Hunting cats are not an entirely unknown within Buck Duchy, but they have remained for years an anomaly. Not only is the terrain of Buck more suited to hound-hunting, but also hounds are more suited to the larger game that is usually the prey of mounted hunters. A lively pack of hounds, boiling and baying, is a fine accompaniment for a royal hunt. The cat, when it is employed, is usually seen as more fittingly the dainty hunting-companion of a lady, suitable for the taking of rabbits or birds. King Shrewd’s first queen, Queen Constance, kept a little hunting cat, but more for pleasure and companionship than sport. Her name was Hisspit.
Sulinga’s A History of Coursing Beasts
‘The Queen wishes to see you.’
‘When?’ I asked, startled. It was hardly the greeting I had expected from Chade. I had opened the panel that admitted me to his tower to find him sitting in his chair before the hearth, waiting for me. He stood immediately.
‘Now, of course. She wants to know what progress we have made, and is naturally anxious to hear from you as soon as possible.’
‘But I haven’t made any progress,’ I protested. I had not even reported my day’s work to Chade yet. I probably stank of sweat from the weapons court.
‘Then she’ll want to hear that,’ he replied relentlessly. ‘Come. Follow me.’ He triggered the door and we left the tower chamber.
It was evening. I had spent my afternoon doing as the Fool had advised me, playing the role of a servant learning his way about a new place. As such, I’d talked to quite a number of my fellow servitors, introduced myself to Weaponsmaster Cresswell, and successfully arranged it that he would suggest I freshen my blade skills against Delleree. She proved to be a formidable swordswoman, nearly as tall as I was, and both energetic and light-footed. I was pleased she could not get past my guard, but I was soon panting with the effort of maintaining it. Trying to penetrate her defences was not yet an option for me. The weapons training Hod had enforced on me long ago stood me in good stead, but my body simply could not react as swiftly as my mind. Knowing what to do under an attack is not the same thing as being able to do it.
Twice I begged leave for breathing space and she granted it to me with the satisfaction of the insufferably young. Yet my leading questions about the Prince availed me little, until at my third rest interlude I loosened my collar and opened my shirt wide to the cool air. I almost felt guilty doing it, yet I will not deny that I wanted to test if the charm would coax her to be more loquacious with me.
It worked. Leaning on the wall in the shade of the weapons shed, I caught my breath, and then looked up into her face. As our gaze met, her brown eyes widened, in the way that a person’s eyes widen at the sight of something pleasantly anticipated. Like a rapier rushing to its target, I thrust my question past her guard. ‘Tell me, do you press Prince Dutiful so hard when he practises with you?’
She smiled. ‘No, I fear I do not, for I am usually more occupied with maintaining my own defences against him. He is a skilled swordsman, creative and unpredictable in his tactics. No sooner do I devise a new trick to use against him than he learns it and tries it against me.’
‘Then he loves his blade-work, as good fighters usually do.’
She paused. ‘No. I do not think that is it. He is a youth who makes no half-measures in anything he does. He strives to be perfect in all he attempts.’
‘Competitive, is he?’ I tried to make my query casual. I busied my hands in smoothing my wayward hair back into its tail.
Again she considered. ‘No. Not in the usual sense. There are some I practise with who think only of beating their opponents. That preoccupation can be used against them. But I do not think the Prince cares if he wins our matches, only that he fights each one perfectly. It is not the same thing as competing with my skills …’ Her voice trailed away as she pondered it.
‘He competes with himself, against an ideal he imagines.’
My prompting seemed to startle her for an instant. Then, grinning, ‘That is it, exactly. You’ve met him, then?’
‘Not yet,’ I assured her. ‘But I’ve heard a great deal about him, and look forward to meeting him.’
‘Oh, that won’t be soon,’ she informed me guilelessly. ‘He has his mother’s Mountain ways in some things. Often he goes apart from the whole court for a time, to spend time just thinking. He isolates himself in a tower. Some say he fasts, but I have never seen signs of it when he returns to his routine.’
‘So what does he do?’ I asked in hearty puzzlement.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘You’ve never asked him?’
She gave me an odd look, and when she spoke, her voice had cooled. ‘I am only his training partner, not his confidante. I am a guardsman and he is a prince. I would not presume to question my prince on his private time alone. He is, as all know, a private person, with a great need for solitude.’
Necklace or not, I knew I had pushed her too hard. I smiled, I hoped disarmingly, and straightened up with a groan. ‘Well, as a training partner, you’re the equal of any I’ve ever had. The Prince is fortunate to have someone such as you to sharpen his skills against. As am I.’
‘You are welcome. And I hope we can measure ourselves against one another again.’
I left it at that. I had as much success with the other servants. My queries, whether direct or indirect, yielded little information. It was not that the servants refused to gossip; they were as willing to chatter about Lord Golden or Lady Elegance as one could wish, but on the topic of the Prince, they simply seemed to know nothing. The picture I formed of Dutiful was of a boy who was not disliked, but was isolated not only by his rank but by his nature. It did not encourage me. I feared that if he had run, he had divulged his plans to no one. His solitary habits would have left him singularly vulnerable to kidnappers as well.