I write this in my own pen, and plead that you excuse the Mountain hand with which I ink the Six Duchies characters. A formal writ is being prepared by our esteemed Scribe Fedwren, but in this scroll I desired to write to you myself, widow to widow and woman to woman, so that you may know well that I understand that no grant of land or title can make any easier the loss that you have suffered.
Your husband spent most of his life in service to the Farseer reign. Truly, he should have been rewarded years ago for all he did for his kings. His was a song which should have been sung in every hall. It was only by his risking of his life that I survived that dark night when Regal the Pretender turned upon us. In his modesty, he begged that his deeds remain unsung. It seems a callous thing that only now, when he has suffered death in our service, does the Six Duchies throne recall all that we owe to him.
I was seeking to select Crown lands that would amply reward Burrich’s service when a courier arrived from Lady Patience. Truly, ill news seems to fly swiftly, for she had already been informed of your husband’s passing. She wrote to me that he was among the most cherished of friends to the late Prince Chivalry, and that she was certain her lord would have wished to see his estate at Withywoods pass into your family’s stewardship. Title to these lands shall be immediately conveyed to you, to remain with your family forever.
Letter from Queen Kettricken to Molly Chandler Burrichswyf
‘I dreamed I was you.’ He spoke softly to the flames of the fire.
‘Did you?’
‘And you were me.’
‘How droll.’
‘Don’t do that,’ he warned me.
‘Don’t do what?’ I asked him innocently.
‘Don’t be me.’ He shifted in the bedding beside me. Night was a canopy over us, and the wind was warm. He lifted thin fingers to push the golden hair back from his face. The dying light of the fire could almost conceal the bruises fading from his face, but his cheekbones were still too prominent.
I wanted to tell him that someone had to be him, as he himself had stopped doing it so completely. Instead, I asked him, ‘Why not?’
‘It unnerves me.’ He took a deep breath and sighed it out. ‘How long have we been here?’
It was the third time he’d awakened me that night. I’d grown accustomed to it. He did not sleep well at night. I didn’t expect him to. I recalled clearly how I had chosen to sleep only by day and when Burrich was near me, watching over me, in the days of my recovery from Regal’s dungeons. There are times when it is comforting to sleep with sunlight on your eyelids. And times when quiet talk at night is better than sleep, no matter how weary you are. I tried to think how much time had passed since I’d carried his body through the pillar. It was strangely difficult. The interrupted nights and the sun-dappled days of rest seemed to multiply themselves. ‘Five days, if we count days. Four nights, if we count nights. Don’t fret about it. You’re still very weak. I don’t want to try the Skill-pillar until you are stronger.’
‘I don’t want to try the Skill-pillar at all.’
‘Um.’ I made a sound of agreement. ‘But eventually, we have to. I cannot leave Thick with the Black Man forever. And I told Chade that we would be on the beach, ready to greet the ship when it arrived. That should be in, oh, in about five days. I think.’ I had lost track of time in the ice labyrinth. I tried to be concerned about it. I had blocked all Skill-contact with the coterie since our failed healing attempt. Several times, I’d felt vague scratching at my door, but I’d determinedly ignored them. They were probably concerned for me. I said aloud, to convince myself, ‘I have a life to get back to.’
‘I don’t.’ The Fool sounded rather satisfied about that. That encouraged me. There were still moments in the day when he halted, motionless, as if listening for futures that no longer beckoned to him. I wondered what it was like for him. For his entire life, he’d endeavoured to set the track of time into the path that he perceived as best. And he had achieved that; we lived in the future that he had devised. I think he alternated between satisfaction with the future he had created and anxiety about his role in it. When he gave thoughts to such things. Sometimes he simply sat, his damaged hands cradled in his lap as he looked at the soil just beyond his knees. His eyes were afar then, his breathing so slow and shallow that his chest scarce moved with it. I knew that when he sat so, he was trying to make sense of things that were inherently senseless. I did not try to talk him out of it. But I did try, as now, to be optimistic about the days to come.
‘That’s right. You don’t have a life that you must return to; no burden to take up, no harness to resume. You died. See how pleasant it can be, to have died? Once you’ve died, no one expects you to be a king. Or a prophet.’
He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘You speak from experience.’ He spoke pensively, ignoring my jesting tone.
I grinned. ‘I do.’
He eased himself back onto my cloak beside me and stared up at the sky. He had not smiled. I followed his gaze. The stars were fading. I rolled away from him and came lightly to my feet. ‘Time to hunt soon. Dawn is coming. Do you feel strong enough to come with me?’
I had to wait for his answer. Then he shook his head. ‘In all honesty, no. I’m more tired than ever I’ve been in my life. What did you do to my body? I’ve never felt this weak and battered.’
You’ve never been tortured to death before. That did not seem a good answer to give him, so I stepped aside from it. ‘I think it will take you a time to recover, that’s all. If you had a bit more flesh on your bones, we could use the Skill to heal you.’
‘No,’ he flatly forbade it. I let it go by.
‘In any case, I’m tired of Outislander travel rations, and we haven’t much left of them anyway. Some fresh meat would do you good. Which I shan’t get for you by lazing here. If you want it cooked, try to wake the fire before I get back.’
‘Very well,’ he agreed quietly.
I hunted poorly that dawn. Concern for the Fool clouded my thoughts. I nearly stepped on one rabbit and it still managed to elude my frantic spring. Luckily, there were fish in the stream, fat and silver and easy to tickle. I came back in the early light, wet to the shoulders, with four of them. We ate them as the sun grew strong, and then I insisted we walk together to the stream to wash the smoky grease from our hands and faces. Belly full, I was ready to sleep after that, but the Fool was pensive. He sat by the fire and poked at it. The third time that he sighed, I rolled over onto my back and asked him, ‘What?’
‘I can’t go back.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here. It’s a pleasant enough place now, but take my word for it. Winter here is hard.’
‘And you speak from experience.’