‘Some for our good, some for our det­ri­ment. Or at least, for our damned in­con­veni­ence.’ Chade soun­ded both an­noyed and elated. ‘I hope you can find more hours in the day, boy, for I’m not will­ing to sac­ri­fice any of my plans for hers. Pa­tience has de­man­ded that you be edu­cated as be­fits your blood-lines. And she has vowed to un­der­take such edu­cat­ing her­self. Mu­sic, po­etry, dance, song, man­ners … I hope you’ve a bet­ter tol­er­ance for it than I did. Though it never seemed to hurt Chiv­alry. Some­times he even put such know­ledge to good use. But it will take up a good part of your day. You’ll be act­ing as page for Pa­tience as well. You’re old for it, but she in­sisted. Per­son­ally, I think she re­grets much and is try­ing to make up for lost time, some­thing that never works. You’ll have to cut back your weapons-train­ing. And Burrich will have to find him­self an­other stable-boy.’

  I didn’t give a peg about the weapons-train­ing. As Chade had of­ten poin­ted out to me, a really good as­sas­sin worked close and quietly. If I learned my trade well, I wouldn’t be swinging a long blade at any­one. But my time with Burrich – again I had the odd sen­sa­tion of not know­ing how I felt. I hated Burrich. Some­times. He was over­bear­ing, dic­tat­orial and in­sens­it­ive. He ex­pec­ted me to be per­fect, yet bluntly told me that I would never be re­war­ded for it. But he was also open, and blunt, and be­lieved I could achieve what he de­man­ded …

  ‘You’re prob­ably won­der­ing what ad­vant­age she won us,’ Chade went on ob­li­vi­ously. I heard sup­pressed ex­cite­ment in his voice. ‘It’s some­thing I’ve tried for twice for you, and been twice re­fused. But Pa­tience nattered at Shrewd un­til he sur­rendered. It’s the Skill, boy. You’re to be trained in the Skill.’

  ‘The Skill,’ I re­peated, without sense of what I was say­ing. It was all go­ing too fast for me.

  ‘Yes.’

  I scrabbled to find thoughts. ‘Burrich spoke of it to me, once. A long time ago.’ Ab­ruptly I re­membered the con­text of that con­ver­sa­tion. After Nosy ac­ci­dent­ally be­trayed us. He had spoken of it as the op­pos­ite of whatever was the sense I shared with an­im­als. The same sense had re­vealed to me the change in the folk of Forge. Would train­ing in one free me of the other? Or would it be a depriva­tion? I thought of the sense that I had shared with horses and dogs when I knew Burrich was not around. I re­membered Nosy, in a ming­ling of warmth and grief. I had never been so close, be­fore or since, to an­other liv­ing creature. Would this new train­ing in the Skill take that away from me?

  ‘What’s the mat­ter, boy?’ Chade’s voice was kindly, but con­cerned.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I hes­it­ated. But not even to Chade could I dare to re­veal my fear. Or my taint. ‘Noth­ing, I sup­pose.’

  ‘You’ve been listen­ing to old tales about the train­ing,’ he guessed, totally in­cor­rectly. ‘Listen, boy, it can’t be that bad. Chiv­alry went through it. So did Ver­ity. And with the threat of the Red Ships, Shrewd has de­cided to go back to the old ways, and ex­tend the train­ing to other likely can­did­ates. He wants a co­terie, or even two, to sup­ple­ment what he and Ver­ity can do with the Skill. Ga­len is not en­thused, but I sus­pect it’s a very good idea. Though, be­ing a bas­tard my­self, I was never al­lowed the train­ing. So I’ve no real idea how the Skill might be em­ployed to de­fend the land.’

  ‘You’re a bas­tard?’ The words burst out of me. All my tangled thoughts were sud­denly sliced through by this rev­el­a­tion. Chade stared at me, as shocked at my words as I by his.

  ‘Of course. I thought you’d worked that out long ago. Boy, for someone as per­cept­ive as you are, you’ve got some very odd blind­spots.’

  I looked at Chade as if for the first time. His scars, per­haps, had hid­den it from me. The re­semb­lance was there. The brow, the way his ears were set, the line of his lower lip. ‘You’re Shrewd’s son,’ I guessed wildly, go­ing only by his ap­pear­ance. Even be­fore he spoke, I real­ized how fool­ish my words were.

  ‘Son?’ Chade laughed grimly. ‘How he would scowl to hear you say that! But the truth makes him grim­ace even more. He is my younger half-brother, boy, though he was con­ceived in a wed­ded bed and I on a mil­it­ary cam­paign near Sandsedge.’ Softly he ad­ded, ‘My mother was a sol­dier when I was con­ceived. But she re­turned home to bear me, and later wed­ded a pot­ter. When my mother died, her hus­band put me on a don­key, gave me a neck­lace she had worn, and told me to take it to the King at Buck­keep. I was ten. It was a long, hard road from Wool­cot to Buck­keep, in those days.’

  I couldn’t think of any­thing to say.

  ‘Enough of this.’ Chade straightened him­self up sternly. ‘Ga­len will be in­struct­ing you in the Skill. Shrewd brow­beat him into it. He fi­nally ac­ceded, but with re­ser­va­tions. No one is to in­ter­fere with any of his stu­dents dur­ing the train­ing. I wish it were oth­er­wise, but there’s noth­ing I can do about it. You’ll just have to be care­ful. You know of Ga­len, don’t you?’

  ‘A little,’ I said. ‘Only what other people say about him.’

  ‘What do you know by your­self?’ Chade quizzed me.

  I took a breath and con­sidered. ‘He eats alone. I’ve never seen him at table, either with the men-at-arms, or in the din­ing-hall. I’ve never seen him just stand­ing about and talk­ing, not in the ex­er­cise yard or the wash­ing-court or in any of the gar­dens. He’s al­ways go­ing some­where when I see him, and he’s al­ways in a hurry. He’s bad with an­im­als. The dogs don’t like him, and he over­con­trols the horses so much that he ru­ins their mouths and their tem­pera­ments. I ima­gine he’s about Burrich’s age. He dresses well, is al­most as fancy as Regal. I’ve heard him called a Queen’s man.’

  ‘Why?’ Chade asked quickly.

  ‘Um, it was a long time ago. Gage. He’s a man-at-arms. He came to Burrich one night, a bit drunk, a bit cut-up. He’d had a fight with Ga­len, and Ga­len had hit him in the face with a little whip or some­thing. Gage asked Burrich to fix him up, be­cause it was late, and he wasn’t sup­posed to have been drink­ing that night. His watch was com­ing up, or some­thing. Gage told Burrich that he’d over­heard Ga­len say that Regal was twice as royal as Chiv­alry or Ver­ity, and it was a stu­pid cus­tom that kept him from the throne. Ga­len had said that Regal’s mother was bet­ter-born than Shrewd’s first queen. Which every­one knows is true. But what angered Gage enough to start the fight was that Ga­len said Queen De­sire was more royal than Shrewd him­self, for she’d Farseer blood from both her par­ents, and Shrewd’s was just from his father. So Gage swung at him, but Ga­len sidestepped and struck him in the face with some­thing.’

  I paused.

  ‘And?’ Chade en­cour­aged me.

  ‘And so he fa­vours Regal, over Ver­ity or even the King. And Regal, well, ac­cepts him. He’s friend­lier with him than he usu­ally is with ser­vants or sol­diers. He seems to take coun­sel from him, the few times I’ve seen them to­gether. It’s al­most funny to watch them to­gether; you’d think Ga­len was aping Regal, from the way he dresses and walks as the prince does. Some­times they al­most look alike.’

  ‘They do?’ Chade leaned closer, wait­ing. ‘What else have you no­ticed?’

  I searched my memory for more first-hand know­ledge of Ga­len. ‘That’s all, I think.’

  ‘Has he ever spoken to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see.’ Chade nod­ded as if to him­self. ‘And what do you know of him by repu­ta­tion? What do you sus­pect?’ He was try­ing to lead me to some con­clu­sion, but I could not guess what.

  ‘He’s from Far­row. An In­lander. His fam­ily came to Buck­keep with King Shrewd’s second queen. I’ve heard it said that he’s afraid of the wa­ter, to sail or to swim. Burrich re­spects him, but doesn’t like him. He says he’s a man who knows his job and does it, but Burrich can’t get along with any­one who mis­treats an an­imal, even if it’s out of ig­nor­ance. The kit­chen folk don’t like him. He’s al­ways mak­ing the younger ones cry. He ac­cuses the girls of get­ting hair in his meals or hav­ing dirty hands, and he says the boys are too rowdy and don’t serve food cor­rectly. So the cooks don’t like him either, be­cause when the ap­pren­tices are up­set they don’t do their work well.’ Chade was still look­ing at me ex­pect­antly, as if wait­ing for some­thing very im­port­ant. I racked my brains for other gos­sip.

  ‘He wears a chain with three gems set in it. Queen De­sire gave it to him, for some spe­cial ser­vice he did. Um. The Fool hates him. He told me once that if no one else is around Ga­len calls him a freak and throws things at him.’

  Chade’s brows went up. ‘The Fool talks to you?’

  His tone was more than in­cred­u­lous. He sat up in his chair so sud­denly that his wine leaped out of his cup and splashed on his knee. He rubbed at it dis­trac­tedly with his sleeve.

  ‘Some­times,’ I ad­mit­ted cau­tiously. ‘Not very of­ten. Only when he feels like it. He just ap­pears and tells me things.’

  ‘Things? What kind of things?’

  I real­ized sud­denly that I had never re­coun­ted to Chade the Fitz-fits-fats riddle. It seemed too com­plic­ated to go into just then. ‘Oh, just odd things. About two months ago, he stopped me and said the mor­row was a poor day to hunt. But it was fine and clear. Burrich got that big buck that day. You re­mem­ber. It was the same day that we came upon a wol­ver­ine. It tore up two of the dogs badly.’

  ‘As I re­call, it nearly got you.’ Chade leaned for­ward, an oddly pleased look on his face.

  I shrugged. ‘Burrich rode it down. And then he cursed me down as if it were my fault, and told me that he’d have knocked me silly if the beast had hurt Sooty. As if I could have known it would turn on me.’ I hes­it­ated. ‘Chade, I know the Fool is strange. But I like it when he comes to talk to me. He speaks in riddles, and he in­sults me, and makes fun of me, and gives him­self leave to tell me things he thinks I should do, like wash my hair, or not wear yel­low. But.’

  ‘Yes?’ Chade prod­ded as if what I was say­ing were very im­port­ant.

  ‘I like him,’ I said lamely. ‘He mocks me, but from him, it seems a kind­ness. He makes me feel, well, im­port­ant. That he could choose me to talk to.’

  Chade leaned back. He put his hand up to his mouth to cover a smile, but it was a joke I didn’t un­der­stand. ‘Trust your in­stincts,’ he told me suc­cinctly. ‘And keep any coun­sels the Fool gives you. And, as you have, keep it private that he comes and speaks to you. Some could take it amiss.’

  ‘Who?’ I de­man­ded.

  ‘King Shrewd, per­haps. After all, the Fool is his. Bought and paid for.’

  A dozen ques­tions rose to my mind. Chade saw the ex­pres­sion on my face, for he held up a quelling hand. ‘Not now. That’s as much as you need to know right now. In fact, more than you need to know. But I was sur­prised by your rev­el­a­tion. It’s not like me to tell secrets not my own. If the Fool wants you to know more, he can speak for him­self. But, I seem to re­call we were dis­cuss­ing Ga­len.’

  I sank back in my chair with a sigh. ‘Ga­len. So he is un­pleas­ant to those who can­not chal­lenge it, dresses well and eats alone. What else do I need to know, Chade? I’ve had strict teach­ers, and I’ve had un­pleas­ant ones. I think I’ll learn to deal with him.’

  ‘You’d bet­ter.’ Chade was deadly earn­est. ‘Be­cause he hates you. He hates you more than he loved your father. The depth of emo­tion he felt for your father un­nerved me. No man, not even a prince, mer­its such blind de­vo­tion, es­pe­cially not so sud­denly. And you he hates, with even more in­tens­ity. It fright­ens me.’

  Some­thing in Chade’s tone brought a sick chill stalk­ing up from my stom­ach. I felt an un­eas­i­ness that al­most made me sick. ‘How do you know?’ I de­man­ded.

  ‘Be­cause he told Shrewd so when Shrewd dir­ec­ted him to in­clude you among his pu­pils. “Does not this bas­tard have to learn his place? Does he not have to be con­tent with what you have de­creed for him?” Then he re­fused to teach you.’

  ‘He re­fused?’

  ‘I told you. But Shrewd was adam­ant. And he is King, and Ga­len must obey him now, for all that he was a Queen’s man. So Ga­len re­len­ted and said he would at­tempt to teach you. You will meet with him each day. Be­gin­ning a month from now. You are Pa­tience’s un­til then.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There is a tower top, called the Queen’s Garden. You will be ad­mit­ted there.’ Chade paused, as if want­ing to warn me, but not wish­ing to scare me. ‘Be care­ful,’ he said at last, ‘for within the walls of the Garden, I have no in­flu­ence. I am blind there.’

  It was a strange warn­ing, and one I took to heart.

  THIR­TEEN

  Smithy

  The Lady Pa­tience es­tab­lished her ec­cent­ri­city at an early age. As a small child, her nurse­maids found her stub­bornly in­de­pend­ent, and yet lack­ing the com­mon sense to take care of her­self. One re­marked, ‘She would go all day with her laces un­done be­cause she could not tie them her­self, yet would suf­fer no one to tie them for her.’ Be­fore the age of ten, she had de­cided to es­chew the tra­di­tional train­ings be­fit­ting a girl of her rank, and in­stead in­ter­ested her­self in han­di­crafts that were very un­likely to prove use­ful: pot­tery, tat­too­ing, the mak­ing of per­fumes, and the grow­ing and propaga­tion of plants, es­pe­cially for­eign ones.

  She did not scruple to ab­sent her­self for long hours from su­per­vi­sion. She pre­ferred the wood­lands and orch­ards to her mother’s court­yards and gar­dens. One would have thought this would pro­duce a hardy and prac­tical child. Noth­ing could be fur­ther from the truth. She seemed to be con­stantly af­flic­ted with rashes, scrapes and stings, was fre­quently lost, and never de­veloped any sens­ible war­i­ness to­ward man or beast.

  Her edu­ca­tion came largely from her­self. She mastered read­ing and ci­pher­ing at an early age, and from that time stud­ied any scroll, book or tab­let that came her way with av­ar­i­cious and in­dis­crim­in­ate in­terest. Tu­tors were frus­trated by her dis­tract­able ways and fre­quent ab­sences that seemed to af­fect not at all her abil­ity to learn al­most any­thing swiftly and well. Yet the ap­plic­a­tion of such know­ledge in­ter­ested her not at all. Her head was full of fan­cies and ima­gin­ings, she sub­sti­tuted po­etry and mu­sic for lo­gic and man­ners, she ex­pressed no in­terest at all in so­cial in­tro­duc­tions and coquet­tish skills.

  And yet she mar­ried a prince, one who had cour­ted her with a single-minded en­thu­si­asm that was to be the first scan­dal to be­fall him.

  ‘Stand up straight!’

  I stiffened.

  ‘Not like that! You look like a tur­key, drawn out and wait­ing for the axe. Re­lax more. No, put your shoulders back, don’t hunch them. Do you al­ways stand with your feet thrown out so?’

  ‘Lady, he is only a boy. They are al­ways so, all angles and bones. Let him come in and be at ease.’

  ‘Oh, very well. Come in, then.’

  I nod­ded my grat­it­ude to a round-faced serving-wo­man who dimpled a smile at me in re­turn. She ges­tured me to­ward a pew­bench so be­decked with pil­lows and shawls that there was scarcely room left to sit. I perched on the edge of it and sur­veyed Lady Pa­tience’s cham­ber.

  It was worse than Chade’s. I would have thought it the clut­ter of years if I had not known that she had only re­cently ar­rived. Even a com­plete in­vent­ory of the room could not have de­scribed it, for it was the jux­ta­pos­i­tion of ob­jects that made them re­mark­able. A feather fan, a fen­cing glove and a bundle of cat­tails were all vased in a well-worn boot. A small black ter­rier with two fat pup­pies slept in a bas­ket lined with a fur hood and some wool­len stock­ings. A fam­ily of carved-ivory wal­ruses perched on a tab­let about horse-shoe­ing. But the dom­in­ant ele­ments were the plants. There were fat puffs of green­ery over­flow­ing clay pots, tea­cups and gob­lets, and buck­ets of cut­tings and cut-flowers, and vines spill­ing out of handle­less mugs and cracked cups. Fail­ures were evid­ent in bare sticks pok­ing up out of pots of earth. The plants perched and huddled to­gether in every loc­a­tion that would catch morn­ing or af­ter­noon sun from the win­dows. The ef­fect was like a garden spill­ing in the win­dows and grow­ing up around the clut­ter in the room.

  ‘He’s prob­ably hungry, too, isn’t he, Lacey? I’ve heard that about boys. I think there’s some cheese and bis­cuits on the stand by my bed. Fetch them for him, would you, dear?’

  Lady Pa­tience stood slightly more than arm’s dis­tance away from me as she spoke past me to her lady.

  ‘I’m not hungry, really, thank you,’ I blur­ted out be­fore Lacey could lum­ber to her feet. ‘I’m here be­cause I was told … to make my­self avail­able to you, in the morn­ings, for as long as you wanted me.’

  That was a care­ful re­ph­ras­ing. What King Shrewd had ac­tu­ally said to me was, ‘Go to her cham­bers each morn­ing, and do whatever it is she thinks you ought to be do­ing so that she leaves me alone. And keep do­ing it un­til she is as weary of you as I am of her.’ His blunt­ness had astoun­ded me, for I had never seen him so be­lea­guered as that day. Ver­ity came in the door of the cham­ber as I was scut­tling out, and he, too, looked much the worse for wear. Both men spoke and moved as if suf­fer­ing from too much wine the night be­fore, and yet I had seen them both at table last night, and there had been a marked lack of either mer­ri­ness or wine. Ver­ity tousled my head as I went past him. ‘More like his father every day,’ he re­marked to a scowl­ing Regal be­hind him. Regal glared at me as he entered the King’s cham­ber and loudly closed the door be­hind him.