuinely merry as the occasional smiles she still gave me. Yet I could not believe she would be so gullible as to trust him.

I pondered this while I unsaddled Sooty and rubbed her down. I had bent down to check her hooves when I felt Burrich watching me over the wall of the stall. I asked him, "For how long?"

He knew what I was asking.

"He began a few days after you left. He brought her down here one day, and spoke me fair, saying he thought it quite a shame that the Queen was spending all her days shut up in the Keep. She was used to such an open and hearty life up in the Mountains. He claimed he had allowed her to persuade him to teach her to ride as we rode here in the lower lands. Then he had me saddle Softstep with the saddle Verity had made for his queen, and off they went. Well, what was I to do or say?" he asked me fiercely as I turned to look at him questioningly. "It is as you have said before. We are King's Men. Sworn. And Regal is a Prince of the Farseer house. Even if I were faithless enough to refuse him, there was my queen-in-waiting, expecting me to fetch her horse for her and saddle her."

A slight motion of my hand reminded Burrich that his words sounded close to treason. He stepped into the stall beside me, to scratch behind Sooty's ears pensively as I finished with her.

"You could do nothing else," I conceded. "But I must wonder what his real intent is. And why she suffers him."

"His intent? Perhaps just to wriggle his way back into favor with her. It is no secret that she pines in the castle. Oh, she is fair-spoken to all. But there is too much honesty in her for her to make others believe she is happy when she is not."

"Perhaps," I conceded grudgingly. I lifted my head as suddenly as a dog does when his master whistles. "I have to go. King-in-Waiting Verity ..." I let the words trail away. I did not have to let Burrich know I had been summoned by the Skill. I slung my saddlebags with the arduously copied scrolls inside to my shoulder and headed up to the castle.

I did not pause to change my clothes, or even to warm myself at the kitchen fires, but went straight to Verity's map room. The door was ajar, and I tapped once and then entered.

Verity leaned over a map secured to his table. He scarcely glanced up to acknowledge me. Steaming mulled wine already awaited me, and a generous platter of cold meats and bread stood on a table near the hearth. After a bit he straightened up.

"You block too well," Verity said by way of a greeting. "I have been trying to get you to hurry for the past three days, and when do you finally know you are Skilled? When you are standing in my own stables. I tell you, Fitz, we must find time to teach you some sort of control over your Skill."