‘He did not use that word very much. His love was things he did.’
‘He never counted up the things he did for me, but he always remembered the things I did for him.’
‘So he loved you.’ Loved you so much he left me to take you to Buckkeep.
All expression fell away from his face. His peculiar eyes were empty.
‘He wrote long letters to you, but he had nowhere to send them. He missed you desperately. He loved my mother, but he always had to be strong for her. He had Riddle, too, and my brother Hap. But the things he wrote about in those letters were things he could not say to my mother, nor Riddle nor Hap. You left him, and all he could do was write them down.’
I watched him carefully and saw my barbed words hit and hold. I wanted to drive him away. I did not care that I hurt him. He was alive and my father was dead. I added, ‘You never should have left him.’
His voice and face were expressionless as he asked, ‘How do you know what he wrote?’
‘Because he did not always burn them every night. Sometimes he waited until the morning.’
‘So you read his private papers.’
‘I believe you read my journals?’
He looked startled. ‘I did,’ he admitted.
‘You still do. When you think I am deeply asleep, you have looked at my writing.’
He did not flinch. ‘You know that I do. Bee, you have endured much, but you are still a child. Your father gave you into my care. I promised to watch over you. Understand me, adults do what is best for a child. Parents especially have that obligation. It comes far before doing what you wish or what you might think is best. You have a White heritage; your dreams are both important and dangerous. You need to be guided. Yes, I read your journal, to know you better. I will read the dreams you write.’
My mind had snagged on his earlier words. ‘Do I get my White heritage from my mother?’ For I knew my father was Mountain and Buck, and nothing else.
‘You get it from me.’
I stared at him. ‘How?’
‘You are young to understand this.’
‘No, I am not. I knew my father and I knew my mother.’ I held my breath, waiting for him to tell a terrible lie about my mother.
‘Do you know how the dragons change the Elderlings? How they give them scales and colours? How their children are born sometimes with scales?’
‘No. I did not know they did that.’
‘You saw Rapskal, the scarlet man?’
‘Yes.’
‘A dragon changed him. A dragon loves him very much. So Heeby, the red dragon, added something of herself to Rapskal, and he changed. And Rapskal’s dragon, Heeby, has taken on much of his thoughts and ways.’
I was listening intently.
‘For many years, I lived alongside your father. I think we both … changed each other.’ I saw his thoughts wander into a different trail. ‘He said once that he had become the Prophet and I the Catalyst. I thought long about his words. I decided that I wanted it to be so. For once, I wanted to make the change. So I came to Clerres Castle and tried to be the Changer.’
‘You were not very good at it.’
‘No. But when I first met your father, I would never even have thought of trying.’ He gave a great sigh. ‘I expect you to be angry at me, Bee. I will tell you this. I did what your father wanted me to do. I got you out safely. When I intrude on your life and privacy, it is because he charged me with taking care of you. My word to him comes first. I had hoped to win your respect, if not forge a closer bond. I understand that you resent that I am alive and Fitz is not. But why unleash this tonight?’
I steeled myself and looked into his pale eyes. ‘Tonight, you tried to act like my father. You said things he might have said. But you are not my father. I don’t want you to behave as if you are. You can teach me, yes; there are things I need to learn. But you are not my father. Don’t pretend you are.’
‘Actually,’ he began. Then he stopped.
He concealed something. He’d read my dreams and my journal, my most private thoughts, and still try to keep secrets from me? Insult most deep. I struck back. An omission was as good as a lie. ‘He wrote you a last letter. One he did not burn, for I think he wrote it mostly for himself. He told you that he understood why you had left. That your “friendship” had never been anything but how you could use him. He wrote that he was better off without you, for my mother loved him for who he was rather than how he could be used. In that letter, he said he hoped never to see you again, for you had twisted his life and robbed him of joy. That he was pleased to take control of his life and determine his own direction now.
‘But he saw you again and it happened again. You only came back to him to use him again. You destroyed our home, and he lies dead because of you. All you.’
I rolled away from him, not an easy task in a hammock. I stared up at the timbers and the shifting lantern shadows. My father would not have been pleased with me. I knew I should apologize and admit my falsehood. Even if I didn’t mean it? Perhaps.
I looked back at him, but he had fled.
FORTY-TWO
* * *
Furnich
And among the remnants of what was burned (And there was not much; your protégé was very thorough!) I found a scorched scrap. I have transcribed it here.
‘As soon as they are unable to fight, go forward boldly and bleed them. It is essential to do this swiftly, while most of the poison is in their bellies and has not tainted meat, bone, brain or tongue. Harvest the blood, then the organs and last the meat. Label each tub, for each must be tested separately to see if the poison has been too strong and rendered it lethal. Administer some to at least two slaves. If even one dies, dispose of it. Unfortunately, we cannot control how much each dragon will eat of the bait, and therefore we cannot control how much poison each beast will consume.
The eyes must be preserved in vinegar; they are the most perishable. Slice the meat thinly, salt it and dry it.
Of the entire creature, only the stomach may be summarily discarded. Every other bit must be harvested and preserved, for once we have eliminated dragons, these are the last that we …’
And here it ends in scorching. Old friend, you were right. Our Servants deliberately slaughtered what remained of the dragons and serpents following the disaster to the north. Other bits of documents with only dates and the number of casks and barrels would hint to me that the slaughter was carried out in various locations.
Hence the dragons’ vengeance. Hence also the longevity of the Four.
Following the murder of Capra, I assumed the care of the few remaining Whites. We have left Clerres for a small farm inland. I am trying to teach the youngsters to grow and harvest food. Many have ceased dreaming.
I fear this letter will take many months to reach you. When last I parted with FitzChivalry Farseer, we exchanged some hard words. Please extend my respect to him. I do not doubt that he will return to you, just as you made your way back to him.