As for my father’s chamber, I desire that it be left exactly as it was when he departed. Likewise, close and lock the door. No one need bother with anything in there until he returns. I am confident that he will not rebuke anyone for leaving his possessions untouched. There is a room in the lower halls that he used for a study sometimes. I do not mean the estate study; I refer to the chamber that looks out over the lilac bushes. That, too, I wish closed and left undisturbed.
I believe we have already discussed the room that was my mother’s retreat for sewing and reading. It too should be left as it was. That is where her things belong. I do not wish them tidied away.
Before winter closes in on us, both Lord Riddle and I hope to visit Withywoods, if our schedule permits.
Missive from Princess Nettle to Steward Dixon of Withywoods
They made no ceremony of returning me to my cell. Capra inserted and turned her key and then Symphe’s to open the door and repeated the task after the door clashed shut behind me.
‘What of me?’ I dared to ask.
‘What of you?’ she laughed. ‘I may have a use for you. Later. Or sooner.’ She smiled and it frightened me. ‘For now, just sit there and wait. Everything happens in its own time.’ She smiled as if well satisfied, turned and strode off.
Her words did not calm me. She’d sent Fellowdy to see Vindeliar. Was Vindeliar strong enough now to control a White’s mind? If he was, he would want me dead and they would kill me. Little I could do about that. I went back to my bed and sat down. The hilt of the knife poked me. I moved over. I wondered how long it had been since one of the Four had died. What did Symphe’s death mean to them, and why were there four? Or would they go on as three, now? I clasped my hands between my knees and rocked, trying to find calm.
‘So, Bee. What will you do now?’ Prilkop’s whisper reached me.
I kept my own voice low. ‘Sit here, I suppose. I don’t have a lot of other choices.’
‘Don’t you?’
It didn’t feel that way. I felt I was water rushing down a stream bed. Water cannot stop itself nor choose to go uphill. ‘Water goes where the channel leads,’ I said.
I heard him sigh. ‘I remember that dream. It was one of mine. Did someone read it to you?’
‘No. It was just a thing I thought of.’ I moved to the corner of my cell and tried to peer around the wall to see him. It was hopeless.
‘Little Bee. Do you see different futures, different paths?’
‘Sometimes,’ I admitted slowly.
‘You can choose any of them. Pick carefully.’
‘They all seem to lead to the same end.’
‘Not all,’ he disagreed. ‘I have seen something of what may come. If you remain in your cell and do nothing, they will kill you.’
I swallowed. I had not seen that. Or had I? The dreams faded so quickly when I could not write them down.
He was silent for a long time. Then he reached his hand out, palm open and up, the back of his hand on the floor. He waited. After a time, I put my hand in his. ‘You are untaught,’ he said quietly. ‘I wish you had been born to folk who recognized what you were. I wonder if it is too late now to teach you anything.’
‘I was taught,’ I said indignantly. I nearly said that I could read and write. I stopped short. It still did not feel safe to admit that to anyone.
‘You were not taught the things you needed to be taught, or you would have understood more, sooner. You are a White, descended from a very old race, one that no longer walks in this world. You may grow slowly and live a very long time. Perhaps as long as I have.’
‘Will I turn into a Black like you?’
‘If you make the changes that fate calls on you to make. I would guess that you’ve changed at least a few times by now. It comes with a fever and weakness. Your skin peels away. It’s how you know you’ve made a step on your Path.’
I thought about it. ‘Perhaps twice I have.’
He made a noise as if he confirmed something to himself. ‘Do you know that every White Prophet has a Catalyst? Do you know what a Catalyst does?’
I knew the word from my father’s writings. ‘A catalyst changes something.’
‘That’s right.’ He sounded approving. ‘And a White’s Catalyst helps to make the changes that the White needs to change the world. To put this old world on a new and better path.’
I waited for him to say more, but he was quiet. I finally asked, ‘Are you my Catalyst?’
He laughed, but it was a sad sound. ‘No. I am sure I am not.’ After a long pause, he said, ‘Unless I am very mistaken, you killed your Catalyst last night.’
I hated him saying out loud that I had killed someone. It made it too real. I made no reply.
‘Think about it,’ he said softly. ‘Who brought you here? Who hammered and pounded you into what you are now? Who set your feet on this journey to this present that was once your future?’
His words were frightening. I found I was breathing hard. No. I did not want Dwalia to be my Catalyst. A question burned in my gut, forced itself out of my mouth. ‘Was I supposed to kill her?’
‘I don’t know. Only you can know what you are supposed to do.’ Then he added, ‘What you believe you are supposed to do. The Pale Woman opposed my view of the future. She believed it was her destiny to ensure that dragons never returned to our world. She saw a righteous Path in keeping the OutIslands at war with the Six Duchies. She wished to crack the Six Duchies into squabbling minor states, and ensure that the ancient magic of the Elderlings did not resurface in the Farseer lines.’
‘You chose the other path?’
He laughed softly. ‘Little one, I am older than old. I accomplished my tasks as a White Prophet long before Ilistore came to Aslevjal. When my Catalyst died, I did not want to leave the place where we had done our work. I stayed on, as the snows grew deeper and ice claimed the ruins. Then, when IceFyre came, I chose to remain and watch over him in his icy sleep. I suppose it was well that I did …’ His voice trailed off as if he now wondered at his choice.
‘When Ilistore came to that place and began to make her choices and changes, they rang against my senses like a cracked bell clanging. I began to oppose her. I thwarted her efforts to kill the trapped dragon.’