When our meeting at Zylig was complete, we would transfer from our Six Duchies vessel to an Outislander ship, one more suited to the shallow waters we must next negotiate, with a captain and crew that knew the channels. They would take us to Wuislington on Mayle, the home island for Elliania and Peottre’s Narwhal Clan. Dutiful would be presented to her family and welcomed to her mothershouse. There would be celebrations of the betrothal, and advice for the Prince on the task that lay before him. After our visits to their home village, we would return to Zylig and there take ship for Aslevjal and the dragon trapped in a glacier.
Impulsively, I swept the charts aside. Folding my arms, I put my brow down on my crossed wrists and stared into the darkness trapped there. My guts were cramped with dread. It wasn’t just the voyage ahead. There were other hazards to be negotiated before we even set foot on the ship. The Skill-coterie had still not mastered their magic. I suspected that despite my warnings Dutiful and his friend Lord Civil were using the Wit-magic, and that the Prince would be caught. Too often, the openly Witted were his companions these days. Even if the Queen had decreed there was no shame to possessing such magic, the common folk and her nobles still despised practitioners of the beast-magic. He risked himself, and perhaps the betrothal negotiations. I had no idea how the Outislanders felt about the Wit-magic.
Around and around, my thoughts chased themselves with no escape from worry. Hap was still dangling after Svanja, and I dreaded leaving him to his own devices. The few times my dreams had brushed Nettle’s, she had seemed both secretive and anxious. Swift seemed to become more intractable by the day. I’d be relieved to leave that responsibility, but worried what would become of him in my absence. I still hadn’t told Chade that Web knew who I was, or discussed that information with Web. My desperate longing for someone to confide in only made me more aware of how isolated I had become. I missed my wolf Nighteyes as I would miss my heart’s beating.
When my forehead thumped solidly against the table, I came back to wakefulness abruptly. The sleep that had evaded me in my bed had captured me sitting at the worktable. With a sigh, I sat up straight, rolled my shoulders and resigned myself to the day. There were tasks to accomplish, and little time to do them in. Once we were on the ship, I’d have plenty of time to sleep, and even more time for fruitless worrying. Few things were as boring to me as an extended journey at sea.
I rose and stretched. It would soon be dawn. Time to get dressed and go to the Queen’s Garden for the morning’s lesson with Swift. The water in the pot had almost boiled away while I dozed. I mixed it with cold in the washbasin, made my ablutions and dressed for the day. A plain leather tunic went on over my shirt and trousers of Buck blue. I pulled on soft boots and forced my cropped hair into a stubby warrior’s tail.
After my session with Swift, I’d be meeting the Skill-coterie for another shared lesson. I wasn’t anticipating it with pleasure. As each day passed, we made improvement, but it was not sufficient to satisfy Chade. He saw his slow progress as failure. His frustration had become a palpable and discordant force whenever we came together. Yesterday, I had noticed that Thick feared to meet the old man’s eyes and that Dutiful’s pleasant expression had a fixed desperation to it. I had spoken privately to Chade, asking him to be more self-forgiving and more tolerant of the rest of the coterie’s vulnerabilities. He had taken my request as a rebuke and only become more grimly self-contained in his fury. It had not lessened any of the tension.
‘Fitz,’ someone said softly, and I spun, startled. The Fool stood framed in the doorway that was usually concealed by the wine rack. He could move more silently than anyone else I had ever known. Coupled with that, he was undetectable to my Wit-sense. Sensitive as I was to the presence of other living beings, he alone had the ability to take me completely by surprise. He knew it, and I think he enjoyed it. He smiled apologetically as he advanced into the room. His tawny hair was bound sleekly back and his face was innocent of Lord Golden’s paint. Bared, his face was more bronzed than I had ever seen it. He wore Golden’s foppish dressing gown but it seemed a bizarre costume when he dropped the lord’s elaborate mannerisms.
Never before had I known him to venture here without an invitation. ‘What are you doing here?’ I blurted out, and then added more courteously, ‘Though I am glad to see you.’
‘Ah. I had wondered if you would be. When I saw you lurking beneath my window, I thought you wanted to meet. I sent Chade an oblique message for you the next day, but heard no response. So I decided to make it easy for you.’
‘Yes. Well. Do come in.’ His sudden appearance, coupled with the disclosure that Chade had not relayed his message to me rattled me. ‘It’s not the best time for me; I’m supposed to be meeting Swift soon, in the Queen’s Garden. But I’ve a few moments to spare. Err, should I put on the kettle for tea?’
‘Yes, please. If you’ve the time. I don’t wish to intrude. I know we’ve all much to do in these last few days.’ Then his words stopped abruptly and he stared at me, the smile fading from his face. ‘Listen to how awkward we’ve become. So polite and so careful not to give offence.’ He drew a long breath, then spoke with uncharacteristic bluntness. ‘After I sent a message and heard nothing back, the silence began to trouble me. I know we’ve had our differences lately. I thought we had mended them, but I began to have doubts. This morning, I decided I’d confront them. So here I am. Did you want to see me, Fitz? Why didn’t you answer my message?’
His sudden change in tone further unbalanced me. ‘I didn’t receive your message. Perhaps Chade misunderstood or forgot; he has had many concerns lately.’
‘And the other night, when you came to my window?’ He walked over to the hearth, dippered fresh water into the kettle from the bucket and put it back over the flame. As he knelt to poke up the fire and add a bit of wood, I felt grateful I didn’t have to meet his eyes.
‘I was just strolling about Buckkeep Town, chewing over my own problems. I hadn’t really planned to try to see you. My feet just carried me that way.’
It sounded awkward and stupid, but he nodded quietly. The awareness of our mutual discomfort was a wall between us. I had done my best to patch our quarrel, but the memory of that rift was still fresh with both of us. Would he think I avoided his eyes to hide some hidden anger from him? Or would he guess at the guilt I tried to conceal?