Royal Assassin. Робин Хобб
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hoping to bring some respite from his anger for Kettricken.
‘And I did not,’ he said heavily. ‘She did. Chivalry would have. Oh, Chivalry would have known it would happen from the moment she went missing, and would have had all sorts of contingency plans. But I did not. I thought only to bring her swiftly home, and hope not too many heard of it. As if such a thing could be! And so today I think to myself that if ever the crown does come to rest on my brow, it will be in a most unworthy place.’
This was a Prince Verity I had never seen before, a man with his confidence in tatters. I finally saw how poor a match Kettricken was for him. It was not her fault. She was strong, and raised to rule. Verity often said himself he had been raised as a second son. The right sort of woman would have steadied him like a sea anchor, helped him rise to assume his kingship. A woman who had come weeping to his bed, to be cuddled and reassured, would have let him arise certain he was a man and fit to be a king. Kettricken’s discipline and restraint made him doubt his own strength. My prince was human, I suddenly perceived. It was not reassuring.
‘You should at least come out and speak to them,’ I ventured.
‘And say what? “Good hunting”? No. But you go, boy. Go and watch and bring me word of what is happening. Go now. And shut my door. I have no desire to see anyone else until you return with word of what goes on.’
I turned and did as he bid me. As I left the Great Hall and went down the passage to the courtyard, I encountered Regal. He was seldom up and about this early, and he looked as if his arising this morning had been no choice of his. His clothing and hair were well arranged, but all the tiny primping touches were missing: no earring, no carefully-folded and pinned silk at his throat, and the only jewellery was his signet ring. His hair was combed, but not scented and curled. And his eyes were networked in red. Fury rode him. As I sought to pass him, he seized me and jerked me to face him. That, at least, was his intention. I did not resist, but merely laxed my muscles. And found, to my delight and amazement, that he could not move me. He turned to face me, eyes blazing, and found out that he must look up, ever so slightly, to glare at me eye to eye. I had grown and put on weight. I had known that, but had never considered this delightful side-effect. I stopped the grin before it reached my mouth, but it must have showed in my eyes. He gave me a violent shove, and I allowed it to rock me. A bit.
‘Where’s Verity?’ he snarled.
‘My prince?’ I queried, as if not grasping what he desired.
‘Where is my brother? That wretched wife of his …’ He broke off, strangling on his anger. ‘Where is my brother usually at this time of day?’ he finally managed.
I did not lie. ‘Some days he goes early to his tower. Or he may be breakfasting, I suppose. Or in the baths …’ I offered.
‘Useless bastard,’ Regal dismissed me, and whirled, to hurry off in the direction of the tower. I hoped the climb would amuse him. As soon as he was out of sight, I broke into a run, not to waste the precious time I had gained.
The moment I entered the courtyard, the reason for Regal’s fury was made clear. Kettricken stood upon a wagon seat, and every head was turned up toward her. She wore the same clothes she had the night before. By daylight, I could see how a spray of blood had marked the sleeve of the white fur jacket, and how a heavier plume of it had soaked and stained her purple trousers. She was booted and hatted, ready to ride. A sword was buckled at her hip. Dismay rose in me. How could she? I glanced about, wondering what she had been saying. Every face was turned to her, eyes wide. I had emerged into a moment of utter silence. Every man and woman seemed to be holding their breath, awaiting her next words. When they came, they were uttered in a speaking voice, calmly, but so silent was the crowd that her clear voice carried in the cold air.
‘This is not a hunt, I say,’ Kettricken repeated gravely. ‘Put aside your merriment and boasts. Remove from your bodies every bit of jewellery, every sign of rank. Let your hearts be solemn and consider what we do.’
Her words were accented still with the flavour of the mountains, but a cool part of my mind observed how carefully chosen was each word, how balanced each phrase.
‘We do not go to hunt,’ she repeated, ‘but to claim our casualties. We go to lay to rest those the Red Ships have stolen from us. The Red Ships have taken the hearts of the Forged ones, and left their bodies to stalk us. None the less, those we put down today are of the Six Duchies. Our own.
‘My soldiers, I ask of you that no arrow be loosed today, no blow struck save for a clean kill. I know you skilled enough to do this. We have all suffered enough. Let each death today be as brief and merciful as we can manage, for all our sakes. Let us clench our jaws, and remove that which infects us with as much resolve and regret as if we severed a maimed limb from a body. For such is what we do. Not vengeance, my people, but surgery, to be followed by a healing. Do as I say, now.’
For some few minutes she stood still and looked down at us all. As in a dream, folk began to move. Hunters removed feathers and ribbons, tokens and jewellery from their garments and handed them to pages. The mood of merriment and boasting had evaporated. She had stripped that protection away, forced all to consider truly what they were about to do. No one relished it. All were poised, waiting to hear what she would say next. Kettricken kept her absolute silence and stillness, so that each eye was perforce drawn back to her. When she saw she had the attention of all, she spoke again.
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