Royal Assassin. Робин Хобб
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The bits of time that he did not demand? A man whose duty is sworn to a king has little time for anyone else in his life.’ Tears stood suddenly in her eyes. ‘Some women are willing to take what such a man can honestly offer, and content themselves with it. For others, it is not enough. Could never be enough. You must …’ she hesitated, and it seemed as if the words were wrung from her. ‘You must consider that. One horse cannot bear two saddles. However much he may wish to …’ Her voice dwindled off on the last words. She closed her eyes as if something hurt her. Then she took a breath and went on briskly, as if she had never paused. ‘Another consideration, FitzChivalry. Molly is, or was, a woman of prospects. She has a trade, and knows it well. I expect she will be able to re-establish herself, after a time of hiring out. But what about you? What do you bring her? You write a fair hand, but you cannot claim a full scriber’s skills. You are a good stable-hand, yes, but that is not how you earn your bread. You are a prince’s bastard. You live in the keep, you are fed, you are clothed. But you have no fixed allowance. This could be a comfortable chamber, for one person. But did you expect to bring Molly here to live with you? Or did you seriously believe the King would grant you permission to leave Buckkeep? And if he did, then what? Will you live with your wife and eat the bread she earns with the work of her hands, and do naught? Or would you be content to learn her trade, and be a help to her?’
She finally paused. She did not expect me to answer any of her questions. I did not try. She took a breath and resumed. ‘You have behaved as a thoughtless boy. I know you meant no harm, and we must see that no harm comes of it. To anyone. But, most especially to Molly. You have grown up amidst the gossip and intrigues of the royal court. She has not. Will you let it be said she is your concubine, or worse, a keep whore? For long years now, Buckkeep has been a man’s court. Queen Desire was … the Queen, but she did not hold court as Queen Constance did. We have a queen at Buckkeep again. Already, things are different here, as you will discover. If you truly hope to make Molly your wife, she must be brought into this court one step at a time. Or she will find herself an outcast among politely nodding people. I am speaking plainly to you, FitzChivalry. Not to be cruel to you. But far better I am cruel to you now than that Molly live a lifetime of casual cruelty.’ She spoke so calmly, her eyes never leaving my face.
She waited until I asked hopelessly, ‘What must I do?’
For a moment she looked down at her hands. Then she met my eyes again. ‘For now, nothing. I mean exactly that. I have made Molly one of my serving-women. I am teaching her, as best I can, the ways of the court. She is proving an apt student, as well as a most pleasant teacher for me in the matters of herbs and scent-making. I am having Fedwren teach her letters, something she is most eager to learn. But for now, that is all that must be happening. She must be accepted by the women of the court as one of my ladies – not the bastard’s woman. After a time, you may begin to call upon her. But for now it would be unseemly for you to see her alone, or even seek to see her at all.’
‘But I need to speak to her alone. Just once, just briefly, then I promise I’ll abide by your rules. She thinks I deliberately deceived her, Patience. She thinks I was drunk last night. I have to explain …’
But Patience was shaking her head before the first sentence was out of my mouth, and continued until I faltered to a halt. ‘We have already had a sprinkling of rumours, because she came here seeking you. Or so the gossip was. I have crushed it, assuring everyone that Molly came to me because she was facing difficulties and her mother had been a tiring woman to Lady Heather during the time of Queen Constance’s court. Which is true, and hence she does have the right to seek me out, for was not Lady Heather a friend to me when I first came to Buckkeep?’
‘Did you know Molly’s mother?’ I asked curiously.
‘Not really. She had left, to marry a chandler, before I came to Buckkeep. But I did know Lady Heather, and she was kind to me.’ She dismissed my question.
‘But couldn’t I come to your chambers, and speak to her there, privately, and …’
‘I will not have a scandal!’ she declared firmly. ‘I will not tempt a scandal. Fitz, you have enemies at court. I will not let Molly become their victim for their aims of hurting you. There. Have I spoken plainly enough at last?’
She had spoken plainly, and of things of which I had believed her ignorant. How much did she know of my enemies? Did she think it merely social? Though that would be enough at court. I thought of Regal, and his sly witticisms, and how he could turn and speak softly to his hangers-on at a feast and all would smirk to one another and add soft-voiced comments to the Prince’s criticism. I thought how I would have to kill him.
‘By the set of your jaw, I see you understand.’ Patience arose, setting her teacup on the table. ‘Lacey. I believe we should leave FitzChivalry to rest now.’
‘Please, at least tell her not to be angry with me,’ I begged. ‘Tell her I wasn’t drunk last night. Tell her I never meant to deceive her, or to cause her any harm.’
‘I will carry no such message! Nor shall you, Lacey! Don’t think I didn’t see that wink. Both of you, I insist that you will be decorous. Remember this, FitzChivalry, I expect you to get some rest tonight.’
They left me. Although I tried to catch Lacey’s eyes and win her alliance, she refused to glance at me. The door closed behind them and I leaned back on my pillows. I tried not to let my mind rattle against the restrictions Patience had set upon me. Annoying as it was, she was right. I could only hope that Molly would see my behaviour as thoughtless rather than deceitful or conniving.
I arose from my bed and went to poke at the fire. Then I sat on the hearth and looked about my chamber. After my months in the Mountain Kingdom, it seemed a bleak place indeed. The closest my chamber came to decoration was a rather dusty tapestry of King Wisdom befriending the Elderlings. It had come with the chamber, as had the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. I stared up at the tapestry critically. It was old and moth-eaten; I could see why it had been banished to here. When I had been younger, it had given me nightmares. Woven in an old style, King Wisdom appeared strangely elongated, while the Elderlings bore no resemblance to any creatures I had ever seen. There was a suggestion of wings on their bulging shoulders. Or perhaps that was meant to be a halo of light surrounding them. I leaned back on the hearth to consider them.
I dozed. I awakened to a draught on my shoulder. The secret door beside the hearth that led up to Chade’s domain was wide open and beckoning. I arose stiffly, stretched, and went up the stone stairs. Thus had I first gone, so long ago, clad then as I was now in just my nightshirt. I had followed a frightening old man with a pocked visage and eyes sharp and bright as a raven’s. He had offered to teach me to kill people. He had also offered, wordlessly, to be my friend. I had accepted both offers.
The stone steps were cold. Here there were still cobwebs and dust and soot above the sconces on the walls. So the housekeeping hadn’t extended to this staircase. Nor to Chade’s quarters. They were as chaotic, disreputable and comfortable as ever. At one end of his chamber was his working hearth, bare stone floors and an immense table. The usual clutter overflowed it: mortars and pestles, sticky dishes of meat scraps for Slink the weasel, pots of dried herbs, tablets and scrolls, spoons and tongs, and a blackened kettle, still sending a reeking smoke curling into the chamber.
But Chade was not there. No, he was at the other end of the chamber, where a fatly cushioned chair faced a hearth with a dancing fire. Carpets overlay one another over the floor there, and an elegantly carved table held a glass bowl of autumn apples and a decanter of summer wine. Chade was ensconced in the chair, a partially unrolled scroll held to the light as he read it. Did he hold it farther from his nose than once he had, and were his spare arms more desiccated? I wondered if he had aged in the months I had been away, or if I had simply not noticed before. His grey woollen robe looked as well worn as ever, and his long grey hair overlay its shoulders and seemed the same colour. As always, I stood silent until he deigned to look up and recognize my presence. Some things changed, but some things did not.
He finally lowered the scroll and looked my way. He had green eyes, and their lightness was always surprising in his Farseer face. Despite the pox-like scars that stippled his face and arms, his bastard bloodlines