Fool’s Fate (Tawny Man Trilogy Book Three)

Chade and the Prince stared at me. Then Chade nodded slowly. The Prince looked as if he wondered who I was.

‘Think!’ Burrich barked at me suddenly. ‘Think it through for yourself, with no assumptions. There is much here that makes no sense to me, questions that you should answer before you blindly do her wishes, regardless of what threat she holds over you. Why hasn’t she simply killed the dragon herself? Why does she bid you do it, and then cast you out of her stronghold, when it would be easier for her to assist you in reaching him?’ In an aside to no one, he muttered, ‘I hate this. I hate thinking this way, the intrigue and the plotting. I always have.’ He stared blindly into the recesses of the dim tent. ‘All these intricate balances of power, ambition, and the Farseer drive to set forces in motion and ride them out. All the secrets. That is what killed your father, the finest man I ever knew. It killed his father, and it killed Verity, a man I was proud to have served. Must it kill yet another generation, must it end your whole line before you stop it?’ He turned his gaze, and suddenly seemed to see the Prince. ‘End it, my lord. I beg you. Even at the cost of the Fool’s life, even at the cost of your betrothal. End it now. Cut your losses, which are already far too high. Death is all you can buy for the Narcheska’s family. Walk away from all of it. Leave here, sail home, marry a sensible woman and have healthy children. Leave this woeful cup to the Outislanders who brewed it. Please, my prince, blood of my dearest friend. Leave this. Let us go home.’

His words shocked all of us, not least the Prince. I could see Dutiful’s mind racing as he stared at Burrich. Had it ever occurred to the youngster that he could take such a step? He looked at each of us in turn, then stood up. Something changed in his face. I had never seen it happen, never suspected that perhaps a single moment could carry a boy to manhood. I saw it then. He stepped to the door of the tent. ‘Longwick!’

Longwick thrust his head inside. ‘My prince?’

‘Fetch me Lord Blackwater and the Narcheska. I wish them to come here, immediately.’

‘What do you do?’ Chade asked in a low voice when Longwick had withdrawn.

Prince Dutiful did not reply directly. ‘How much of this magic powder do you have? Can it do what Fitz has said it can?’

A light kindled in the old man’s eyes, the same light that had used to terrify me when I was his apprentice. I knew that he didn’t know completely what his powder could do, but that he was willing to gamble that it would work. ‘Two kegs, my prince. And yes, I think it will be sufficient.’

I heard the crunch of footsteps on the ice outside the tent. We all fell silent. Longwick lifted the flap. ‘My prince, Lord Blackwater and the Narcheska Elliania.’

‘Admit them,’ Dutiful said. He remained standing. He crossed his arms on his chest. It looked forbidding but I suspect he did it to keep his hands from trembling. His face looked as if it had been chiselled from stone. When they entered, he did not greet them nor invite them to sit, but merely said, ‘I know what the Pale Woman holds over you.’

Elliania gasped, but Peottre only inclined his head once. ‘When your man returned, I feared that you might. She has sent me word, saying that she did not intend to divulge that secret, but that now it is known, I may beg you freely to help us.’ He took a deep breath and I thought I knew what it cost that proud man to sink slowly down on his knees. ‘Which I do.’ He bowed his head and waited. I wondered if he had ever before knelt to any man. Elliania’s face flared from white to sudden crimson. She stepped forward and put a hand on her uncle’s shoulder. Slowly she sank to her knees beside him. Her proud young head drooped until her black hair curtained her face.

I stared at them, wanting to hate them for their intrigues and betrayal. I could not. I knew too well what Chade and I would be capable of, were Kettricken taken as hostage. I thought the Prince would bid her rise, but he only stared at them. Chade spoke. ‘She has sent you word? How?’

‘She has her ways,’ Peottre said tightly. He remained on his knees as he spoke. ‘And those I am still forbidden to speak about. I am sorry.’

‘You are sorry? Why could you not have been honest with us from the beginning? Why could you not have told us that you acted under duress, with no interest in an alliance or a marriage? What makes you guard her secrets still? Forbidden to speak! What worse thing could she have done to you than what she has already done?’ The hurt and outrage in the Prince’s voice went beyond anything mere words could convey. He knew now, as we all did, that he had been only a tool for the Narcheska, never anyone she could care about. It humiliated him as much as hurt him. I knew then that he had let himself fall in love with her, despite their differences.

Peottre clenched his teeth. His voice grated when he replied. ‘Exactly the question that keeps me awake at night. You know only of the most recent and vicious attack she has made against Narwhal Clan. For a long time, we stood firm before the blows she dealt us, thinking, “she has done her worst and we have withstood it. We will not bend to her.” And each time she proved us wrong. What worse can she do to us? We do not know. And that ignorance of where her next blow will land is her most fearsome weapon over us.’

‘Did you never think that you could have told me that there were hostages involved? Did you think it would not have moved me to help you?’ Dutiful demanded.

Peottre shook his head heavily. ‘You could never have accepted the bargain she made us. You had too much honour.’

The Prince ignored the strange compliment.

‘What was the pact?’ Chade asked sternly.

Peottre answered in a flat voice. ‘If we made the Prince kill the dragon, she would kill Oerttre and Kossi. Their torment and shame would end.’ He lifted his head and looked at me with difficulty, but then spoke honestly. ‘And if we delivered you and the tawny man to her, alive, she promised to give us their bodies. To return to our motherland.’