The Farseer Series Books 2 and 3: Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest. Robin Hobb
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was, Cook.’ The shudder that ran over me was not feigned. I saw again the lines of blood trickled over a fat little fist. I blinked, but the image stayed. ‘I’ve got to hurry off now. I’m to wait on King Shrewd this day.’
‘Are ye? Well, there’s a spot of good news, then. You just run these up with you, then.’ She trundled over to a cupboard, to take out a covered tray of small pastries baked rich with soft cheese and currants. She set a pot of hot tea beside them, and a clean cup. She arranged the pastries lovingly. ‘And you see he eats them, Fitz. His favourites, they are, and if he tastes one, I know he’ll eat them all. And do him good, too.’
Mine, too.
I jumped as if poked with a pin. I tried to cover it with a cough, as if I had suddenly choked, but Cook still looked at me oddly. I coughed again, and nodded at her. ‘I’m sure he’ll love them,’ I said in a choked voice, and bore the tray out of the kitchen. Several sets of eyes followed me. I smiled pleasantly and tried to pretend I didn’t know why.
I didn’t realize you were still with me, I told Verity. A tiny part of me was reviewing every thought I’d had since I left his tower, and was thanking Eda that I had not decided to seek out Nighteyes first, even as I pushed such thoughts aside, unsure how private they were.
I know. I didn’t intend to be spying on you. Only to show you that when you do not focus so tightly on this, you are able to do it.
I groped after his Skilling. More your effort than mine, I pointed out as I climbed the stairs.
You’re annoyed with me. Beg pardon. From now on, I shall be sure you are aware of me whenever I am with you. Shall I leave you to your day?
My own surliness had left me feeling embarrassed. No. Not yet. Ride with me a bit more while I visit King Shrewd. Let’s see how far we can carry this.
I sensed his assent. I paused before Shrewd’s door, and balanced the tray with one hand as I hastily smoothed my hair back and tugged my jerkin straight. My hair had begun to be a problem lately. Jonqui had cut it short during one of my fevers in the mountains. Now that it was growing out, I didn’t know whether to tie it back in a tail as Burrich and the guardsmen did, or keep it at my shoulders as if I were a page still. I was much too old to wear it in the half-braid of a child.
Tie it back, boy. I’d say you’d earned the right to wear it as a warrior, as much as any guardsman. Just don’t start fussing about it and twining it into oiled curls as Regal does.
I fought the smirk off my face and knocked at the door.
I waited a bit, then knocked again, more loudly.
Announce yourself and open it, Verity suggested.
‘It’s FitzChivalry, sire. I’ve brought you something from Cook.’ I set my hand to the door. It was latched from within.
That’s peculiar. It has never been my father’s way to latch a door. Put a man on it, yes, but not latch it and ignore someone knocking. Can you slip it?
Probably. But let me try knocking again first. I all but pounded on the door.
‘A moment! A moment!’ someone hissed from inside. But it was considerably more than that before several latches were undone and the door opened a hand’s width. Wallace peered out at me like a rat from under a cracked wall. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded accusingly.
‘Audience with the King.’
‘He’s asleep. Or was before you came pounding and shouting. Be off with you.’
‘A moment.’ I shoved my booted foot into the closing door. With one free hand, I turned up the collar of my jerkin, to expose the red-stoned pin I was seldom without. The door was closed firmly on my foot. I put a shoulder against it, leaned as much as I could without dropping the tray I still carried. ‘This was given to me by King Shrewd a number of years ago. With it he gave the promise that whenever I showed it, I would be admitted to see him.’
‘Even if he’s asleep?’ Wallace asked snidely.
‘He placed no limitations on it. Do you?’ I glared at him through the cracked door. He considered a moment, then stepped back from it.
‘By all means, then, do come in. Come and see your king asleep, trying to get the rest he so badly needs in his condition. But do you disturb it, and I as his healer shall tell him to take away that pretty pin and see that you do not bother him again.’
‘You may recommend that as you wish. And if my king desires it, I shall not dispute it.’
He stood aside from me with an elaborate bow. I desperately wanted to knock that knowing sneer from his face, but I ignored it.
‘Wonderful,’ he elaborated as I passed him. ‘Sweet pastries to upset his digestion and tax him all the more. Thoughtful lad, aren’t you?’
I kept my temper. Shrewd was not in his sitting room. The bedchamber?
‘Will you truly bother him there? Well, why not? You’ve shown no other manners, why should I expect consideration now?’ Wallace’s voice was full of snide condescension.
I gripped my temper.
Don’t just accept that from him. Turn and face him down now. This was not advice from Verity, but a command. I set the tray down carefully upon a small table. I took a breath and turned to face Wallace. ‘Have you a dislike of me?’ I asked directly.
He took a step back but tried to keep his sneer in place. ‘A dislike? Why should I, a healer, mind if someone comes to disturb an ill man when he is finally resting?’
‘This room reeks of Smoke. Why?’
Smoke?
A herb they use in the mountains. Seldom for medicine, save pains nothing else will halt. But more often the burning fumes are breathed for pleasure. Much as we use carris seed at Springfest. Your brother has a liking for it.
As did his mother. If it is the same herb. She called it mirthleaf.
Almost the same leaf, but the mountain plant grows taller with fleshier leaves. And thicker smoke.
My exchange with Verity had taken less than a blink of an eye. One can Skill information as fast as one can think it. Wallace was still pursing his lips over my question. ‘Are you claiming to be a healer?’ he demanded.
‘No. But I’ve a working knowledge of herbs, one that suggests Smoke is not appropriate to a sick man’s chambers.’
Wallace was still a moment as he formulated an answer. ‘Well. A king’s pleasures are not his healer’s area of concern.’
‘Perhaps they are mine, then,’ I offered, and turned away from him. I picked up the tray and pushed open the door to the King’s dimly-lit bedchamber.
The reek of Smoke was heavier here, the air thick and cloying with it. Too hot a fire was burning, making the room close and stuffy. The air was still and stale as if no fresh wind had blown through the room for weeks. My own breath seemed heavy in my lungs. The King lay still, breathing stertorously beneath a mound of feather quilts. I looked about for a place to set down the tray of pastries. The small table close to his bed was littered. There was a censer for Smoke; the drifting ash thick on its top, but the burner was out and cold. Beside it was a goblet of lukewarm red wine, and a bowl with some nasty grey gruel in it. I set the vessel on the floor, and brushed the table clean with my shirt sleeve before setting the tray down. As I approached the King’s bed, there was a fusty, foetid smell that became even stronger as I leaned over the King.
This is not like Shrewd at all.
Verity shared my dismay. He has not summoned me much of late. And I have been too busy to call upon him unless he bids me to. The last time I saw him was in his sitting room, in an evening. He complained of headaches, but this…
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