Fool's Quest (13 page)

Today he walked with his shoulders squared, and his gaze darted quickly around the room, taking in every detail. The difference was a good one, as if he had rediscovered youth. I found myself smiling at him. “Who is she?” I greeted him.

Web's eyes met mine. “He. Not she. A young kestrel named Soar.”

“A kestrel. A bird of prey. That must be different for you.”

Web smiled and shook his head, his expression as fond as if he spoke of a child when he said, “We both have so much to learn of each other. We have been together less than four months. It is a new life for me, Fitz. His eyesight! Oh, and his appetite and his fierce joy in the hunt.” He laughed aloud and seemed almost breathless. There was more gray in his hair and deeper lines in his face, but his laugh was a boy's.

I felt a moment of envy. I recalled the headiness of the first days with a new partner. As a child, I had joined myself to Nosy without the least hesitation, and experienced a summer with the full senses of a young hound amplifying my own. He had been taken from me. Then there had been Smithy, the dog I had bonded to in complete defiance of Burrich and common sense. Lost to me when he gave his life defending my friend. They had been companions to my heart. But it had been Nighteyes the wolf who had wrapped his soul around mine. Together we had hunted and together we had killed, both game and men. The Wit bonded us to all life. From him, I had learned to master both the exhilaration of the hunt and the shared pain of the kill. Recalling that bond, my envy faded. No one could replace him. Could another woman ever be to me what Molly had been? Would I ever have a friend who knew me as the Fool did? No. Such bonds in a man's life are unique. I found my tongue. “I'm happy for you, Web. You look a new man.”

“I am. And I am as sad for you as you are glad for me. I wish you had a Wit- companion to sustain you in your loss.”

What to say to that? There were no words. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “It has been hard.”

Kettricken had kept silent during our exchange, but she watched me keenly. The Witmaster found a cushion and lowered himself to sit beside the table. He offered Kettricken a wide smile and then regarded the food with interest.

Kettricken smiled in return. “Please, let us not wait for formalities. Be at ease, my friends. It has given me great pleasure to watch Web recover his spirits. You should meet Soar, Fitz. I do not say that he might make you reconsider your decision to remain alone, but he has certainly given me reason to doubt my own unpartnered status.” She gave a small shake of the head. “When I saw the pain you felt at Nighteyes's passing, I thought I wanted none of that, ever. And again when Web lost Risk, I told myself that I had been wise to refrain from sharing my heart with an animal, knowing eventually I must feel the tearing pain of departure.” She lifted her eyes from watching Web pour tea for all of us and met my incredulous gaze. “But witnessing Web's joy in Soar, I wonder. I have been alone so long. I grow no younger. Must this be a regret I take to my grave, that I did not understand fully the magic I possessed?”

She let her words trail away. When she turned to meet my gaze, there were echoes of hurt and anger in her eyes. “Yes. I am Witted. And you knew, Fitz. Didn't you? Long before I suspected, you knew. And you knew the Wit that so endangered Dutiful when he was a boy came from me.”

I chose my words carefully. “My lady, I think it as likely that it came from his father as from you. And ultimately, it matters little where it came from. Even now, to possess the Wit can bring—”

“It mattered to me,” she said in a low voice. “And it matters still. What I felt between Nighteyes and me was not imaginary. If I had realized that during our sojourn in the Mountains, I would have let him know what that support meant to me.”

“He knew,” I said, recklessly interrupting her. “He knew, never fear.”

I saw her take a breath, her breast rising and falling with the emotion she contained. Her Mountain training was all that kept her from berating me. Instead, she said quietly, “Sometimes thanking someone is more important to the person giving the thanks than the one who receives it.”

“I'm sorry.” Words I was heartily sick of saying. “But we were struggling with so much else. I had only the barest understanding of the Wit then, and even my grasp of what the Skill could be was tenuous. If I had told you that I suspected you were Witted, then what? I certainly could not have taught you how to manage a magic that I did not myself control well.”

“I understand that,” she said. “But nonetheless I think my life has been less fulfilling than it might have been.” In a lower voice she added, “And much lonelier.”

I had no response. It was true. I had known of the loneliness that devoured her once King Verity was transformed into a stone dragon and taken from her forever. Could an animal companion have helped her to bear that? Probably. Yet it had never occurred to me to tell her that I had sensed a feeble pulsing of the Wit in her. I had always believed it so slight that it did not matter. Unlike myself, where the Wit had demanded from my earliest childhood that I find a soul to share my life. I moved slowly across the room and sat down at the low table. Kettricken came to take her place. She spoke to me in a calmer voice as she picked up her cup. “Web tells me that it is not too late. But also not a thing for me to rush into.”

I nodded and sipped from my own cup. Was this discussion why she had summoned me? I could not imagine where it was leading.

Web looked up at Kettricken. “The bond must be mutually beneficial,” he said. He darted a glance at me as he continued, “Kettricken's duties often confine her to the castle. Were she to bond with a large animal, or a wild creature, it would limit their time together. So I have suggested to her that she consider beasts that would be comfortable sharing her lifestyle. Cats. Dogs.”

“Ferrets. Parrots,” I pointed out, relieved to move the conversation to a different arena.

“And that is why I've a favor to ask of you, Fitz,” Web said abruptly.

Startled, I met his gaze.

“I know you will say no, but I am pressed to ask you anyway. There is no one else who can help her.”

I looked at Kettricken in dismay, wondering what she needed.

“No. Not Lady Kettricken,” Web assured me.

My heart sank. “Then who is she and what does she need?”

“She's a crow. If you two come to an understanding, she'll share her name with you.”

“Web, I—”

He spoke over my objection. “She has been alone for about six months. She was sent to me, seeking my help. She was hatched with a defect. When she fledged out, several of her pinions in each wing were white. At an early age, she was driven out of her murder. Assaulted and badly injured by her own family, she was found by an elderly shepherd. He took her in and helped her heal. For eight years they were companions. Recently, he died. But before he died, he contacted me and then sent her on to me.”

He paused, waiting for the question he knew I would ask.

“She left her Wit-partner?” I was incredulous at such faithlessness.

Web shook his head. “The shepherd was not Witted. He was simply a man with a kind heart. And due in no small part to the efforts of the Farseer crown, he was able to reach out to the Old Blood community to find her a new home. No, don't speak, let me finish my tale. Crows are social creatures. If she is forced to live a solitary life, she will go mad. Furthermore, with her striped wings, she cannot join other crows. They will turn on her for her differences. And finally, she does not seek a Wit-bond, only a human companion. For company and for protection.”

Kettricken dropped words into my silence. “It seems the perfect fit to both of us.”

I drew breath to respond and then sighed it out silently. I knew why Web could not take her on. Nor could Lady Kettricken be seen with a crow upon her shoulder: Battlefield scavenger and bird of ill omen, a crow companion would not do for her. I already knew I would not do it. I would find someone else, but for now, instead of outright refusing, I said, “I will think about it.”

“You should,” Web approved. “Even simple companionship with an animal is not a thing to take lightly. A crow can live a score of years, and it is not unheard of for one to reach thirty. Having met her, I judge you two would be well matched in temperament.”

Knowing what Web thought of my temperament, I was more convinced than ever that I wanted nothing to do with that bird. I would find her an appropriate companion. Perhaps Tallerman would not mind a crow in the stables at Withywoods. So I nodded without speaking.

They both took it as surrender. Kettricken poured more tea, and the next hour passed with us speaking of old times. Web told perhaps too many stories of Soar, but Kettricken and I both understood. And from those stories, it was natural that the talk turned to Old Blood, and Kettricken's feeble command of the Wit-magic and what it might mean. What it had meant to her she shared more fully now: She had reached out to my wolf and he had accepted that faint connection. His friendship had sustained her more than I had realized.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Kettricken asked if Bee had either the Wit or the Skill. I cannot say why it was so unsettling for her to ask that question. Certainly I had few secrets left from either of them. Yet in some odd way, Bee felt like a secret, something private and precious that I did not want to share. I had to fight not to lie. I told them that as far as I could determine, my little daughter possessed neither of those magics in any strength. At most, she could sense the Skill in Nettle and me, but I received no sense of it from her. Then I added that, as young as she was, it was hard to tell such a thing.

Web quirked an eyebrow. “Usually the Wit manifests young in children. She has shown no predilection for bonding with an animal? No intrinsic understanding of their ways?”

I shook my head. “But, to be honest, I've kept her away from such dangers. I know what it is to bond too young and without guidance.”

Web frowned. “So there are no animals in her life?”

I hesitated, trying to decide what answer he would like to hear. I pushed myself toward the truth. “She has been learning to ride her horse. At an early age, when we first tried to teach her, she seemed uncomfortable with such an idea. Frightened, even. But of late, she has made good progress. She does not dislike animals. She likes kittens. The shepherd's dog likes her.”

Web was nodding slowly. He looked at Kettricken when he said, “When she arrives, I would like to speak with her. If she has inherited Old Blood from her father, then the sooner we all know, the better for her to master her magic.”

And Kettricken inclined her head gravely, as if the permission were hers to give. I felt a wave of misgiving but decided that, for now, I would say nothing. I made a note to myself that Web had known Kettricken desired to bring Bee to Buckkeep before I did. With whom else had she discussed this? I needed to find what was behind her resolution. But discreetly. Boldly, I turned the conversation. “What of the princes? Has either Prosper or Integrity shown signs of the Wit or the Skill?”

Kettricken's smooth brow furrowed. She took a breath and considered well her words before she replied, “We believe both princes have the Skill, their heritage magic as Farseers. But it does not seem that either one has a strong talent for it.” She did something with her eyes as she met my gaze. It was not a wink or an eye roll toward Web, but only the slightest flicker of movement that let me know this was not a topic she wished to discuss before the Witmaster. So, my erstwhile queen had learned discretion and secrecy. Perhaps Buckkeep had changed her as much as she had changed it.

She turned the talk to other topics and I let her. Web was garrulous as ever, and astute at getting other people to talk. I tried to stay to safe topics—sheep and orchards and the repairs I'd been making to Withywoods—but I am sure I told him far more about myself and my situation than I intended. The food was long gone and the last of the tea standing cold in our cups when Kettricken smiled at both of us and reminded us that others awaited her attention outside the audience chamber.

“Please tell Lord Golden that I will call on him this evening. Late, I fear, for there will be yet more celebration of the dark's turning and I must attend. But when I may, I will come to him, and hope that he does not mind too much if I wake him. If he prefers not, leave a note for me to say he does not desire company.”

“Boredom besieges him in his infirmity. I daresay he will welcome the company.” I decided it for him. It would be good for him.

Web spoke. “And, Fitz, when can I expect a visit from you? I'd like to introduce you to the crow. I will not say that her company is a burden to me, but Soar does not regard her with welcome …”

“I understand. I will come tomorrow morning, if Lord Chade does not give me any other errands. I may have to spend my day in Buckkeep Town.” I rebuked myself for being reluctant to help him. I would go. I was confident that the crow would find me an unsuitable partner.

Web smiled at me. “Excellent. I've told her a great deal about you and shared Wit-knowledge of you. Within a day or so, I must be on my way. So she may find you before then. She's eager to meet you.”

“And I as eager to meet her,” I replied politely. And with that I made my bows and left Lady Kettricken's audience chamber wondering if Riddle had ever considered having a pet bird.

I tottered back to my room, silently cursing my painful shoes. I needed to sleep. Then I would check on the Fool, and after that, I thought with a sigh, I would once more assume my role as Lord Feldspar. There would be feasting, dancing, and music again tonight. My mind wandered to Bee, and I felt that sudden gulf of guilt. Revel, I told myself sternly. He would see that Winterfest was well kept at Withywoods. And surely Shun would not allow the holiday to go by without appropriate foods and festivity. I only hoped they would include my child. I wondered again how long I would be away from her. Was Kettricken wiser than I? Would it be best to send for her?

I was chewing my lip at that thought as I reached the top of the stairs. When I looked down the corridor and saw Riddle standing outside my door, my heart lifted as it does when one sees an old friend. Then as I drew closer it sank again, for his face was solemn and his eyes opaque as when a man hides his feelings. “Lord Feldspar,” he greeted me gravely. He bowed, and I took care that the bow I gave him was little more than a nod. Farther down the hallway, two servants were replenishing the corridor lamps.

“What brings you to my door, good man?” I took care that my words held the right amount of disdain for a messenger.

“I bring you an invitation, Lord Feldspar. May I step within your chambers and recite it for you?”

“Of course. A moment.” I patted about in my garments, found my key, and, opening the door, I preceded him into the room.

Riddle shut the door firmly behind us. I removed the wig and hat gratefully and turned to him, expecting to see my friend. But he still stood at the door as if he were no more than a messenger, his face both grave and still.

I said the words I hated most. “I'm so sorry, Riddle. I had no idea what I was doing to you. I thought I was giving the Fool my strength. I never intended to steal from you. Have you recovered? How do you feel?”

“I'm not here about that.” He spoke flatly. My heart sank.

“Then what? Sit, please. Shall I call for someone to bring us food or drink?” I asked. I tried to keep my words warm, but his manner warned me that his heart was sealed against me right now. I could not blame him.

He worked his mouth, took in a deep breath, and then let it out. “First,” he declared, in a voice almost hard despite its shaking, “this is not about you. You can be offended. You can offer to kill me—you're welcome to try to kill me. But it's not about you or your pride or your place at court, or who Nettle is or my common parentage.” His words grew more rushed and impassioned as he spoke, and the color rose higher in his face. Anger and pain sparked in his eyes.

“Riddle, I—”

“Just be quiet! Just listen.” He took another breath. “Nettle is pregnant. I will not let her be shamed. I will not let our child be shamed. Say what you will, do what you will, she is my wife and I will not let our joy be dirtied with politics and secrets.”

I was the one who sat down. Luckily, the bed was behind me when I did so. If he had driven the air out of me with a blow to my belly, the impact could not have been stronger. Words rattled in my head.
Pregnant. Shamed. Wife. Dirtied. Secrets.

A baby.

I found my voice. “I'm going to—”

Riddle crossed his arms on his chest. His nostrils flared and he exclaimed defiantly, “I don't care what you do. Understand that. Do whatever you wish, but it won't change anything.”

“—be a grandfather.” I choked on the word. Incredulity melted his face and he stared. It gave me the moment I needed to organize my thoughts. Words tumbled from my lips. “I have money saved. You can have it all. You must leave soon, before travel is too difficult for her. And I think you must flee the Six Duchies entirely. She is the Skillmistress; she is too well known for you to …”

“We are not leaving!” Anger tightened his slack face. “We refuse. We were lawfully wed—”

Impossible. “The king forbade it.”

“The king can forbid whatever he likes, but if a man and a woman make their vows before the Witness Stones, with at least two witnesses—”

“Only if one is a minstrel!” I interrupted him. “And the witness must know both parties.”

“I wager the Queen of the Six Duchies knows us both,” he said quietly.

“Kettricken? I thought Kettricken was a party to forbidding the marriage.”

“Kettricken is
not
the Queen of the Six Duchies. Elliania is. And she comes from a place where a woman can marry whomever she wishes.”

It all fit together as tightly as the blocks that make up an arch. Almost. “But your other witness had to be a minstrel …” My words trickled away. I knew who their minstrel had been.

“Hap Gladheart.” Riddle confirmed it quietly. A smile almost twisted his face. “Perhaps you've heard of him?”

My fostered son. He'd been delighted to call Nettle sister. I found I had clamped both hands over my mouth. I tried to think. So. Married. In public and yet in secret. Yes, Elliania would do it, and possibly not realize that in flaunting her husband's authority she was doing far more than simply asserting her belief that a woman should have complete control over who she wed. Or didn't wed, and merely slept with.

I let my hands fall away from my mouth. Riddle still stood as if he expected me to leap to my feet and pummel him. I tried to recall if I'd even felt that impulse. I hadn't. No anger: That was drowned in dread.

“The king will never accept this. Nor Kettricken, nor Chade. Oh, Riddle. What were the two of you thinking?” Joy warred with tragedy in my voice. A child, a child that I knew Nettle wanted. A child that would change their lives completely. My grandchild. And Molly's.

“Babies happen. For years, we have been cautious. And lucky, I suppose. And then we were neither. And when Nettle realized she was pregnant, she told me she intended to be happy about it. No matter what she must do.” His voice changed and suddenly my friend spoke to me. “Fitz. We are neither of us youngsters. This may be our only chance for a child.”

No matter what she must do. I could almost hear Nettle's voice saying those words. I took a deep breath and tried to reorder my thoughts. So. This was something done. They were wed, they were going to have a baby. Useless to advise them against having the baby, useless to remonstrate with them over defying the king. Begin now, where they are.

In danger. Foolishly defiant.

“What does she plan to do? Go to the king, tell him she is both married and pregnant?”

Riddle's dark eyes met mine and I saw something like pity there. “She shared her news with Queen Elliania only. Only we four know that Nettle is with child. And only five people know that we are truly wed. Not even to her brothers has she confided the news. But she told Elliania. The queen is ecstatic. And full of plans for the child. She did some sort of needle-dangling magic over Nettle's palm, and she is certain our child will be a girl. Finally, a daughter born to the Farseer motherhouse. And hence a future Narcheska.”

“I'm confused,” I said after a silence.

“As well you should be. As I was when they first told me. First, you must understand how close Nettle and Queen Elliania have become over the years. They are nearly of an age. Both felt like outsiders when first they came to Buckkeep Castle court: Elliania an Outislander, and Nettle a simple country girl made a lady. When Elliania realized that Nettle was her husband's cousin, she claimed her as kin.”

“Her husband's second cousin?”

Riddle shook his head. “A member of her new motherhouse.” At my puzzled expression, he added, “You have to think of it from Elliania's perspective. In the Outislander culture, the mother's lineage is what matters. It was terribly hard for Elliania to come here to be the Farseer queen. If she had stayed in her own land, she would have become the Narcheska of her motherhouse. Equivalent to a queen. She bartered that away to save her mother and her little sister Kossi, and to finally ensure peace between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands. That she and Dutiful came to love each other was simply the kindness of fate.

“You know how Elliania has grieved that she has borne only two sons. Her grief at her failure to provide a daughter to send back to the Out Islands and reign after her mother as Narcheska consumes her.”

“What of Kossi? Surely her younger sister would be next in line for that title?”

Riddle shook his head. “No. We saved Kossi's life, but her health never recovered. She was nearly two years in the Pale Woman's captivity. Two years of starvation, cold, and mistreatment. She is a brittle woman, frail as dried twigs. And she has shown a marked dislike for the company of men. She will bear no children.”

“I recall she had a girl cousin …”

“Disliked by both Elliania and her mother. One of the reasons for her desperate desire to present a girl to her motherhouse.”

“But Nettle's child is no kin to Elliania at all!”

“She is if Elliania says she is. There is a saying there. ‘Every mother knows her own child.' Thus, when Elliania draws up genealogies, you are Patience's son.”

I was hopelessly befuddled. “What does that have to do with it?”

He smiled. “You Farseers are an inbred lot. And yet pitiable by Outislander standards. Generations without a female child. It left Elliania wondering if there were any true descendants of the original Farseer motherhouse. In her desperate quest for a female of true lineage, she had the most doddering of the minstrels singing themselves hoarse with genealogies. Do you know who Queen Adamant is?”

“No.”

“The first Farseer to stake a claim on the cliffs of Buck was Taker. He himself was an Outislander, and is seen as something of a rogue there, for he forsook his own motherhouse to establish a new one here. He took a wife from among the people he conquered. Her name was Adamant. We now call her Queen Adamant. The first of the Farseer motherhouse.”

“Very well.” I didn't see where any of this was going.

“Patience and Chivalry were very distant cousins, according to Elliania. Both descended by wandering lineage from Adamant. She of the ‘copper-gleaming hair and violet eyes,' according to one very old ballad. Hence you are doubly descended from that motherhouse. That makes Nettle the rightful ‘Narcheska' of the Farseer line. The motherhouse that Elliania joined. Her kin. And hence a possible source of an heir for Elliania.

“The thought that there have been generations with no female offspring to refresh the line troubles her. And at the same time, it has comforted her. She now feels the fault is with the Farseer males, who cannot seem to seed girls in their wives' wombs. For years, she tormented herself that it was her own failing that she had borne only two males. She has known for years about Nettle's true parentage and sees her opportunity to right a great wrong done to Nettle by raising Nettle's child as a Narcheska. After a dearth of females, Nettle was born, finally, a true daughter of the Farseer motherhouse. But instead of being celebrated, she was hidden in the shadows. Concealed from the royal court. Her parentage denied. And only brought to Buckkeep when she became useful to the Farseers.”

I was silent. I could not deny the truth of his words. It stung badly to hear them uttered by her husband and my friend. I had believed I was protecting her. As I was protecting Bee by keeping her away from Buckkeep? There was an uncomfortable thought. I tried to justify myself.

“Nettle is the bastard daughter of a bastard son of an abdicated prince, Riddle.”

A flash of anger. “Here, perhaps. But in the Out Islands our child might well be seen as a princess of their line.”

“You and Nettle would do that? Leave Buckkeep and the court and go to the Out Islands?”

“To save my daughter being seen as a shame and a bastard? Yes. I would.”

I found I was nodding in agreement. “And if the child is a boy?”

He heaved a sigh. “That will be a different battle, on a different day. Fitz, we were friends before I fell in love with your daughter. I've felt guilty that I did not come to you before this. That I did not reveal our marriage to you.”