“Perseverance, go on your errands,” I said firmly. The boy left. Chade and I were left alone with Lant and Thick.
I studied Lant. His resemblance to Chade and his other Farseer forebears was not nearly as clear as Shun’s, but now that I knew of it, it was impossible for me not to see. He also looked terrible. His eyes were sunken but bright with a wound fever, his lips chapped. He moved like a decrepit old man. Not that long ago, he had been given a severe beating in Buckkeep Town. For his own safety, Chade had sent him to me, ostensibly to be my scribe and tutor my daughter. Haven with me had won him a sword-thrust in the shoulder and considerable blood loss. And a memory wiped as bland as blowing snow.
“What do you think?” I asked Chade.
“It may lessen his pain, if nothing else. And I do not think his spirit could sink lower than it is. If he is willing, we should let him try it.”
Thick had been drifting about my study, picking up the few curios I had on display, then lifting the curtain to peer out at the snowy grounds. He found a chair, perched on it, and suddenly said, “Nettle can send you the Aslevjal bark. She says she has a journeyman who could bring it through the stones.”
“You can Skill to Nettle?” I was astounded. The keening of the multitude kept me from hearing Chade’s Skill at all, and we were in the same room.
“Yah. She wanted me to tell her if Bee was okay, and Lant. I told her Bee is stolen and Lant is crazy. She is sad and scared and angry. She wants to help.”
Not how I would have chosen to convey those tidings, but Nettle and Thick had their own relationship. They spoke plainly to each other.
“Tell her yes, please. Tell her to ask Lady Rosemary to pack some of each blend of elfbark, and to send them through with her messenger. Tell her we will send a guide and a mount for her courier to the stone on Gallows Hill.” Chade turned to Lant. “Go to the Rousters’ captain, and ask that he dispatch a man with a mount to Gallows Hill outside Oaksbywater.”
Lant looked directly at him. “Are you sending me out of the room so you can discuss me with Fitz?”
“I am,” Chade replied pleasantly. “Now go.”
When the door had closed behind him, I said evenly, “He has his mother’s forthright way.”
“Huntswoman Laurel. Yes. He has. It was one of the things I loved about her.” He watched me as he said it, challenging me to be surprised.
I was, a little, but I covered it. “If he is yours, why is he not FitzFallstar? Or simply a Fallstar?”
“He should have been Lantern Fallstar. When we discovered Laurel was with child, I was willing to wed. She was not.”
I glanced at Thick. He appeared uninterested in what we were saying. I lowered my voice. “Why?”
There was pain in the lines at the corners of Chade’s mouth and in his eyes. “The obvious reason. She had come to know me too well, and knowing me could not love me. She chose to leave court and go to where she could give birth quietly and out of sight of all.” He made a small sound. “That hurt the worst of all, Fitz. That she did not want anyone to know the child was mine.” He shook his head. “I could not stop her. I made sure she had funds. She had an excellent midwife. But she did not survive his birth for long. The midwife called it a childbed fever. I had left Buckkeep as soon as the messenger bird reached me that the boy was born. I still hoped to persuade her to try having a life with me. But by the time I reached her, she was dead.”
He fell silent. I wondered why he was telling me, and why he was telling me now, but did not ask either question. I got up and put more wood on the fire. “Are there gingercakes in your kitchen?” Thick asked me.
“I don’t know but there is bound to be something sweet there. Why don’t you go and ask for something nice? Bring some back for Lord Chade and me, too.”
“Yah,” he promised, and left with alacrity.