‘As I understand it, it has to be kept close to a human to keep it tamed. And of course, the hounds in the stable would not have left it in peace. So, yes, it slept in his room and followed him about the keep. Fitz, what do you suspect?’
I answered him honestly. ‘The same thing that you do. That our Witted prince has vanished with his hunting cat companion. And that none of this is a coincidence. Not the gift of the animal, not the bonding, not the disappearance. Someone planned this.’
Chade frowned, not wanting to admit what he believed. ‘The cat could have been killed when the Prince was taken. Or she could have run off.’
‘So you’ve said. But if the Prince is Witted, and the cat is bonded to him, she would not have run off when he was taken.’ The stool was uncomfortable but I stubbornly remained perched on it. I closed my eyes for a moment. Sometimes, when the body is weary, the mind takes flight. I let my thoughts skip where they would. ‘I’ve bonded thrice, you know. The first time to Nosy, the puppy that Burrich took from me. And again, to Smithy when I was still a boy. The last time, to Nighteyes. Each time, there was that instant sense of connection. With Nosy, I bonded before I was even aware I was doing it. I suspect it happened because I was lonely. Because when Smithy offered love, I accepted it with no discrimination. And when the wolf’s anger and hatred of his cage so exactly matched mine, I could not distinguish between us.’ I opened my eyes briefly and met Chade’s startled stare. ‘I had no walls, you see.’ I looked away from him, down at the dwindling fire. ‘From what I’ve been told, in Witted families, the children are protected from doing that. They are taught to have walls when they are young. Then, when they are of an age, they are sent out to find suitable partners, almost like seeking a suitable marriage partner.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Chade asked quietly.
I followed the thought where it led me. ‘The Queen has chosen a bride for Prince Dutiful for the sake of a political alliance. What if an Old Blood family has done the same?’
A lengthy silence followed my words. I looked back at Chade. His eyes were on the fire, and I could almost see his mind working frantically to sort out all the implications of what I had said. ‘An Old Blood family deliberately selects an animal for the Prince to bond with. Assumptions, then: that Lady Bresinga is Witted, that indeed her whole line is, as you put it, Old Blood. That they somehow knew or suspected the Prince is also Witted.’ He paused, pursed his mouth, and considered. ‘Perhaps they were the source of the note claiming the Prince was Witted … I still do not grasp what they would profit from it.’
‘What do we profit from marrying Dutiful to some Outislander girl? An alliance, Chade.’
He scowled at me. ‘The cat somehow is part of the Bresinga family and retains ties to it? The cat can somehow influence the Prince’s political actions?’
The way he said it made it seem ridiculous. ‘I haven’t got it completely worked out yet,’ I admitted. ‘But I think there is something there. Even if their only goal is to prove that the Prince himself is Witted, and hence that other Witted folk should not be chopped up and burned for being the way they are. Or to gain the Prince’s sympathy towards Witted folk, and through him, the Queen’s.’
Chade gave me a sidelong glance. ‘Now that is a motive I can concede. There is also a possible blackmail there. Once they have bonded the Prince to an animal, they can hold out for political favours under the threat that they will tell others he is Witted.’ He looked aside from me. ‘Or attempt to reduce him to the level of an animal, if we do not comply with their political wishes.’
As always, Chade’s mind was capable of far more convolutions than mine was. It was almost a relief to have him refine my ideas. I did not want my mentor to be failing in mind or body. In so many ways, he still stood as shield between me and the world. I nodded to his suggestions.
He stood up suddenly. ‘So all the more reason we should proceed as we had planned. Come, take my chair. You look like a parrot perched up there; you can’t possibly be comfortable. One thing all the basic scrolls stress is that a practitioner of the Skill should find a comfortable starting place, one in which the body is relaxed and unobtrusive to the mind.’
I opened my mouth to say that was the opposite of what Galen had done to us. On the contrary, when he was teaching us, he had made us so miserable in body that the mind became our only escape. I shut my mouth, the words unsaid. Useless to protest or ponder what Galen had done. The twisted, pleasureless man had tormented us all, and those he had succeeded in training he had warped into a mindlessly loyal coterie for Prince Regal. Perhaps that had had something to do with it; perhaps he had wanted to break down the body’s resistance and the mind’s judgement before he could shape them into the coterie he desired.
I sat down in Chade’s chair. It retained his warmth and the imprint of his body. It felt strange to sit there in his presence. It was as if I were becoming him. He assumed my perch on the stool and looked down on me from that towering height. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned forwards to smirk down at me.
‘Comfortable?’ he asked me.
‘No,’ I admitted.
‘Serves you right,’ he muttered. Then, with a laugh, he got off the stool. ‘Tell me what I can do to help you with this process.’
‘You want me to just sit here and Skill out, hoping to find the Prince?’
‘Is that so hard?’ It was a genuine question.
‘I tried for several hours last night. Nothing happened except that I got a headache.’
‘Oh.’ For a moment he looked discouraged. Then he announced firmly, ‘We will simply have to try again.’ In a lower voice he muttered, ‘For what else can we do?’
I could think of no answer to that. I leaned back in his chair and tried to relax my body. I stared at his mantelpiece, only to have my attention stick on a fruit knife driven into the wood. I had done that, years ago. Now was not the time to dwell on that incident. Yet I found myself saying, ‘I crept into my old room today. It looks as if it has not been used since last I slept there.’
‘It hasn’t. Castle tradition says it is haunted.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘No. Think about it. The Witted Bastard slept there, and he was taken to his death in the castle dungeons. It’s a fine basis for a ghost tale. Besides. Flickering blue lights have been seen through its shutters at night, and once a stableboy said he saw the Pocked Man staring down from that window on a moonlit night.’
‘You kept it empty.’
‘I am not entirely devoid of sentiment. And for a long time, I hoped you would some day return to that room. But, enough of this. We have a task.’
I drew a breath. ‘The Queen did not mention the note about the Prince being Witted.’
‘No. She did not.’
‘Do you know why?’
He hesitated. ‘Perhaps some things are so frightening that even our good queen cannot bring herself to consider them.’
‘I’d like to see the note.’