“My Queen, you cannot approach this problem from that direction. We must begin from where we are; no good will come of trying to apportion blame. I will tell you bluntly that in my brief time here, I have discovered nothing. Those whom I have questioned speak well of the Prince. No one has divulged to me that he was unhappy or discontented in any way.”
“Then you think he was taken?” she broke in, This interruption was so uncharacteristic of Kettricken that I finally grasped the depth of her anguish. I drew out a chair for her, and as she sat, I looked down into her face and said with all the calm I could muster, “I do not think anything yet. I do not have enough facts to form an opinion.”
At an impatient sign from her, both Chade and I were seated at the table. “But what of your Skill?” she demanded. “Does it tell you nothing of him? Chade told me that he suspected you and the boy were somehow linked in your dreams. I do not understand how that could be so, but if it is, surely it must tell you something. What has he dreamed these last few nights?”
“You will not like my answer, my Queen, any more than you liked my answer all those years ago when we searched for Verity. My talent now is as it was then: erratic and unreliable. From what Chade has told me, it is possible that I have occasionally shared a dream with Prince Dutiful. But if it is so, I was not cognizant of it at the time. Nor can I break into his dreams at will. If he has dreamed these last few nights, he dreamed alone.”
“Or perhaps he did not dream at all,” Kettricken mourned. “Perhaps he is dead already, or tormented so that he cannot sleep and dream.”
“My Queen, you imagine the worst, and when you do, your mind stops at the problem and does not consider the solution.” Chade's voice was almost severe. Knowing how distraught he was over the boy's absence, his sternness surprised me, until I saw the Queen's reaction. Kettricken took strength from his firmness.
“Of course. You are right.” She took a breath. “But what can our solution be ? We have discovered nothing, and neither has FitzChivalry. You have counseled me to keep his disappearance a secret, lest we panic the people and precipitate rash decisions. But there have been no demands for ransom. Perhaps we should make public that the Prince is missing. Someone, somewhere, must know something. I think we must announce it and ask the people to help.”
“Not yet,” I heard myself say. “For you are right in saying that someone, somewhere, must know something. And if they are aware the Prince is absent from Buckkeep, and they have not come forward, then they have a reason. And I should like to know what it is.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Kettricken demanded of me. “What is left to us?”
I knew it would chafe her, yet I still suggested it. “Give me a little more time. A day, at most two. Let me ask more questions and sniff about some more.”
“But anything could have happened to him by then!”
“Anything could have happened to him by now,” I pointed out levelly. I spoke calmly the cruel words. “Kettricken. If someone took him to kill him, they have done it by now. If they took him to use him, they are still awaiting our move in this game. If he ran away, then he may yet run home again. While we keep his absence a secret, the next move belongs to us. Let it be known, and others will make that move for us. You will have nobles tearing up the countryside, looking for him, and not all will ubs have his best interests at heart. Some will want to 'rescue' htm to curry favor, and others may think to seize a prize from another weasel's jaws.”
She closed her eyes but nodded reluctantly to my words. When she spoke, her voice was strained. “But you know that time runs out for us. Chade has told you that an Outislander contingent comes to formalize Prince Dutiful's affiance? When they arrive a fortnight from now, I must be able to produce him or I risk not only embarrassment but also insult and an end to a carefully wrought truce that I hope to make an alliance.”
“Bought with your son.”- The words leapt out of my mouth before I knew I had thought them.
She opened her eyes and gazed at me directly. “Yes. As the Mountain alliance with the Six Duchies was bought with me.” She cocked her head at me. “Do you consider it a poor transaction?”
I deserved rebuke. I bowed my head to it. “No, my Queen. I think it was the best bargain that the Six Duchies ever made.”
She nodded to my compliment and a faint blush rosed her cheeks. “I shall listen to your counsel, Fitz. Two more days will we seek Dutiful on our own, before we reveal his absence to our people. In those days, we will use every means at our disposal to discover what may have become of him. Chade has opened to you the concealed maze within the walls of Buckkeep. I little like what it says of us, that we furtively spy on our own folk, but I grant the freedom of it to you, FitzChivalry. I know you will not abuse it. Use it as seems wise to you.”
“Thank you, my Queen,” I replied awkwardly. I did not truly welcome this gift, the access to every lord's and lady's small and grubby flaws. I did not glance at Chade. What had it cost him to be privy not just to the massive secrets of the throne, but the dirty and shameful sins of the folk of the keep? What vices had he inadvertently witnessed, what painful shortcomings had he glimpsed, and how did he meet the eyes of those folk every day in the broad and welllit chambers of the keep?
“. . . and whatever you must do.”
My mind had been wandering, but my Queen was looking at me, waiting. I made the only possible response. “Yes, my Queen.”
She gave a great sigh as if she had feared my refusal. Or as if she dreaded what she next must say. “Then do so, FitzChivalry, ever friend. I would not spend you this way if it could be avoided. Safeguard your health. Be wary of the drugs and herbs, for as thorough as your old master is, no translation should ever be absolutely trusted.” She took a breath, then added in a different tone, “If either Chade or I press you too hard, tell us so. Your head must stand guard against my mother's heart. Do not ... do not let me shame myself in this, by asking more of you than you can . . .” Her voice trailed away. I think she trusted me to take her meaning. She drew another breath. She turned her head and looked away from me, as if that would keep me from knowing that tears stood in her eyes. “You will begin tonight?” she asked in an unnaturally high voice.
I knew what I had just agreed to. I knew then that I stood at the lip of the abyss.
I flung myself off into it. “Yes, my Queen.”
How shall I describe that long climb up the stairs to the tower? Chade led the way through the secret places of the keep and I followed his uncertain lamplight. Dread and anticipation warred inside me. I felt I had left my stomach far behind me, and yet I longed for him to hurry up the steps. Excitement coursed through me as we approached that indulgence so long denied to me. My hopes and focus should have been on recovering the Prince, but the prospect of drowning myself in Skill dominated all my thoughts. It terrified and tantalized me. My skin felt taut and alive, and mysenses seemed to strain against the confines of my flesh. Music seemed to move through the air at the edges of my hearing.
Chade triggered the door's opening, and then gestured for me to precede him. As I edged past him, he observed, “You look nervous as a bridegroom, boy.”
I cleared my throat. “It seems strange to rush headlong into that which I have tried to school myself to avoid.”
He shut the door behind us as I glanced about the room. A small fire burned on the grate. Even in the height of summer, the thick stone walls of the keep seemed to whisper a chill into the room. Verity's sword leaned up against the hearth where I had left it, but someone had removed the leather on the hilt. “You recognized Verity's blade,” I observed.
“How could I not? I am glad you kept it safe.”
I laughed. “More like, it kept me safe. Well. What exactly do you propose?”
“I suggest you make yourself comfortable and that you attempt to Skill out after the Prince. That is all.”
I looked around for a place to sit. Not on the hearthstones. Yet, as it ever had been, there was only one comfortable chair near the fire. “And the drugs and herbs the Queen mentioned?”
Chade gave me a sidelong glance. I thought I detected some wariness in the look. “I do not think we will need them. She refers to several scrolls within the Skill collection. There are teas and tinctures that are suggested for Skill students who seem to have difficulty attaining a receptive state. We had considered using them on Prince Dutiful but had decided to postpone it until we were sure they are necessary.”
“Galen never used any herbs when he was instructing us.” I brought a tall stool from the workbench and set it opposite Chade 's chair. I perched on it. He settled in his chair, but then had to look up at me. I suspect it annoyed him. He sounded peevish when he spoke.
ROBIN HO BB“Galen never used any herbs when he was instructing you. Did you never suspect that perhaps the others in your Skill coterie received special attentions that you were not privy to? I did. Of course, we will never be certain of that.”
I shrugged my shoulders to that. What else could I do? It was years ago and they were all dead, several of them at my hands. What did it matter now? But the thoughts had stirred my old aversion to the Skill. From anticipation, I had shifted suddenly to dread. I changed the subject. “Did you find out for me who gave the cat to the Prince?”
Chade looked startled at my abrupt shift. “I yes, of course. Lady Bresinga of Galeton and her son Civil. It was a birthday gift. The cat was presented to him in a little jeweled harness with a leash. The animal was about two years old, a longlegged stripy creature with a rather flat face and a tail as long as the rest of it. I understand those cats cannot be bred, that a kitten must be taken from a wild den before its eyes have opened if anything is to be made of it. It is an exotic coursing animal, suited to solitary hunting. The Prince took to it immediately.”
“Who took the kitten from the den?” I asked.
“I have no idea. Their Huntsman, I imagine.”
“Did the cat like the Prince?”
Chade frowned. “I had not really concerned myself with that. As I recall, they approached the dais, with Lady Bresinga holding the end of the cat's leash and her son actually carrying the animal. It seemed almost dazed by all the light and noise of the festivities. I wondered myself if they had drugged it lest it panic and struggle to escape. But when they had made their courtesies to the Prince, the lady put the end of the leash in his hand and Civil, her son, set the cat at Dutiful's feet.”
“Did it try to get away? Did it test the leash?”
“No. As I said, it seemed quite calm, almost unnaturally so. I believe it looked at the Prince for a time, and then bumped its head against his knee.” Chade 's eyes had gone distant, and I saw his trained mind recalling the scene in detail. “He reached down to stroke it, and it cowered away. Then it sniffed his hand. Then it did this strange thing, opening its mouth wide and breathing near his hand, as if it could taste his scent from the air. After that, it seemed to accept him. It rubbed its head up and down his leg, just as a little cat does. When a servant tried to lead it away, it would not go, so it was allowed to remain near the Prince's chair for the rest of the evening. He seemed very well pleased with it.”
“How soon did he begin hunting it?”
“I believe he and Civil took it out the next day. Civil and the Prince are nearly of an age, and the Prince was eager to try the cat, as any boy would be. Civil and his mother stayed on at court the rest of the week, and I think that Civil and the Prince took out the cat every morning. It was his chance to learn how to hunt with it, you see, from people familiar with the sport.”
“And did they hunt well together?”
“Oh, I suppose so. It is not for large game of course, but they brought back, oh, birds, I think, and hares.”
“And it always slept in his room?”
“As I understand it, it has to be kept close to a human to keep it tamed. And of course, the hounds in the stable would not have left it in peace. So, yes, it slept in his room and followed him about the keep. Fitz, what do you suspect?”
I answered him honestly. “The same thing that you do. That our Witted Prince has vanished with his hunting cat companion. And that none of this is a coincidence. Not the gift of the animal, not the bonding, not the disappearance. Someone planned this.”
Chade frowned, not wanting to admit what he believed. “The cat could have been killed when the Prince was taken. Or she could have run off.”
“So you've said. But if the Prince is Witted, and the cat is bonded to him, she would not have run off when he was taken.” The stool was uncomfortable but I stubbornly remained perched on it. I closed my eyes for a moment.
Sometimes, when the body is weary, the mind takes flight. I let my thoughts skip where they would. “I've bonded thrice, you know. The first time to Nosy, the puppy that Burrich took from me. And again, to Smithy when I was still a boy. The last time, to Nighteyes. Each time, there was that instant sense of connection. With Nosy, I bonded before I was even aware I was doing it. I suspect it happened because I was lonely. Because when Smithy offered love, I accepted it with no discrimination. And when the wolf's anger and hatred of his cage so exactly matched mine, I could not distinguish between us.” I opened my eyes briefly and met Chade 's startled stare. “I had no walls, you see.” I looked away from him, down at the dwindling fire. “From what I've been told, in Witted families, the children are protected from doing that. They are taught to have walls when they are young. Then, when they are of an age, they are sent out to find suitable partners, almost like seeking a suitable marriage partner.”
“What are you suggesting?” Chade asked quietly.
I followed the thought where it led me. “The Queen has chosen a bride for Prince Dutiful for the sake of a political alliance. What if an Old Blood family has done the same?”
A lengthy silence followed my words. I looked back at Chade. His eyes were on the fire, and I could almost see his mind working frantically to sort out all the implications of what I had said. “An Old Blood family deliberately selects an animal for the Prince to bond with. Assumptions, then: that Lady Bresinga is Witted, that indeed her whole line is, as you put it, Old Blood. That they somehow knew or suspected the Prince is also Witted.” He paused, pursed his mouth, and considered. “Perhaps they were the source of the note claiming the Prince was Witted ... I still do not grasp what they would profit from it.”
“What do we profit from marrying Dutiful to some Outislander girl? An alliance, Chade.”
He scowled at me. "The cat somehow is part of the JSê
Bresinga family and retains ties to it? The cat can somehow influence the Prince's political actions?"
The way he said it made it seem ridiculous. “I haven't got it completely worked out yet,” I admitted, “But I think there is something there. Even if their only goal is to prove that the Prince himself is Witted, and hence that other Witted folk should not be chopped up and burned for being the way they are. Or to gain the Prince's sympathy toward Witted folk, and through him, the Queen's.”
Chade gave me a sidelong glance. “Now that is a motive I can concede. There is also possible blackmail there. Once they have bonded the Prince to an animal, they can hold out for political favors under the threat that they will tell others he is Witted.” He looked aside from me. “Or attempt to reduce him to the level of an animal, if we do not comply with their political wishes.”
As always, Chade's mind was capable of far more convolutions than mine was. It was almost a relief to have him refine my ideas. I did not want my mentor to be failing in mind or body. In so many ways, he still stood as shield between me and the world. I nodded to his suggestions.
He stood up suddenly. “So all the more reason we should proceed as we had planned. Come, take my chair. You look like a parrot perched up there; you can't possibly be comfortable. One thing all the basic scrolls stress is that a practitioner of the Skill should find a comfortable starting place, one in which the body is relaxed and unobtrusive to the mind.”
I opened my mouth to say that was the opposite of what Galen had done to us. On the contrary, when he was teaching us, he had made us so miserable in body that the mind became our only escape. I shut my mouth, the words unsaid. Useless to protest or ponder what Galen had done. The twisted, pleasureless man had tormented us all, and those he had succeeded in training, he had warped into a mindlessly loyal coterie for Prince Regal. Perhaps that had had something to do with it; perhaps he had wanted to break down the body's resistance and the mind's judgment before he could shape them into the coterie he desired.
I sat down in Chade's chair. It retained his warmth and the imprint of his body. It felt strange to sit there in his presence. It was as if I were becoming him. He assumed my perch on the stool and looked down on me from that towering height. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned forward to smirk down at me. “Comfortable?” he asked me. “No,” I admitted.
“Serves you right,” he muttered. Then, with a laugh, he got off the stool. “Tell me what I can do to help you with this process.”
“You want me to just sit here and Skill out, hoping to find the Prince?”
“Is that so hard?” It was a genuine question. “I tried for several hours last night. Nothing happened except that I got a headache.”
“Oh.” For a moment he looked discouraged. Then he announced firmly, “We will simply have to try again.” In a lower voice he muttered, “For what else can we do?”
I could think of no answer to that. I leaned back in his chair and tried to relax my body. I stared at his mantelpiece, only to have my attention stick on a fruit knife driven into the wood. I had done that, years ago. Now was not the time to dwell on that incident. Yet I found myself saying, “I crept into my old room today. It looks as if it has not been used since last I slept there.”
“It hasn't. Castle tradition says it is haunted.” “You're joking!”
“No. Think about it. The Witted Bastard slept there, and he was taken to his death in the castle dungeons. It's a fine basis for a ghost tale. Besides, flickering blue lights have been seen through its shutters at night, and once a stableboy said he saw the Pocked Man staring down from that window on a moonlit night.”
“You kept it empty.”
“I am not entirely devoid of sentiment. And for a long time, I hoped you would someday return to that room. But, enough of this. We have a task.”