We wed quietly, making our promises before my king in the presence of Molly’s children, Kettricken, Elliania, Chade, Hap and Riddle. Chade wept, then hugged me fiercely and told me to be happy. Hap asked Nettle if he might kiss his new sister, and was soundly thumped by a protective Hearth for his impertinence. Thick and little Prince Prosper dozed through most of the ceremony.
We travelled to see Patience, who had not been able to make the journey, and to place a flower on Lacey’s grave. We stayed a month, and I thought Hearth and Just would wear Patience out with mischief and curiosity. But two days before we were scheduled to depart, Patience abruptly announced that she was tired of Tradeford and too old to run it any more and that she would come to live with us in Withywoods. To my relief, Molly was pleased at the prospect.
Hearth and Just seem to enjoy the pleasures and absurdities of having such a grandmother. Hearth has promised to seek Molly’s permission before there is any more tattooing, and Just has developed a deep interest in plants and herbs that challenges even Patience’s knowledge. Riddle turned up at Withywoods when we were scarcely settled, saying that Chade had sent him to be my man. I suspect he still spies on me for the old spider, but that is fine. I am willing to yield to Chade whatever he needs to feel he still has control of his world. Much of his power I wrested from him, bit by bit, and passed on to Dutiful as he proved ready for it. If I have never worn the crown of the Six Duchies, I am confident that I have done much to see it passed on intact.
Riddle has demonstrated that he knows much more of hiring servants and running an estate than I ever suspected. It is well, for neither Molly nor I ever expected to have to manage such things, and Patience declares she is far too old to bother. He is a solid man. The last time Nettle visited, I took him to task for being overly familiar with her, until Molly called me aside and told me quietly to mind my own business.
I am summoned often to Buckkeep, and Dutiful and Elliania have come to visit twice to go hawking, for the birding is excellent in our grain fields. I have never cared for that sport, and spent both visits playing with their son while they rode. Prosper is a hearty, healthy boy.
Chade trained arduously as prescribed in the Skill-scrolls and then made one venture through the stones. He chose to go to Aslevjal and explore for himself the Elderling ruins there. He stayed ten days and came back with his eyes full of wonder and a sack full of memory cubes. He did not find his way to Prilkop’s cave, and if he had, I am sure he would have found it long deserted. I think that when the Fool last visited Chade, he was on his way south, back to their schooling place to bring home all they had learned. I doubt he will come back this way again.
Ours was a ragged and uneven parting. Each of us had intended to see the other again. Each of us had had final words to say. My days with the Fool ended like a half-played game of stones, the outcome poised and uncertain, possibilities hovering. Sometimes it seemed to me a cruelty that so much was unresolved between us; at other times a blessing that a hope at reunion lingered. It is like the anticipation that a clever minstrel evokes when he pauses, letting silence pool before sweeping into the final refrain of his song. Sometimes a gap can be seen like a promise yet to be fulfilled.
I miss him often, but in the same way that I miss Nighteyes. I know that such a one will not come again. I count myself fortunate for what I had of them. I do not think I will ever Wit-bond again, nor know such a deep friendship as I had with the Fool. As Burrich once observed to Patience, one horse cannot wear two saddles. I have Molly and she is enough for me, and more.
I am content.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter One: Withywoods
Chapter Two: Spilled Blood
Chapter Three: The Felling of Fallstar
Buy the complete Fool’s Assassin
PROLOGUE
My dear Lady Fennis,
We have been friends far too long for me to be circumspect. As you so delicately hinted, yes, there has been shattering news delivered to me. My stepson, Prince Chivalry, has exposed himself as the crude fellow I have always known him to be. His bastard child, fathered on a Mountain whore, has been revealed.
As shameful as that is, it could have been handled far more discreetly if his clever-as-a-stone brother Prince Verity had taken swift and decisive action to eliminate the disgrace. Instead, he has announced him in an indiscreet message to my husband.
And so, in the face of this base behaviour, what does my lord do? Why, not only does he insist the bastard must be brought to Buckkeep Castle, he then bestows on Chivalry the title to Withywoods, and sends him out to pasture there with his awkward barren wife. Withywoods! A fine estate that any number of my friends would be pleased to occupy, and he rewards it to his son for fathering a bastard with a foreign commoner! Nor does King Shrewd find it distasteful that said bastard has been brought back here to Buckkeep Castle where any member of my court may see the little Mountain savage.
And the final insult to me and my son? He has decreed that Prince Verity will now take up the title of King-in-Waiting, and be the next presumed heir to the throne. When Chivalry had the decency to secede his claim in the face of this disgrace, I secretly rejoiced, believing that Regal would immediately be recognized as the next king. While he may be younger than both his half-brothers, no one can dispute that his bloodlines are more noble, and his bearing as lordly as his name.
Truly, I am wasted here. As wasted as my son Regal. When I gave up my own reign and titles to be Shrewd’s queen, it was in the belief that any child I bore him would be seen as possessing far better lineage than the two reckless boys his former queen gave him, and would reign after Shrewd. But does he now look at Chivalry and admit his mistake in naming him heir? No. Instead he sets him aside only to install his doltish younger brother as King in Waiting. Verity. Hulking, square-faced Verity, with all the grace of an ox.
It is too much, my dear. Too much for me to bear. I would leave court, save that Regal would then be without a defender here.
A missive from Queen Desire to Lady Fennis of Tilth