I took a breath, forced steadiness into my voice. “No.” “Not ever?”
“There may be another for you someday. But you never forget the first.”
He did not move from the windowsill. “How many bondanimals have you had?”
I nearly didn't answer that. Then, “Three,” I said. He turned away from the night and looked at me through the darkness. “Will there be another one for you?” “I doubt it.”
He left the window and returned to his bed. I heard him pull up his blankets and settle into them. I thought he would go to sleep, but he spoke again. “Will you teach me the Wit also?”
Someone had better teach you something, if it's only not to trust so quickly. “I haven't said I'd teach you anything.”
He was silent for a time. He sounded almost sulky when he said, “Well, it were better if someone taught me something.”
A long silence followed and I hoped he had gone to sleep. The uncanny way his words echoed my thought unnerved me. Rain beat against the thick whorl of glass in the window, and dark flowed into the room. I closed my eyes and centered myself. As gingerly as if I handled broken glass, I reached toward him.
He was there, still and taut as a crouching cat. I sensed him waiting and watching for me, yet unaware I stood at the borders of his mind. His rough Skillsense was an awkward, unhoned tool. I drew back a bit and studied him from all angles, as if he were a colt I was thinking of breaking. His wariness was a mix of apprehension and aggression. It was a weapon as much as a shield that he inexpertly wielded. Nor was it pure Skill. It is a hard thing to describe, but his Skill was like a white beacon edged with green darkness. His Witawareness of me was what he used to focus. The Wit does not reach from a man's mind to another man's mind, but the Wit can make me aware of the animal that the man's mind inhabits. So it was with Dutiful. Bereft of the cat as a focus, his Wit was a wideflung web, seeking a kinship. As was mine, I suddenly realized.
I recoiled from that and found myself back in my own flesh. I set my walls against the untrained fumbling of his Skill. Yet even as I did so, there were two things I could not deny. The thread of Skill that connected me to Dutiful grew stronger each time I ventured along it. And I had no idea of how to sever it, let alone remove my Skillcommand from his mind.
The third piece of knowledge was as bitter as the other parts were disturbing. I quested. I had no desire to form a bond with another animal. But without Nighteyes to contain it, my Wit sprawled out like seeking roots. Like water that overbrims a vessel and must seek a place to flow, the Wit went forth from me, silent yet reaching. Earlier I had seen need in the Prince's eyes, a desperate longing for connection and belonging. Did I radiate that same privation? I closed my heart and willed myself to stillness. Time would heal my grief. I repeated that lie until sleep claimed me. awoke when the light spilling in the window touched my face. I opened my eyes but lay still. The pale light filling the room after the dark of the storm was like being immersed in clear water. I felt curiously empty, as one does when one has been ill for a long time and then begins to mend. I caught at the edges of a fleeing dream, but clutched only the edges of a shining morning, the sea below me and wind in my face. Sleep had left me, but I had no inclination to rise and face the day. I felt as if I were inside a bubble of safety, and that if I remained motionless, I could cling to this moment in peace. I lay on my side, my hand and arm under the flat pillow. After a time, I became aware of the feathers under my hand.
I lifted my head, intending to look at them, but the room swung suddenly about me as if I'd had too much to drink. The realities of the day to come the long ride to Buckkeep, the meetings with Chade and Kettricken that would follow, the resumption of my life as Tom Badgerlock crashed down on me. I sat up slowly.
The Prince slept on in his bed. I turned and found the Fool regarding me sleepily. He lay on his side in bed, his chin propped on his fist. He looked weary, but insufferably pleased about something. The effect made him look years younger.
“ didn't expect to see you in your bed this morning,” I greeted him, and then, “How did you get in? I latched that door last night.”
"Did you? Interesting. But you can scarcely be more surprised to see me in my own bed than I am to see you inyours.
I let that barb go past me. I scratched the bristle on my .
cheek. “I should shave,” I said to myself, dreading the idea. I hadn't touched a blade to my face since we'd left Galekeep.
“Indeed you should. I'd like us to look as presentable as possible when we return to Buckkeep.”
I thought of my catshredded shirt, but nodded acquiescence. Then I recalled the feathers. “I've something I want to show you,” I began, reaching under the pillow, but just then the Prince drew a deeper breath and opened his eyes.
“Good morning, my Prince,” Lord Golden greeted him. “ ”Morning,“ he acknowledged wearily. ”Lord Golden, Tom Badgerlock." He looked and sounded marginally better than he had at the end of yesterday's ride. His formality toward me was back in place. I felt relief.
“Good morning, my Prince,” I greeted him. And so the day began. We ate in our room. Our cleaned and mended clothing arrived shortly after our breakfasts. Lord Golden looked almost restored to his former glory, and the Prince looked tidy if not exactly royal. As I had suspected, washing had done little to make my clothing more presentable. I begged a needle and thread from the servant who brought our food, saying I wished to tighten the sleeve in my mended shirt. The reality was that I required a pocket in it. Lord Golden looked at me and sighed. “Keeping you decently clothed may become the most expensive part of keeping you as a servant, Tom Badgerlock. Well, see what you can do with the rest of yourself.”
I was the only one with any need to shave. Lord Golden commanded hot water and a razor and glass for me. He sat by the window, gazing out over the little landing town as I worked. I had scarcely begun my task when I became aware of the Prince's scrutiny. For a time, I ignored his intense fascination. The second time I nicked myself, I suppressed a curse, but did demand, “What? Have you never seen a man shave himself before?”
He colored slightly. “No.” He looked away as he added, “I have spent little time in the company of men. Oh, I've dined with our nobles, and hawked with them, and taken my sword lessons with the other lads of good houses. But ...” He seemed at a loss suddenly.
Just as abruptly, Lord Golden arose from his window seat. “I've a mind to see a bit of this town before we depart it. I think I shall take a stroll about it. With my Prince's permission.”
“Of course, Lord Golden. As you will.” When he left, I expected the Prince to go with him. Instead, he lingered with me. He watched me finish shaving, and when I rinsed the last of the soap from my smarting face, he asked with intense curiosity, “It hurts, then?”
“Stings some. Only if you hurry, as I always seem to do, and cut myself in the process.” My mourningshortened hair stuck up in thickets. Starling would have cut it for me, I thought, and then damned the thought and plastered it down to my head with water.
“It won't stay. Once it dries, it will just stick up again,” the Prince pointed out helpfully. “I know that. My Prince.” “Do you hate me?”
He asked it so casually, it set me completely off balance. I set aside the towel and met his earnest gaze. “No. I do not hate you.”
“Because I would understand if you did. Because of your wolf and all.” “Nighteyes.”
“Nighteyes.” He said the name carefully. Then he looked aside from me suddenly. “I never knew my cat's name.” I knew tears threatened to choke him. I sat carefully still and silent, waiting for him. After a moment, he drew a deep breath. “I don't hate you, either.”
“That's good to know,” I admitted. Then I added, “The cat told me to kill her.” Despite my effort, the words sounded defensive.
“I know. I heard her.” He sniffed a little, then tried to disguise it as a cough. “And she would have forced you to kill her. She was completely determined.”
“I think I knew that,” I replied ruefully, and touched the renewed bandages at my throat. The Prince actually smiled, and I found myself returning the smile.
He asked the next question quickly, as if it were impor' tant to ask, so important that he feared the answer. “Will you be staying?” “Staying?”
“Will I see you around Buckkeep Castle?” He sat down suddenly at the table across from me and met my eyes directly with Verity's blunt stare. “Tom Badgerlock. Will you teach me?”
Chade, my old master, had asked me and I'd been able to say no. The Fool, my oldest friend, had asked me to return to Buckkeep, and I'd refused him. If the Queen herself had asked me, I could have said no. The best I could manage with this Farseer heir was, “I don't know that much to teach. What your father taught me, he taught me in secret, and he seldom had time for lessons.”
He regarded me soberly. “Is there anyone who knows more of the Skill than you do?”
“No, my Prince.” I did not add that I'd killed them all. I could not have said why I suddenly added his title. Only that something in his manner demanded it. “Then you are Skillmaster now. By default.” “No.” That I could answer, my tongue moving as swiftly as my thoughts. I took a breath. “I'll teach you,” I said. “But it will be as your father taught me. When I can and what I can. And in secret.”
Without a word, he reached his hand across the table to me, to seal the agreement with a touching of hands. Two things happened as our hands met. “The Wit and the Skill,” he stipulated. As the skin of my palm touched his, the leap of Skillspark between us sang. Please.
His plea was sloppily done, pushed by the Wit, not the Skill. “We'll see,” I said aloud. I was already regretting it. “You may change your mind. I'm neither a good teacher, nor a patient one.”
“But you treat me like a man, not 'the Prince.' As if your expectations of a man were higher than those for a prince.”
I didn't reply. I looked at him, waiting. He spoke hesitantly, as if the answer shamed him. “To my mother, I am a son. But I am also, always, the Prince and Sacrifice for my people. And to all others, always, I am the Prince. Always. I am no one's brother. I am no man's son. I am not anyone's best friend.” He laughed, a small strangled laugh. “People treat me very well as 'my Prince.' But there is always a wall there. No one speaks to me as, well, as me.” He shrugged one shoulder and his mouth twisted to one side wryly. “No one except you has ever told me I was stupid, even when I was most definitely being stupid.”
I understood suddenly why he had so swiftly succumbed to the Piebalds' plot. To be loved, in a familiar, unfearing way. To be someone's best friend, even if that someone was only a cat. I could recall a time when I thought Chade was the only one in the world who would give me that. I recalled how terrifying the threat of losing that had been. I knew that any boy, prince or beggar, needed that from a man. But I wasn't sure I was a wise choice for that. Chade, why couldn't he have chosen Chade? I was still formulating an answer to that when there was a knock at the door.
I opened it to discover Laurel. Reflexively, I looked past her for Lord Golden. He wasn't there. She glanced over her own shoulder with a small frown, and then back to my face. “May I come in?” she asked pointedly.
"Of course, my lady. I just thought
She entered and I closed the door behind her. She considered Prince Dutiful for a moment, and something almost like relief dawned on her face as she made a courtesy to him. She smiled as she greeted him with, “Good morning, my Prince.”
“Good morning, Huntswoman.” His reply was solemn, but he did reply. I glanced at the boy, and realized what she saw. The Prince had come back to himself. His face was somber, his eyes shadowed, but he was with us. He no longer stared within himself to a distance no one else could see.
“It is good to see you so well recovered, my Prince. I came to inquire as to when you wished to depart for Buckkeep. The sun is climbing and the day looks fair, if cold.” “I am pleased to leave that decision to Lord Golden.” “An excellent decision, my Prince.” She glanced about the room and then asked, “Lord Golden is not here?” “He said he was going out,” I replied. My words startled her. It was almost as if a chair had spoken, and then I realized fully my error. In the presence of the Prince, a mere servant like myself would not presume to speak out. I glanced down at my feet so no one would see the chagrin in my eyes. Yet again, I resolved to focus more closely on the role I must play. Had I forgotten all of Chade's earlier training?
She glanced at Dutiful, but when he added nothing to my words, she said slowly, “I see.”
“You are, of course, welcome to wait here for his return, Huntswoman.” His words said one thing, his tone another. I had not heard it done so well since Shrewd was King.
“Thank you, my Prince. But if I may, I think I will seek my own room until I am sent for.”
“As you wish, Huntswoman.” He had turned to look out the window.
“Thank you, my Prince.” She dipped a courtesy to his back. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment as she went to the door, but I read nothing there. When the door had closed behind her, the Prince turned back to me.
“There. Do you see what I mean, Tom Badgerlock?”
“She was not unkind to you, my Prince.”
He motioned me to the table. As I took a chair opposite him, he said, “She was not anything to me. She treats me as they all do. 'As it please you, my Prince.' But in all the Six Duchies, I haven't a true friend.”
I took a breath, then asked, “What of your companions? Your friends who ride and hunt with you?”
“I have far too many of them. I must call each one a friend, and to none of them may I show favor, lest the father of another one feel slighted. And Eda forbid that I should smile at a young woman. At my slightest attempt to form a friendship, she is whisked away, lest my attention be interpreted as courtship. No. I am alone, Tom Badgerlock. Forever alone.” He sighed heavily and looked down at his hands on the table's edge. It was a bit too dramatic to befit the young man.
I spoke before I thought. “Oh, poor deprived lad.” He lifted his head and glowered at me. I returned his look levelly. Then a slow smile came to his face. “Spoken like a true friend, ”he said.
A moment later Lord Golden came through the door. In a flicker of his long fingers, he showed me a bird's messagetube. In the next instant, it had vanished up his sleeve. Of course. He'd gone to see Starling, to see if we'd received word back from Buckkeep. And we had. No doubt Chade would have all in readiness for our return. In the next moment, his eyes took in the Prince seated at the other end of the table. If he thought it odd to find the Farseer heir sitting at table with me, watching me mend the sleeve of my shirt, he did not show it.
Not even a flick of his eyes betrayed that he had greeted me first. Instead, all his attention seemed fixed on the Prince as he addressed him. “Good day, my Prince. If it please you, we can ride as soon as we may.”
The Prince drew a long breath. “It would please me, Lord Golden.”
Now Lord Golden turned to me, and gave me a smile such as I had not seen on his face for days. “You have heard our Prince, Tom Badgerlock. Stir yourself to readiness and sv, pack our things. And you can leave off mending that, my good man, at least for now. Never can it be said that I am a niggardly master, even to such a wretched servant as yourself. Put this on, lest you shame us all riding back into Buckkeep.” He tossed me a bundled packet. It proved to be a shirt of homespun, far sturdier than the tattered garment in my hands. So much for a pocket up my sleeve today.
“My thanks to you, Lord Golden,” I replied with humble gratitude. “I shall strive to take better care of this one than I did of the last three.”
“See that you do. Put it on, and then hasten to Mistress Laurel, to let her know we'll be riding soon. And on your way down to the stables to ask that the horses be readied, stop at the kitchen and request that they pack us a luncheon, as well. A couple of cold birds and a meat pie, two bottles of wine, and some of the fresh bread I smelled baking as I entered.”
“As it please you, master,” I replied.
As I was pulling the new shirt on over my head, I heard the Prince ask sourly, “My Lord Golden, is it you who think I am an idiot, that you put on this show for me? Or is it the wish of Tom Badgerlock?”
I popped my head out hastily, not wishing to miss the look on Lord Golden's face. But it was the Fool who greeted me. His grin was nothing short of dazzling, as he swept a wide minstrel's bow to Dutiful, his nonexistent hat brushing his knees. As he straightened, he gave me a look of triumph. It baffled me, but I found myself answering his grin with one of my own as he replied, “Good Prince, it is neither my wish nor that of Tom Badgerlock, but of Lord Chade. He desires that we practice as much as we may, for poor actors such as ourselves need many rehearsals if we are to fool even an eye or two.”
“Lord Chade. I should have known you both belonged to him.” It pleased me that he did not betray I had already told him that. He was learning some discretion at least. He gave the Fool a piercing look, one with much mistrust in it.
The look shifted sideways to include me. “But who are you?” he asked in a low voice. “Who are you, the two of you?”
Without thinking, the Fool and I exchanged a look. That we conferred before we answered incensed the Prince. I could tell by the slow spots of color that rose in his cheeks. Beyond the anger, hidden in the back of his eyes, was the boy's fear that he had made a fool of himself to me. Had his trust been won by a contrived performance? Did the affection between the Fool and me preclude any friendship I would share with him? I saw his candor begin to close; I could see him retreating behind his regal wall. I reached hastily across the table, and violated every noble protocol that existed by seizing his hand. I let honesty flow through that touch, convincing him with Skill just as Verity had once won his mother's trust.
“He is a friend, my Prince. The best friend I have ever had, and like to be yours, as well.” My gaze did not leave the Prince's face as I reached my free hand toward the Fool. I heard him step up beside Dutiful. An instant later, I felt him set his ungloved fingers in mine. I brought his hand to join our clasp, his long fingers closing around both our hands.
“If you will have me,” the Fool offered humbly, “I will serve you as I served your father, and your grandfather before him.”
XXVIII
HOMECOMING
As far back as our traditions go, there has been both trade and war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands. Like the regular ebb and flow of the tides, we have traded and intermarried, and then warred and killed our own kin. What set the Red Ship War apart in that long and bloody tradition is that for the first time, the Outislanders were united under a single war leader. Kebal Rawbread was his name. Accounts of him differ, but by most tellings, he began as a pirate and raider. As both sailor and fighter, he excelled, and the men who followed him prospered. Word of their successes and the richness of the plunder they claimed brought men of like minds to follow him. He soon commanded a fleet of raiding vessels.
Even so, he might have remained no more than a prosperous pirate, raiding wherever the wind took him. Instead, he began to take steps to force all of the Out Islands under his reign. The form of coercion he used was remarkably similar to the Forging that he later employed against the people of the Six Duchies. At about that time, he decreed that all the hulls of his raiding vessels must be painted red, and that the force of his raids would be expended only on the Six Duchies coastline. It is interesting to note that at the same time that these tactical changes were occurring in Kebal Rawbread's fleet, those in the Six Duchies first began to hear rumors of a Pale Woman at his side.
ê- , FEDWREN'S “AN ACCOUNT OF THE RED SHIT WAR”
We reached Buckkeep Town as the afternoon faded. We could have made far better time, but the Fool deliberately delayed us. We had stopped overlong on a stretch of sandy riverbank for our lateafternoon luncheon. I believe he thought to buy the Prince one more day of quiet before he plunged into the whirl of court again. None of us had mentioned the chaos and gaiety of the betrothal ceremony that the new moon would bring. It had pleased the Prince to join in our charade, so that for the ride home he kept his mount beside Malta, as disdainful of Lord Golden's coarse servant as any wellborn young man might be. He allowed Lord Golden's aristocratic talk of hunts and balls and exotic travel to amuse him while never compromising his princely demeanor. Laurel rode at Lord Golden's other stirrup, but was mostly silent. I think the Prince enjoyed his new role. I could sense his relief that we included him now. He was not a wayward boy being dragged home by his elders, but a young man returning from a misadventure, with friends. His desperate loneliness had eased. Nonetheless, I also felt his rising anxiety as we drew nearer and nearer to Buckkeep. It pulsed through the Skillconnection we shared. I wondered again if he was as aware of it as I was.
I think poor Laurel was baffled by the change in the young man. He seemed to have recovered his spirits entirely, and set behind him his misfortune among the Piebalds. I do not know if she heard the brittleness at the edges of his laughter, or marked how well Lord Golden carried the conversation during the times when the Prince could not seem to keep his mind on it. I did. I was relieved that the boy had latched on to Lord Golden so firmly. So I rode alone until, in the early afternoon, the Huntswoman dropped back to ride beside me, leaving the Prince and Lord Golden to their newfound companionship.
“He seems a different young man entirely,” she observed quietly.
“He does,” I agreed. I tried to keep any cynicism from my voice. With both Dutiful and Lord Golden occupied, she deigned to speak to me again. I knew I should not fault her for choosing wisely where to let her attention and fondness come to rest. For Lord Golden to honor her with his attention was no small coup for her. I wondered if she would try to continue their connection when we returned to Buckkeep Castle. She would be the envy of the ladies if she did. I even wondered how deep his affection for her went. Was my friend honestly losing his heart to her? I considered her silent profile as she rode alongside me. He could do far worse. She was healthy and young and a good hunter. I abruptly heard the echo of the wolf's values in my thoughts. I caught my breath for a moment, and then let the pain pass. She was more astute than I had realized. “I'm sorry.” She spoke softly, and her words barely reached me. “You know I do not have the Old Blood myself. Somehow it passed me, to settle on my brothers and sister instead. Nonetheless, I can guess what you suffer. I saw what my mother went through when her gander died. That bird was forty years old, and had outlived my father. . . . Truth to tell, it is why I think Old Blood as much a curse as a blessing. And I confess, when I consider the risk and the pain, I do not know why you practice this magic. How can anyone let an animal seize his heart so completely, when their lives are so short? What can you gain that is worth all the pain each time your partner dies?”
I had no answer to that. In truth, it was a rockhard sympathy she gave me.
“I'm sorry,” she said again when some little time had passed. “You must think me heartless. I know my cousin Deerkin does. But all I can say to him is what I've said to you. I do not understand. And I cannot approve. I will always think Old Blood a magic better left alone.”
“If I had a choice, perhaps I would feel the same,” I replied. “But I am as I was born.”
“As is the Prince,” she said after a long moment's consideration. “Eda save us all, and keep his secret safe.”
“Amen to that,” I said heavily. “And mine, as well.” I gave her a sideways glance.
“I do not think Lord Golden would betray you. He values you far too highly as a servant,” she replied. It was a reassurance that she never even considered I might be thinking of her tongue wagging. A moment later, she set my thoughts on a different trail when she delicately added, “And may my bloodlines not become common talk.”
I replied as she had. “I am certain that as Lord Golden values you, both as a friend and as the Queen's devoted Huntswoman, he would never breathe a word that might discredit or endanger you.”
She gave me a sidelong glance, then asked shyly, “As his friend? Do you think so?”
Something in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth warned me not to answer that question lightly. “So it would appear to me,” I said, somewhat stiffly.
Her shoulders lifted as if I had offered her a gift. “And you have known him well and long,” she embroidered my words. I refused to confirm that speculation. She looked away from me for a time, and after that we did not speak much, but she hummed as she rode. She seemed light of heart. Ahead of me, I marked that the Prince's voice had faltered to a halt. Lord Golden chatted on, but the Prince rode looking ahead, and silent.
Buckkeep Castle was a dark silhouette on the black stone cliffs against a bank of dark clouds when we reached Buckkeep Town. The Prince had pulled his hood well up over his face and dropped back to ride beside me. Laurel rode by Lord Golden now, and seemed well pleased with the change. Dutiful and I spoke little, each busy with our own thoughts. Our journey back to Buckkeep would take us up the steep path to the lesserused West Gate. As we had left, so would we enter. We passed once more the scattering of cottages at the bottom of the climb. When I saw the first drape of greenery on a door lintel, I thought it was but an overeager celebrant. But then I saw another, and as we rode on, we eventually came to a group of workmen setting up a celebratory arch. Nearby, townsfolk busily plaited ivy with heffelwhite vines, ready to drape the arch. “A bit early, aren't you?” Lord Golden called to them congenially as we passed.
A guardsman spat and laughed aloud. “Early, milord? We're damn near too late! All thought the storms would delay the betrothal ship, but the Outislanders seemed to have used them to fly here with the wind's own wings. The treaty galleys arrived at noon with the Princess's honor guard. We've heard she'll make landfall before the sun sets, and all must be ready.”
“Really?” Lord Golden enthused. “Well, I dare not be late for the festivities.” He turned his smile on Laurel. “My lady, I fear we must ride as swift as we can. You lads may follow at your own pace.” And with that he set his heels to Malta, and she plunged nimbly forward. Laurel matched him. The Prince and I accompanied, but at a more sedate gait. As we trailed them up the winding road to Buckkeep Castle, Lord Golden and Laurel continued up the main road and entered at the gate. But in a thicker patch of woods, I turned Myblack's head from the path and motioned for the Prince to follow. There was little more than a game trail, but I pushed Myblack through the tangles of brush, along a path I scarcely remembered, and Dutiful fell behind. We shadowed the keep wall until we came to the place the wolf had shown me so long ago. Thick thistles still covered that old breach in the wall, but I had my suspicions. In the shadow of the keep wall, we dismounted.