The King des­cen­ded, as he had not for some weeks, to sit in his throne at the high table and preside over the gath­er­ing. The Fool came too, to stand be­side and be­hind his chair and ac­cept from his plate whatever the King offered. But this night he made not merry for the King; his fool’s prattle was stilled, and even the bells on his cap and sleeves had been tied in strips of fab­ric to mute them. Only once did our eyes meet that night, but for me, the glance car­ried no dis­cern­ible mes­sage. To the King’s right was Ver­ity, to his left Kettricken. Regal was there, too, of course, in so sump­tu­ous a cos­tume of black that only the col­our de­noted any sort of mourn­ing. He scowled and sulked and drank, and I sup­pose for some his surly si­lence passed for griev­ing. For me, I could sense the an­ger seeth­ing within him, and knew that someone, some­where would pay for what he saw as in­sult to him­self. Even Pa­tience was there, her ap­pear­ance as rare as the King’s, and I sensed the unity of pur­pose we dis­played.

  The King ate but little. He waited un­til those at the high table were filled be­fore he arose to speak. As he spoke, his words were re­peated at the lower tables, and in the Lesser Hall, and even out­side in the court­yard by min­strels. He spoke briefly of those we had lost to the Red Ships. He said noth­ing of For­ging, or of the day’s task of hunt­ing down and killing the Forged ones. He spoke in­stead as if they had but re­cently died in a battle against the Red Ships, and said only that we must re­mem­ber them. Then, plead­ing fa­tigue and grief, he left the table to re­turn to his own cham­bers.

  Then it was that Ver­ity arose. He did little more than to re­peat Kettricken’s words of earlier, that we grieved now, but when the griev­ing was over, we must make ready our ven­geance. He lacked the fire and pas­sion of Kettricken’s earlier speech, but I could see all at table re­spond­ing to it. Folk nod­ded and began to talk amongst them­selves, while Regal sat and glowered si­lently. Ver­ity and Kettricken left the table late that night, she on his arm, and they made sure that all marked how they left to­gether. Regal re­mained, drink­ing and mut­ter­ing to him­self. I my­self slipped away shortly after Ver­ity and Kettricken left, to seek my own bed.

  I made no at­tempt to fall asleep, but only flung my­self on my bed to stare into the fire. When the con­cealed door opened, I rose im­me­di­ately to as­cend to Chade’s cham­bers. I found him ajit­ter with an in­fec­tious ex­cite­ment. There was even a pink­ness to his pale cheeks about his pock scars. His grey hair was wild, his green eyes glittered like gems. He was pa­cing about his cham­bers, and as I entered, he ac­tu­ally seized me in a rough em­brace. He stepped back and laughed aloud at my shocked ex­pres­sion.

  ‘She was born to rule! Born to it, and some­how now she has awakened to it! It could not have come at a bet­ter time! She may yet save us all!’

  His ex­ulta­tion was un­holy in its glee.

  ‘I know not how many folk died today,’ I re­buked him.

  ‘Ah! But not in vain! At least not in vain! Those were not wasted deaths, FitzChiv­alry. By El and Eda, Kettricken has the in­stinct and the grace! I had not sus­pec­ted it in her. Now had we still your father alive, boy, and him paired with her on the throne, we could have a pair as could cup the whole world in their hands.’ He took an­other sip of his wine and paced again about his cham­bers. I had never seen him so elated. He all but capered. A covered bas­ket res­ted on a table close to hand, and its con­tents had been set out on a cloth. Wine, cheese, saus­ages, pickles and bread. So even here in his tower, Chade shared the fu­neral feast. Slink the weasel popped up from the other side of the table, to re­gard me past the food with av­ar­i­cious eyes. Chade’s voice broke me from my thoughts.

  ‘She has an ample share of what Chiv­alry had. The in­stinct for seiz­ing the mo­ment and turn­ing it to ad­vant­age. She took an un­avoid­able, un­men­tion­able situ­ation and made high tragedy of what might have been simple slaughter in lesser hands. Boy, we have a queen, a queen again at Buck­keep!’

  I felt slightly re­pulsed by his joy. And, for an in­stant, cheated. Hes­it­antly, I asked, ‘Do you think, really, that the Queen did as she did for show? That it was all a cal­cu­lated polit­ical move?’

  He hal­ted in his tracks, con­sidered briefly. ‘No. No, FitzChiv­alry, I be­lieve she ac­ted from her heart. But that does not make it any less tac­tic­ally bril­liant. Ah, you think me heart­less. Or cal­lous in my ig­nor­ance. The truth is, I know only too well. Know far bet­ter than you what today meant to us. I know men died today. I even know that six of our own force took in­jur­ies, mostly minor, in today’s ac­tion. I can tell you how many Forged ones fell, and within a day or so, I ex­pect to know most of their names. Names already lis­ted by me, in­cluded in the tal­lies of all the Red Ships have done to us. It will be I, boy, who sees that the purses of blood-gold are paid to sur­viv­ing kin. Those fam­il­ies will be told the King re­gards their fallen as the equal of any of his sol­diers who fall in battle with the Red Ships. And en­treats their aid in tak­ing ven­geance for them. They will not be pleas­ant let­ters to pen, Fitz. But pen them I shall, in Ver­ity’s own hand, for Shrewd’s sig­na­ture. Or did you think I did naught but kill for my king?’

  ‘I beg par­don. It was just that you seemed so merry when first I entered …’ I began.

  ‘And merry I am! As you should be. We have been rud­der­less and drif­ted, poun­ded by the waves and pushed by every wind. And now, comes a wo­man, to take the tiller and cry the course. I find it a course full to my lik­ing! As shall every­one in the king­dom who has sickened these past years from be­ing al­ways on our knees. We rise, boy, we rise to fight!’

  I saw then how his ebul­li­ence was borne on the wave of his fury and his grief. I re­membered the ex­pres­sion he had worn when first we rode into Forge town on that black day and saw what the Raid­ers had left of our folk. He had told me then that I would learn to care, that it was in my blood. With a rush I felt the right­ness of his sen­ti­ment, and seized up a glass to join him. To­gether we toasted our queen. Then Chade grew more sober, and di­vulged the reason for his sum­mons. The King, Shrewd him­self, had once more re­peated his or­der that I watch over Kettricken.

  ‘I’ve been mean­ing to speak to you about that; that Shrewd some­times now re­peats an or­der already given or a com­ment already made.’

  ‘I’m aware enough of that, Fitz. What can be done, is. But the King’s health is an­other topic for an­other time. For now, I my­self as­sure you that his re­pe­ti­tion was not the rat­tling of a sickly mind. No. The King made this re­quest again today, as he was pre­par­ing him­self to des­cend to din­ner. He re­peats it to make sure your ef­forts will be re­doubled. He sees, as I do, that by arous­ing folk to fol­low her, the Queen puts her­self more at risk. Though he would not speak it so plain. Be on your guard for her safety.’

  ‘Regal,’ I snorted.

  ‘Prince Regal?’ Chade quer­ied.

  ‘He is who we have to fear, es­pe­cially now that the Queen has taken a place of power.’

  ‘I said noth­ing of the kind. Nor should you,’ Chade ob­served quietly. His voice was calm but his face was severe.

  ‘Why not?’ I chal­lenged him. ‘Why may not we, at least once, speak plain to one an­other?’

  ‘To one an­other, we might, if we were en­tirely alone and it con­cerned only you and I. But such is not the case. We are King’s Men sworn, and King’s Men do not en­ter­tain even thoughts of treason, let alone …’

  There was a gag­ging noise, and Slink dis­gorged him­self. On the table, be­side the food bas­ket. He snorted, spray­ing drops of mois­ture.

  ‘Greedy little wretch! Choked your­self, did you?' Chade re­buked him un­con­cern­edly.

  I found a rag to clean up the mess. But when I got there, Slink was ly­ing on his side, pant­ing, while Chade poked at the vomit with a skewer. I nearly retched my­self. He waved my rag aside, pick­ing up Slink in­stead and hand­ing me the shiv­er­ing creature. ‘Calm him, and get wa­ter down him,’ he dir­ec­ted me tersely. ‘Go on, old man, go to Fitz, he’ll see to you.’ This to the weasel.

  I car­ried him over by the fire, where he promptly puked all down my shirt. At closer range, the smell was over­power­ing. As I set him down and pulled my shirt off, I caught an un­der­ly­ing scent, more bit­ter than vomit even. Even as I opened my mouth to speak, Chade con­firmed my sus­pi­cions. ‘Varta leaves. Crushed fine. The spi­ci­ness of the saus­age would con­ceal the taste well. Let’s hope the wine wasn’t poisoned as well, or we’re both dead.’

  Every hair on my body stood up in hor­ror. Chade looked up to see me frozen, and pushed gently past me to pick Slink up. He offered him a sau­cer of wa­ter and looked pleased when Slink sampled it. ‘I think he’ll live. The little pig stuffed his mouth full, and got a bet­ter taste of it than a hu­man would have. Up it came. The stuff on the table looks chewed, but not di­ges­ted. I think the taste made him gag, not the poison.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said faintly. Every one of my nerves was tuned to an in­ner wait­ing. Had I been poisoned? Did I feel sleepy, naus­eous, dizzy? Was my mouth numb, dry, wa­ter­ing? I broke out in a sud­den sweat and began to tremble. Not again.

  ‘Stop it,’ Chade said quietly. ‘Sit down. Drink some wa­ter. You’re do­ing this to your­self, Fitz. That bottle was well sealed with an old cork. If the wine was poisoned, it was done years ago. I know of few men with the pa­tience to poison a bottle of wine, and then age it. I think we’re fine.’

  I drew a shaky breath. ‘But such was not someone’s in­tent. Who brought your food?’

  Chade gave a snort. ‘I pre­pared my own food, as al­ways. But that on the table was from a gift bas­ket left for Lady Thyme. From time to time, folk seek to curry fa­vour with her, as it is ru­moured she has the King’s ear. I did not think my mas­quer­ade wo­man a likely tar­get for poison.’

  ‘Regal,’ I said again. ‘I told you he be­lieves she is the King’s pois­oner. How could you have been so care­less? You know he blames Lady Thyme for his mother’s death! Shall we be so po­lite as to let him kill us all? He will not stop un­til the throne is his.’

  ‘And I tell you again, I will hear noth­ing of treason!’ Chade all but shouted the words. He sat down in his chair and cradled Slink in his lap. The little beast sat up, ti­died his whiskers, and then curled up again to com­pose him­self for sleep. I watched Chade’s pale hand, the stand­ing ten­dons, the pa­per skin, as he stroked his small pet. He looked only at the weasel, his face closed. After a mo­ment, he spoke more calmly. ‘I think our king was right. We should all re­double our cau­tion. And not just for Kettricken. Or ourselves.’ He lif­ted tor­tured eyes to mine. ‘Watch over your wo­men, boy. Neither in­no­cence nor ig­nor­ance is any pro­tec­tion against this night’s work. Pa­tience, Molly, even Lacey. Find a way, a subtle way, to give Burrich warn­ing as well.’ He sighed, asked of no one, ‘Have we not en­emies enough out­side our walls?’

  ‘Aplenty,’ I as­sured him. But I said no more of Regal to him.

  He shook his head. ‘This is an ill way for me to be­gin a jour­ney.’

  ‘A jour­ney? You?’ I was in­cred­u­lous. Chade al­most never left the keep. ‘Where?’

  ‘Where I need to go. Now I think I need al­most as much to stay.’ He shook his head to him­self. ‘Take care of your­self while I’m gone, boy. I won’t be about to watch over you.’ And that was as much as he would tell me.

  When I left him, he was still star­ing into the fire, his lax hands shel­ter­ing Slink. I went down the stairs on jelly legs. The at­tempt on Chade had shaken me more than any­thing ever had. Not even the secret of his ex­ist­ence had been enough to shield him. And there were other, easier tar­gets, just as close to my heart.

  I damned the bravado that had earlier let me make Regal aware of how much stronger I had grown. I had been a fool to tempt him to at­tack me, I should have known he would find a less ob­vi­ous tar­get. In my room, I changed hast­ily into fresh cloth­ing. Then I left my cham­ber, climbed the stairs and went straight to Molly’s bed­cham­ber. I tapped lightly on the door.

  No an­swer. I did not tap louder. It lacked but an hour or two un­til dawn, most of the keep was ex­hausted, abed. Still, I had no de­sire to rouse the wrong per­son to see me at Molly’s door. Yet I had to know.

  Her door was latched, but it was a simple one. I slipped it in a mat­ter of seconds, and made note to my­self that she would have a bet­ter one be­fore to­mor­row night. Soft as shadow, I entered her room and drew the door closed be­hind me.

  A fire had burned low in the hearth. Its linger­ing em­bers cast an un­cer­tain haze of light. I stood still a mo­ment, let­ting my eyes ad­just, then I moved care­fully into the room, stay­ing away from the hearth light. I could hear the steady sleep rhythm of Molly’s breath from her bed. It should have been enough for me. But I teased my­self that she might be fevered and sink­ing even now into a death sleep from poison. I prom­ised my­self that I would do no more than touch her pil­low, just to see if her skin were fevered or nor­mal. No more than that. I drif­ted to the bed­side.

  I could just make out her shape un­der the cov­ers in the dim light. She smelled heath­ery and warm and sweet. Healthy. No fe­ver­ish poison vic­tim slept here. I knew I should go. ‘Sleep well,’ I breathed.

  Si­lently she sprang up at me. The em­ber light ran red along the blade in her hand. ‘Molly!’ I cried as I par­ried her knife hand aside with the back of my fore­arm. She froze, her other hand drawn back in a fist, and for an in­stant all in the room was si­lent and mo­tion­less. Then, ‘New­boy!’ she hissed furi­ously, and punched me in the belly with her left hand. As I doubled over, gasp­ing for air, she rolled from the bed. ‘You idiot! You frightened me to death! What do you think you’re about, rat­tling at my latch and sneak­ing about in my room! I should call the keep guards­men to put you out!’

  ‘No!’ I begged, as she threw wood on the fire, and then kindled a candle at it. ‘Please. I’ll go. I meant no harm or of­fence. I just wanted to be sure you were all right.’

  ‘Well, I’m not!’ she stormed in a whis­per. Her hair was con­fined for the night into two thick braids, re­mind­ing me sharply of the little girl I had met so long ago. A girl no longer. She caught me star­ing at her. She threw a heav­ier robe about her shoulders and belted it at her waist. ‘I’m a shak­ing wreck! I shan’t sleep an­other wink to­night! You’ve been drink­ing, haven’t you? Are you drunk, then? What do you want?’

  She ad­vanced on me with the candle as if it were a weapon. ‘No,’ I as­sured her. I drew my­self up­right and tugged my shirt straight. ‘I prom­ise you, I’m not drunk. And truly, I had no bad in­ten­tions. But … some­thing happened to­night, some­thing that made me worry that some­thing bad might hap­pen to you, so I thought I had best come and make sure you were all right, but I knew Pa­tience would not ap­prove, and I cer­tainly didn’t want to go wak­ing up the whole keep, so I thought I would just slip in and …’

  ‘New­boy. You’re bab­bling,’ she in­formed me icily.

  It was true. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, and sat down on the corner of the bed.

  ‘Don’t get com­fort­able,’ she warned me. ‘You were just leav­ing. Alone, or with the keep guards. Your choice.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ I prom­ised, stand­ing hast­ily. ‘I just wanted to be sure you were all right.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said testily. ‘Why wouldn’t I be fine? I’m as fine to­night as I was last night, as I have been for the last thirty nights. On none of them were you in­spired to come and in­spect my health. So why to­night?’

  I took a breath. ‘Be­cause on some nights threats are more ob­vi­ous than oth­ers. Bad things hap­pen, that make me take stock of what worse things could hap­pen. On some nights, it is not the health­i­est thing to be the be­loved of a bas­tard.’

  The lines of her mouth went as flat as her voice as she asked, ‘What is that sup­posed to mean?’

  I took a breath, de­term­ined that I would be as hon­est with her as I was able. ‘I can­not tell you what happened. Only that it made me be­lieve you might be in danger. You will have to trust …’

  ‘That isn’t the part I meant. What do you mean, be­loved of a bas­tard? How do you dare to call me that?’ Her eyes were bright with an­ger.

  I swear that my heart thud­ded to a halt in my chest. The cold of death swept through me. ‘It is true, I have no right,’ I said halt­ingly. ‘But neither is there any way I could stop caring for you. And whether or not I have the right to name you my be­loved would not de­ter those who might seek to in­jure me by strik­ing at you. How can I say I love you so much that I wish I did not love you, or at least could re­frain from show­ing that I loved you, be­cause my love puts you in such danger and have those words be true?’ Stiffly, I turned to go.

  ‘And how could I pos­sibly dare to say I made sense of your last state­ment and have it be true?’ Molly wondered aloud.

  Some­thing in her voice made me turn around. For a mo­ment we just looked at one an­other. Then she burst out laugh­ing. I stood, af­fron­ted and grim, as she came to me, still laugh­ing. Then she put her arms around me. ‘New­boy. You take a most round­about path to fi­nally de­clare you love me. To break into my room, and then to stand there, ty­ing your tongue in knots about the word love. Could not you simply have said it, a long time ago?’

  I stood stu­pid in the circle of her arms. I looked down at her. Yes, I real­ized dully, I had grown that much taller than she.

  ‘Well?’ she promp­ted, and for a mo­ment I was puzzled.

  ‘I love you, Molly.’ So easy to say, after all. And such a re­lief. Slowly, cau­tiously, I put my arms around her.