Our figurehead was as still as if he were truly made of wood. My youthful face stared toward the harbour city and the surrounding low hills. All so peaceful. But likely today I would bloody my hands. If I had my will, people would die. I would do whatever I must to regain my child. I ventured a tendril of Skill. Bee? Da’s here. I’m coming to find you and take you home.
I felt no response from her, but I remained as I was, my mind open and waiting for her. But it was not Bee who reached me. Thin as a thread, I felt Dutiful’s touch. Even more faintly, Nettle’s. And then, like a hawser following a messenger line, Thick steadied them. He still had the power. Old and achy and grumpy at being awakened so early, he still reached across the distance and clasped minds with me.
Hello Grandfather!
For a moment, Dutiful’s greeting made no sense. Then it did. The child is born?
Nettle’s Skilling was steady but her exhaustion leaked through. A girl. Queen Elliania is delighted. She has asked for the privilege of naming her. Riddle and I agreed. Hope. Her name is Hope.
Hope. I said the name and felt its virtue rise within me. I did not need to Skill words to my daughter. All I felt for her and my new granddaughter flooded through our connection. I felt a rush of gooseflesh over my body. Hope, I said again, and felt it.
And there is more news! This was Dutiful, as impatient as a child to share something. My queen has been keeping a secret until she felt it was safe to say it. She goes with child, Fitz. Against all odds, I will be a father again. And she has already chosen a name. Boy or girl, our child will be Promise.
Tears stung my eyes and every hair on my body stood up. His joy surged through all the distance to lift my heart even higher.
Yes. Babies. Babies everywhere. And we all must wake up so, so early to talk about them. There was no mistaking Thick’s opinion that all of this could have waited for later in the day. I pitied the little man for his aching bones.
Waken the cooks! Command a joyful feast! Pink sugar-cakes, gingerbread, and those little spiced meat pies to celebrate! I suggested.
Yes! I felt Thick’s spirits lift at the prospect. And the little balls of dough cooked in fat, with cherries inside! And brown ale!
I cannot be there, Thick, old friend, so perhaps you will set the menu to celebrate my grandchild! And eat my share of it for me?
I can do that. More cautiously, Can I try holding her?
I held my breath. With Nettle’s ears, I heard Riddle’s reply. ‘Of course you can! Two hands, Thick, just like for a puppy. No, hold her close to your body. So she feels safe in your strong arms.’
She is warm, like a puppy! And she smells like a new puppy! You are safe with me, baby. She’s looking at me. Look at her looking at me!
Elliania’s voice, fainter to my senses. ‘She will grow up trusting you.’
I wish I could be there. My heart rode with the thought.
Do not worry, Fitz. I will be her grandfather until you get home.
Thick’s offer was so sincere that all I could do was let him feel my gratitude. It came to me that perhaps my odd old friend would be a better grandfather than I could be.
Where are you now? Dutiful asked.
Anchored just outside the harbour of Clerres. Today I go after Bee.
Emotions, too many to name, simmered in a stew of dread and hope. Be careful, Nettle breathed from far, far away.
Be ruthless. Kill them all and bring their city down around their ears. Bring our Bee home to us! This from Dutiful. He looked down at Nettle’s little daughter, then over at the slight swell of Elliania’s belly. His father’s fury awoke. Destroy the Servants. Make them wish they had never heard the word Farseer!
At his naming of me, something huge stirred and rose from the depths of the Skill-current. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. Nettle, Dutiful and Thick all recoiled. WALLS! I cautioned them all, but they were already gone. As Thick lost his focus, they had vanished like mist in the morning, leaving me alone in a rising mire of foreign magic—a magic that felt repugnant and wrong, tarnished and foul, as if a child hissed like a snake. Thick and slimy, it rose around me. But my careless moment of reaching out had opened a door into me. And that awareness flowed in and touched me.
It was a sloppy outpouring of thoughts. I held myself still and small, tight and hard as a nut. I had been taught to use the Skill with purpose and discipline, targeting my thoughts as one might lunge with a sword to skewer an opponent. This was a formless push. There was great strength behind it but no intent. Like having a plough horse lean against you inside a stall. I held still and did not push back.
Farseer. That name. He groped after me. I was breathlessly still. I feel you. You are close, aren’t you? And something is with you. What is that? Not a man. The flow of thick magic touched Paragon. The ship jolted to awareness and a shudder ran through the deck.
Touch me not! The ship ordered it, and I felt the ship’s unease before Paragon put up a wall of his own, the same defence he used to keep his thoughts private from me.
The awareness fumbled at him fruitlessly, then came back to me. His power wrapped me and I was tumbled and shaken as if by a random wave. I could raise no wall against him, for he was already within my mind. His power terrified me, but he seemed to have no idea how to use it. He bumbled blindly in darkness, unable to seize me. I held my stillness and was brusquely dropped as something else caught his attention. I heard the voice that distracted him.
‘Vindeliar, awake. I have questions for you.’ Then a horrified whisper. ‘What have you done? Symphe! Symphe, oh, no, she’s dead! What have you done, you wretch? Dwalia, too? Killed your mistress too?’
Nothing! I did not kill them! No one listens to me. You come here, over and over, to hurt me, to make me say things that you won’t believe! You are here to hurt me again, aren’t you, Coultrie? You like to hurt me!’ Fear hit me a hammer blow that paralysed me. But it was followed by a surging fury, an outraged hatred, and underlying it in a sick wave a youngster’s hurt at being abandoned. He blasted it out. Dwalia is dead! Symphe is dead! You hurt me and hurt me, and I told you Bee was bad and had magic and would do terrible things, but you only said I was lying and hurt me more! Now they are dead, and you come to hurt me again! Well, I will hurt you now!
He did not aim it at me. If he had, I would have screamed as loud as Coultrie. I still fell helplessly to Paragon’s deck as a sidewash of agony hit me. I knew them for what they were. Hot pincers, chains that held me off my feet, tiny blades that wandered over my flesh. I felt him realize his power.