‘I don’t know,’ I ad­mit­ted grudgingly. ‘It shocked me when he set off on this ri­dicu­lous quest. He should have stayed here, and con­tin­ued with his ori­ginal plan. By the time he re­turns, half his king­dom will be beg­gared or given away, the way Regal is go­ing at things.’

  Chade looked at me lev­elly. ‘“His” king­dom is still King Shrewd’s king­dom. Re­mem­ber? Per­haps he has faith in his father to keep it in­tact.’

  ‘I do not think King Shrewd can even keep him­self in­tact, Chade. Have you see him of late?’

  Chade’s mouth went to a flat line. ‘Yes.’ He bit the word off. ‘I see him when no one else does. I tell you that he is not the feeble idiot you seem to be­lieve he is.’

  I shook my head slowly. ‘If you had seen him to­night, Chade, you would share my anxi­ety.’

  ‘What makes you so sure I did not?’ Chade was nettled now. I had no wish to an­ger the old man. But it seemed to be go­ing all wrong, no mat­ter how I spoke. I forced my­self to keep si­lent now. In­stead of speak­ing, I took an­other sip of my wine. I stared into the fire.

  ‘Are the ru­mours about the Near Is­lands true?’ I asked at last. My voice was my own again.

  Chade sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his knuckly hands. ‘As in all ru­mours, there is a germ of truth. It may be true that the Raid­ers have es­tab­lished a base there. We are not cer­tain. We have cer­tainly not ceded the Near Is­lands to them. As you ob­served, once they had the Near Is­lands, they would raid our coast winter and sum­mer.’

  ‘Prince Regal seemed to be­lieve that they could be bought off. That per­haps those is­lands and a bit of Bearns’ coast were what they were truly after.’ It was an ef­fort, but I kept my voice re­spect­ful as I spoke of Regal.

  ‘Many men hope that by say­ing a thing they can make it so,’ Chade said neut­rally. ‘Even when they must know bet­ter,’ he ad­ded as a darker af­ter­thought.

  ‘What do you think the Raid­ers want?’ I asked.

  He stared past me into the fire. ‘Now there is a puzzle. What do the Raid­ers want? It is how our minds work, Fitz. We think they at­tack us be­cause they want some­thing from us. But surely, if they wanted some­thing, by now they would have de­man­ded it. They know the dam­age they do to us. They must know that we would at least con­sider their de­mands. But they ask for noth­ing. They simply go on raid­ing.’

  ‘They make no sense.’ I fin­ished the thought for him.

  ‘Not the way we see sense,’ he cor­rec­ted me. ‘But what if our ba­sic as­sump­tion is wrong?’

  I just stared at him.

  ‘What if they don’t want any­thing, ex­cept what they already have? A na­tion of vic­tims. Towns to raid, vil­lages to torch, people to tor­ture. What if that is their en­tire aim?’

  ‘That’s in­sane,’ I said slowly.

  ‘Per­haps. But what if it is so?’

  ‘Then noth­ing will stop them. Ex­cept des­troy­ing them.’

  He nod­ded slowly. ‘Fol­low that thought.’

  ‘We don’t have enough ships to even slow them down.’ I con­sidered a mo­ment. ‘We had best all hope the myths about the Eld­er­lings are true. Be­cause it seems to me they, or some­thing like them, are our only hope.’

  Chade nod­ded slowly. ‘Ex­actly. So you see why I ap­prove of Ver­ity’s course.’

  ‘Be­cause it’s our only hope of sur­vival.’

  We sat for a long time to­gether, star­ing si­lently into the fire. When I fi­nally re­turned to my bed that night, I was as­sailed by night­mares of Ver­ity at­tacked and bat­tling for his life while I stood by and watched. I could not kill any of his at­tack­ers, for my king had not said I could.

  Twelve days later, Duke Brawndy of Bearns ar­rived. He came down the coast road, at the head of enough men to be im­press­ive without be­ing an open threat. He had mustered as much pomp and panoply as his duke­dom could af­ford. His daugh­ters rode at his side, save for the eld­est who had re­mained be­hind to do all that could be done for Ferry. I spent most of the early af­ter­noon in the stables, and then in the guard-room, listen­ing to the talk of the lesser mem­bers of his en­tour­age. Hands ac­quit­ted him­self well at see­ing that there was space and care for their beasts, and as al­ways our kit­chens and bar­racks made them­selves hos­pit­able places. Still, there was plenty of hard talk among the folk from Bearns. They spoke bluntly of what they had seen at Ferry, and how their sum­mons for help had gone un­heeded. It shamed our sol­diers that there was little they could say to de­fend what King Shrewd had ap­par­ently done. And when a sol­dier can­not de­fend what his leader has done, he must either agree with the cri­ti­cism, or find an­other area in which to dis­agree. So there were fist-fights between Bearns men and Buck­keep troops, isol­ated in­cid­ents for the most part, and over trivial dif­fer­ences. But such things did not usu­ally hap­pen un­der the dis­cip­line of Buck­keep, and so they were all the more un­set­tling. It un­der­scored to me the con­fu­sion amongst our own troops.

  I dressed care­fully for din­ner that even­ing, un­sure as to who I might en­counter or what might be ex­pec­ted of me. I had glimpsed Celer­ity twice that day, and each time slipped away be­fore I could be no­ticed. I ex­pec­ted she would be my din­ner part­ner, and dreaded it. Now was no time to give any­one from Bearns any sort of af­front, but I did not wish to en­cour­age her. I could have saved my wor­ry­ing. I found my­self seated far down the table, among the lesser no­bil­ity, and the younger ones at that. I spent an un­com­fort­able even­ing as a minor nov­elty. Sev­eral of the girls at the table at­temp­ted to be flir­ta­tious. This was a new ex­per­i­ence for me and not one I rel­ished. It made me real­ize just how great an in­flux of folk had swollen the Buck­keep court that winter. Most of them were from the In­land duch­ies, sniff­ing after scraps from Regal’s plate, but as these young wo­men plainly in­dic­ated, they would be happy to court polit­ical in­flu­ence wherever they could. The ef­fort to fol­low their at­tempts at witty banter and re­spond on a level of at least mod­er­ate po­lite­ness made it nearly im­possible for me to give any at­ten­tion to what was go­ing on at the high table. King Shrewd was there, seated between Queen-in-Wait­ing Kettricken and Prince Regal. Duke Brawndy and his daugh­ters Celer­ity and Faith were seated closest to them. The rest of the table was filled with Regal’s pets. Duke Ram of Tilth and his Lady Pla­cid, and their two sons were the most note­worthy. Regal’s cousin Lord Bright was there as well; the young heir to the Duke of Far­row was new to court.

  From where I sat, I could see little, and hear even less. I felt Ver­ity’s churn­ing frus­tra­tion at the situ­ation, but there was noth­ing I could do about it. The King looked more weary than dazed that even­ing, which I took to be pos­it­ive. Kettricken seated be­side him was near col­our­less save for two spots of pink on her cheeks. She did not seem to be eat­ing much, and seemed graver and more si­lent than usual. Prince Regal, in con­trast, was both so­cial and merry. With Duke Ram and Lady Pla­cid and their boys. He did not quite ig­nore Brawndy and his daugh­ters, but his mer­ri­ment clearly grated on the vis­it­ors’ mood.

  Duke Brawndy was a large man, and well-muscled even in his old age. Shocks of white hair in his black war­rior’s tail at­tested to old battle in­jur­ies, as did a hand miss­ing a few fin­gers. His daugh­ters sat just down table from him, in­digo-eyed wo­men whose high cheekbones told of his late queen’s Near Is­land an­ces­try. Faith and Celer­ity wore their hair cut short and sleek in the North­ern style. The quick ways they turned their heads to ob­serve every­one at the table re­minded me of hawks on a wrist. These were not the gentled no­bil­ity of the In­land duch­ies that Regal was used to deal­ing with. Of all the Six Duch­ies, the folk of Bearns came closest to be­ing war­ri­ors still.

  Regal was court­ing dis­aster to make light of their griev­ances. I knew they would not ex­pect to dis­cuss Raid­ers at the table, but his fest­ive tone was com­pletely at odds with their mis­sion here. I wondered if he knew how badly he of­fen­ded them. Kettricken ob­vi­ously did. More than once, I saw her clench her jaw, or cast her eyes down­ward at one of Regal’s wit­ti­cisms. He was drink­ing too heav­ily as well, and it began to show in his ex­tra­vag­ant hand ges­tures, and the loud­ness of his laughter. I wished des­per­ately I could hear what he was find­ing so hu­mor­ous in his own words.

  Din­ner seemed in­ter­min­able. Celer­ity rap­idly loc­ated me at table. After that, I was hard put to avoid the meas­ur­ing looks she sent my way. I nod­ded af­fably to her the first time our eyes locked; I could tell she was puzzled by where I had been seated. I dared not ig­nore every look she sent my way. Regal was of­fens­ive enough without my ap­pear­ing to snub Bearns’ daugh­ter as well. I felt I teetered on a fence. I was grate­ful when King Shrewd rose and Queen Kettricken in­sisted on tak­ing his arm to help him from the room. Regal frowned a trifle drunk­enly to see the party dis­perse so soon, but made no ef­fort to per­suade Duke Brawndy and his daugh­ters to stay at table. They ex­cused them­selves rather stiffly as soon as Shrewd had de­par­ted. I like­wise made ex­cuse of a head­ache and left my gig­gling com­pan­ions for the solitude of my room. As I opened my door and went into my bed-cham­ber, I felt my­self the most power­less per­son in the keep. Name­less the dog-boy in­deed.

  ‘I see din­ner was ab­so­lutely fas­cin­at­ing for you,’ the Fool ob­served. I sighed. I didn’t ask how he had got in. No point to ask­ing ques­tions that would not be answered. He was sit­ting on my hearth, sil­hou­et­ted against the dan­cing flames of a small fire he had kindled there. There was a pe­cu­liar still­ness to him, no jingling of bells, no tum­bling mock­ing words.

  ‘Din­ner was in­suf­fer­able,’ I told him. I did not bother with candles. My head­ache had not been en­tirely a fic­tion. I sat, then lay back on my bed with a sigh. ‘I do not know what Buck­keep is com­ing to, nor what I can do about it.’

  ‘Per­haps what you have already done is enough?’ the Fool ven­tured.

  ‘I’ve done noth­ing note­worthy lately,’ I in­formed him. ‘Un­less you count know­ing when to stop talk­ing back to Regal.’

  ‘Ah. That’s a skill we’re all learn­ing, then,’ he agreed mor­osely. He drew his knees up to his chin, res­ted his arms upon them. He took a breath. ‘Have you no news, then, that you’d care to share with a Fool? A very dis­creet Fool?’

  ‘I’ve no news to share with you that you would not already know, and prob­ably sooner than I did.’ The dark­ness of the room was rest­ful. My head­ache was eas­ing.

  ‘Ah.’ He paused del­ic­ately. ‘Shall I, per­haps, ask a ques­tion? To be answered or not as you see fit?’

  ‘Save your breath and ask it. You know you shall, whether I give you per­mis­sion or no.’

  ‘In­deed, there you are right. Well then. The ques­tion. Ah, I sur­prise my­self, I blush. I do. FitzChiv­alry, have you made a fitz of your own?’

  I sat up slowly on my bed and stared at him. He did not move nor flinch. ‘What did you ask me?’ I de­man­ded quietly.

  He spoke softly, al­most apo­lo­get­ic­ally now. ‘I must know. Is Molly car­ry­ing your child?’

  I sprang at him from the bed, caught him by the throat and dragged him up to his feet. I drew back my fist, and then stopped, shocked by what the fire­light re­vealed on his face.

  ‘Bat­ter away,’ he sug­ges­ted quietly. ‘New bruises will not show much upon the old ones. I can creep about un­seen for a few more days.’

  I snatched my hand back from him. Strange, how the act I had been about to com­mit now seemed so mon­strous when I dis­covered someone else had already done it. As soon as I re­leased him, he turned away from me, as if his dis­col­oured and swollen face shamed him. Per­haps the pal­lor of his skin and his del­ic­ate bone struc­ture made it all the more hor­ri­fy­ing to me. It was as if someone had done this to a child. I knelt by the fire and began to build it up.

  ‘Didn’t get a good enough look?’ the Fool asked acidly. ‘I’ll warn you, it gets no bet­ter by giv­ing more light to it.’

  ‘Sit on my clothes chest and take your shirt off,’ I told him brusquely. He didn’t move. I ig­nored that. I had a small kettle for tea-wa­ter. This I set to heat. I lit a branch of candles and set them upon the table, and then took out my small store of herbs. I did not keep that many in my room; I wished now I had Burrich’s full store to draw on, but I was sure that if I left to go to the stables, he would be gone when I re­turned. Still, those I kept in my room were mostly for bruises and cuts and the types of in­jur­ies my other pro­fes­sion ex­posed me to most of­ten. They would do.

  When the wa­ter was warm, I poured some into my wash­basin and ad­ded a gen­er­ous hand­ful of herbs, crush­ing them as I did so. I found an out­grown shirt in my cloth­ing chest and tore it into rags. ‘Come into the light.’ This I phrased as a re­quest. After a mo­ment, he did so, but mov­ing hes­it­antly and shyly. I looked at him briefly, then took him by the shoulders and sat him down on my cloth­ing chest. ‘What happened to you?’ I asked, awed by the dam­age to his face. His lips were cut and swollen, and one eye swollen near closed.

  ‘I’ve been go­ing about Buck­keep, ask­ing bad-tempered in­di­vidu­als if they’ve fathered bas­tards lately.’ His one good eye met my glare straight on. Red webbed the white of it. I found I could neither be angry with him, nor laugh.

  ‘You should know enough medi­cine to take bet­ter care of some­thing like this. Sit still now.’ I made the rag into a com­press, held it gently but firmly to his face. After a mo­ment, he re­laxed. I sponged away some dried blood. There wasn’t much; he had ob­vi­ously cleaned him­self up after this beat­ing, but some of the cuts had con­tin­ued to ooze blood. I ran my fin­gers lightly down the lines of his jaw, and around his eye socket. At least no bone seemed dam­aged. ‘Who did this to you?’ I asked him.

  ‘I walked into a series of doors. Or the same one sev­eral times. It de­pends on which door you ask.’ He spoke glibly for someone with mashed lips.

  ‘That was a ser­i­ous ques­tion,’ I told him.

  ‘As was mine.’

  I glared at him again and he dropped his eyes. For a mo­ment neither of us spoke as I searched out a pot of salve Burrich had given me for cuts and scrapes. ‘I’d really like to know the an­swer,’ I re­minded him as I took the lid off the pot. The fa­mil­iar bit­ing scent rose to my nos­trils, and I sud­denly missed Burrich with an amaz­ing in­tens­ity.

  ‘As would I.’ He flinched slightly un­der my touch as I ap­plied the salve. I knew it stung. I also knew it worked.

  ‘Why do you ask such a ques­tion of me?’ I fi­nally de­man­ded.

  He con­sidered a mo­ment. ‘Be­cause it is easier to ask of you than to ask Kettricken if she car­ries Ver­ity’s child. As far as I can de­term­ine, Regal has shared his fa­vours only with him­self of late, so that dis­misses him. You or Ver­ity, then, must be the father.’

  I looked at him blankly. He shook his head sadly for me. ‘Can­not you feel it?’ he asked in a near whis­per. He stared off in the dis­tance dra­mat­ic­ally. ‘Forces shift. Shad­ows flut­ter. Sud­denly, there is a rip­pling in the pos­sib­il­it­ies. A re­order­ing of the fu­tures, as des­tinies mul­tiply. All paths di­verge, and di­verge again.’ He looked back to me. I smiled at him, think­ing he jes­ted, but his mouth was sober. ‘There is an heir to the Farseer line,’ he said quietly. ‘I am cer­tain of it.’

  Have you ever missed a step in the dark? There is that sud­den feel­ing of tee­ter­ing on the edge, and no know­ledge of how far you may fall. I said, far too firmly, ‘I have fathered no child.’

  The Fool re­garded me with a scep­tical eye. ‘Ah,’ he said with false hearti­ness. ‘Of course not. Then it must be Kettricken who is car­ry­ing.’

  ‘It must,’ I agreed, but my heart sank. If Kettricken were preg­nant, she would have no reason to con­ceal it. Whereas Molly would. And I had not been to see Molly in sev­eral nights. Per­haps she had news for me. I felt sud­denly diz­zied, but I forced my­self to take a long calm­ing breath. ‘Take your shirt off,’ I told the Fool. ‘Let’s see your chest.’

  ‘I’ve seen it, thank you, and I as­sure you it’s fine. When they popped the bag over my head, I pre­sume it was to provide a tar­get. They were most con­scien­tious about strik­ing nowhere else.’

  The bru­tal­ity of what they had done to him sickened me into si­lence. ‘Who?’ I fi­nally man­aged to ask.

  ‘With a bag over my head? Come now. Can you see through a bag?’

  ‘No. But you must have sus­pi­cions.’

  He can­ted his head at me in dis­be­lief. ‘If you do not know what those sus­pi­cions are already, then you are the one with your head in a bag. Let me cut a bit of a hole for you. “We know you are false to the King, that you spy for Ver­ity the Pre­tender. Send him no more mes­sages, for if you do, we shall know of it.” He turned to stare into the fire, swung his heels briefly, thunk, thunk, thunk against my cloth­ing chest.

  ‘Ver­ity the Pre­tender?’ I asked in out­rage.

  ‘Not my words. Theirs,’ he poin­ted out.

  I forced my an­ger down, tried to think. ‘Why would they sus­pect you spy for Ver­ity? Have you sent him mes­sages?’

  ‘I have a king,’ he said softly. ‘Al­though he does not al­ways re­mem­ber he is my king. You must look out for your king. As I am sure you do.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘What I have al­ways done. What else can I do? I can­not stop do­ing what they com­mand me to stop, for I have never be­gun it.’