The Fool’s fragile recovery collapsed in the early hours. I awoke in darkness to the sounds of him tossing and struggling in his sleep. When I tried to wake him, his face was warm and I could not break him from his nightmares. I sat beside him, holding his hand and talking to him softly, easing him into quieter dreams. I was uncomfortably aware that the Black Man had awakened. He lay on his bed and silently watched me with the Fool. I could not see his eyes, but I felt them on me. He measured us and I did not know why.
Towards dawn, I felt Chade’s press against my mind. Reluctantly I admitted him. You can go home now. This will be your tale. The Prince and I sent you home early with Thick, on a trading vessel, as Thick was miserable here and we wished you to bear tidings to the Queen immediately. I think that will be believable; just avoid giving any details. I shall be so glad to have you in place there. Nettle is a fine girl, but we have had to be very circumspect in our reports through her, and very careful not to task her beyond her abilities. It is imperative I have someone in place who can be privy to the sort of information that must be conveyed to the Queen.
I cannot go now, Chade. The Fool has fallen ill. He cannot travel.
Chade was silent for a few moments. Then, But from what you said, you would not have to carry him far. Just to the Skill-pillar, and then whisk him home, to healers and warmth and safety.
I wish it were that simple. The path to the pillar is very treacherous and cold. And the journey through the Skill-pillar is tasking for him. I dare not risk him. He has already been through too much.
I see. I felt Chade weighing my words. Then, Do you think he will be better a day from now? I could give you another day.
I made my thoughts firm. I do not know. But I will take as many days as he needs, Chade. I will not risk him.
Very well. The thought oozed annoyance but also acceptance. If you must.
Indeed, I must, I replied firmly. We will travel when the Fool is stronger. Not before.
Dawn found me hollow with worry. Well I knew that many men who died from battle wounds died days after the battle, from fevers and flux and infection. The journey here had strained his healing and undone many days of rest. The Fool slept heavily, far past midday, and then woke, gummy-eyed and haggard, to drink cup after cup of water. Prilkop insisted that we move him from the floor to his bed. The Fool made the short staggering walk between us, then folded onto the Black Man’s bed as if he were exhausted, and almost immediately sank down into sleep. His skin was warm beneath my touch.
‘Perhaps it’s just one of his changing times,’ I told Prilkop. ‘So I hope. It would be better than infection. He will be feverish and weak for several days, and then shed a layer of skin as if he’d been burned. Underneath, his new skin will be darker. If that is what this is, there’s little we can do for him now except keep him comfortable and wait.’
Prilkop touched both his cheeks with a gesture, and then smiled at me, saying, ‘This I suspected. To some of us, it happens. The discomfort passes.’ Then, looking down at the Fool he added, ‘If that is all of it.’ He shook his head. ‘The injuries to him were many.’
A question came to me and I asked it without pausing to wonder if it were impolite. ‘Why did you change? Why is the Fool changing? The Pale Woman remained white.’
He lifted his hands, expressing bafflement. ‘On this, I have thought many times. Perhaps, as we cause change, we change. Other prophets who remain white often speak much, but do little. He and I, in our youths, much change we foretold. Then, out we went and we made changes. And, perhaps, we also changed ourselves.’
‘But the Pale Woman also did things to try to make changes.’
He smiled, grimly satisfied. ‘She tried. She failed. We prevailed. We changed.’ Then he tilted his head to one side. ‘Perhaps. So this old man thinks.’ Prilkop glanced over at the sleeping Fool and nodded to himself. ‘Rest is what he needs. Sleep, and good food. And quiet. You and Thick, go fishing. Fresh fish would be good for him.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to leave him when he’s like this.’
Prilkop put a gentle hand on my shoulder. ‘You make him restless. He feels your worry. To let him rest, you away go.’
Thick spoke up from his corner by the hearth. ‘We should go home. I want to go home.’
The Fool startled me when he croaked my name. ‘Fitz.’
I was instantly at his side with water. He did not want to drink it, but I was insistent. When he turned his face from the cup, I took it away. ‘Was there something else you wanted?’
His eyes were unnaturally bright with fever. ‘Yes. I want you to go home.’
‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying,’ I told Prilkop. ‘I couldn’t take him like this.’
The Fool drew a deep breath. He spoke with an effort. ‘Yes. I do. Know what I’m saying. Take Thick. Go home. Leave me here.’ He coughed and then motioned for more water. He drank it in sips, and then pulled in another deep breath. I let him lie back in his blankets.
‘I won’t leave you like this,’ I promised him. ‘I’ll take as much time as we need here. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be right here.’
‘No.’ He seemed irritable, in that weary way the sick do. ‘Listen to me. I need to stay. Here. For a time. With Prilkop. I need to understand … when I am, where I am … I need to … Fitz, he can help me. You know I will not die of this. It is only my changing time. But what I need to learn, I must learn alone. Be alone, for a time. I need to think, alone. You understand. I know you do. I was you.’ He lifted thinning fingers to rub at his face and cheeks. The dry skin rippled and rolled under his fingers, flaking away from newer, darker skin beneath. He rolled his eyes to Prilkop. ‘He should go,’ he said, as if Prilkop could force me. ‘He is needed at home. And he needs to be home.’
I sat down on the floor by the bed. I did understand. I remembered the long days of my recovery, after my time in Regal’s dungeon. I recalled the uncertainty I had felt. Torture shames a man. To break and scream, to beg, to make promises … unless a man has endured that, perhaps he cannot forgive it in another. The Fool needed time alone, to reassess how he saw himself. I had not wanted Burrich to ask a thousand questions of me; I had not even wanted him to be solicitous and kind. On some instinctive level, he had known that, and had allowed me my days of sitting and staring, unspeaking, over the meadows and hills. It had been difficult to admit I was a human and not a wolf: it had been harder to admit I was still myself.