A guardsman spat and laughed aloud. ‘Early, milord? We’re damn near too late! All thought the storms would delay the betrothal ship, but the Outislanders seemed to have used them to fly here with the wind’s own wings. The treaty galleys arrived at noon with the Princess’s honour guard. We’ve heard she’ll make landfall before the sun sets, and all must be ready.’
‘Really?’ Lord Golden enthused. ‘Well, I dare not be late for the festivities.’ He turned his smile on Laurel. ‘My lady, I fear we must ride as swift as we can. You lads may follow at your own pace …’ And with that he set his heels to Malta, and she plunged nimbly forwards. Laurel matched him. The Prince and I followed, but at a more sedate gait. As we trailed them up the winding road to Buckkeep Castle, Lord Golden and Laurel continued up the main road and entered at the gate. But in a thicker patch of woods, I turned Myblack’s head from the path and motioned for the Prince to follow. There was little more than a game trail, but I pushed Myblack through the tangles of brush, along a path I scarce remembered, and Dutiful followed. We followed the keep wall until we came to the place the wolf had shown me so long ago. Thick brambles still covered that old breach in the wall, but I had my suspicions. In the shadow of the keep wall, we dismounted.
‘What is this place?’ he demanded. He pushed his hood back and looked about curiously.
‘A place to wait. I will not chance taking you in either of the gates. Chade will send someone to meet us here, and I am certain he will devise a way for you to re-enter the keep, so it may seem that you have never left. You have seen fit to spend these days in meditation, and now you will emerge to meet your betrothed. None need be the wiser.’
‘I see,’ he replied bleakly. Overhead the clouds were growing thicker, and the wind began to pick up. ‘What do we now?’ the Prince asked softly.
‘We wait.’
‘Waiting.’ He sighed. ‘If a man can become perfect at something by practising it, I should be perfect at waiting by now.’
He sounded both tired and older than his years.
‘At least, you’re home now,’ I said comfortingly.
‘Yes.’ He did not sound glad. After a moment, he asked, ‘It seems a year since I was last at Buckkeep, and it is not even a full month. I remember lying on my bed and counting the days I still had before the new moon, before I had to face this. Then – for a time I thought I might never have to face it. It seemed strange, all day today, to know I was riding back to my old life, that I would pick up all the threads, all the details, and go on as if I had never left. It was overwhelming. All day, riding back here, I promised myself a quiet day or two. I wanted some time alone, to decide how much I had changed. Now … this very night the delegation arrives from the Out Islands to formalize my betrothal. This night my mother and the Outislander nobles set the course of the rest of my life.’
I tried to smile, but I felt I was delivering him to his execution. I had come near as a knife’s edge to a similar fate once. I found something to say. ‘You must be very excited to meet your bride.’
He gave me a look. ‘Apprehensive is perhaps a better word. There is something rather dreadful about meeting the girl you will marry when you know that your own preferences have absolutely no bearing on the situation.’ He gave a small, sour laugh. ‘Not that I did so well when I thought I was choosing someone for myself.’ He sighed and looked aside from me. ‘She’s eleven. Eleven summers old.’ He looked away from me. ‘What shall I discuss with her? Dolls? Embroidery lessons?’ He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the cold stone wall. ‘I do not think they even teach women to read in the Out Islands. Nor men, for that matter.’
‘Oh.’ I struggled desperately but could think of nothing more to say. To say that fourteen was not that much older than eleven seemed a cruelty. We waited in silence.
With no warning at all, the threatened rain suddenly sluiced down on us. It began abruptly, one of those downpours that soak a man and fills his ears with the sound of falling water. I was almost grateful that it made conversation impossible. We huddled miserably, the water streaming down the horses who stood with their heads hanging.
We were both completely drenched and cold when Chade appeared to escort the Prince back into the castle. He spoke little, a hasty greeting in the cascading downpour and a promise to see me soon, and then they were gone. I grinned sourly to myself as they left me there in the wet. It was as I had expected. The old fox had not closed off this secret back door, but he was not going to show the entrance to me. I drew a deep breath. Well. My errand was done. I’d brought the Prince safely back to Buckkeep Castle in time for his betrothal. I tried on emotions. Triumph. Joy. Elation. No. Wet, tired and hungry. Cold to my bones. Alone.
Empty.
I mounted Myblack and rode through the downpour, leading the Prince’s horse. The light was fading and the horses’ hooves slipped on the layers of wet leaves. I was forced to go slowly. The bushes we pushed through were laden with rain. I had not thought it was possible to get wetter, but I did. Then, as I reached the main road up to the keep, I found the way choked with men and horses and litters. I somehow doubted they were going to make way for me, or allow me to join the betrothal procession. So I sat Myblack in the rain and held the reins of the miserable dun, and watched them go by.
First came the torchbearers, holding their blazing brands aloft to show the way. They were followed by the Queen’s Guards, in purple and white with the fox badge, riding white horses, very showy and dripping wet. They passed, leading the way, and then came an interesting mix of the Prince’s Guard and the Outislander warriors. The Prince’s Guard wore Buckkeep blue with the Farseer stag badge, and they were afoot, I suppose out of courtesy to the Outislanders. The guardians who had accompanied their narcheska were sailors and fighters, not horsemen. Their furs and leathers dripped, and I suspected the Great Hall would be rich with the stench of wet fur tonight as the warmth dried them. They strode along, rank after rank, with the rolling gait of men who had been long at sea and still expected a deck to rise to greet them at every step. They wore their weapons as their wealth, and their wealth as their weapons. Jewels glittered on swordbelts, and I glimpsed axe-hafts banded with gold. I prayed no fighting would break out among the mingled guard companies tonight. There strode together veterans from both sides of the Red Ship war.