The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3: The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate. Robin Hobb
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then crossed the room to open it and entered the spy labyrinth. I wished that I could close that door and leave that part of my life behind me. I tried. I walked away from it.
There are few things so tender as a man’s dignity. The affront I felt was a thing both painful and angry, a weight that grew in my chest as I climbed the stairs. I fingered all my grievances, numbering them to myself.
How dared he put me in this position? He had compromised his own reputation when we visited Galekeep in search of Prince Dutiful. He had kissed young Civil Bresinga, deliberately setting off a social flap that misled Lady Bresinga as to the purpose of our visit at the same time that it got us expelled from her home. Even now, Civil avoided him with distaste, and I knew that his act had inspired a squall of excited gossip and speculation about his personal preferences at Buckkeep. I thought I had managed to hold myself aloof from those rumours. Now I reconsidered. There had been Prince Dutiful’s question. And suddenly my confrontation with the guardsmen in the steams took on a new connotation. Blood burned my face. Would Jek, despite her assurances of a still tongue, become a source of even more humiliating talk? According to her words, the Fool had carved my countenance onto a ship’s figurehead. I felt violated that he would do such a thing without my consent. And what had he said to folk while he was carving it, to lead to Jek’s assumption?
I could not fit what he had done with either what I knew of the Fool or what I knew of Lord Golden. It was the act of this Amber, a person I knew not at all.
Hence I did not truly know him at all. And never had.
And with that, I unwillingly knew I had worked my way down to the deepest source of my injury. To discover that the truest friend I had ever had was actually a stranger was like a knife in my heart. He was another abandonment, a missed step in the dark, and a false promise of warmth and companionship. I shook my head to myself. ‘Idiot,’ I said quietly. ‘You are alone. Best get used to it.’ But without thinking, I reached towards where there had once been comfort.
And in the next instant, I missed Nighteyes with a terrible physical clenching in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, and then walked two more steps and sat down on the little bench outside the spyhole to the Narcheska’s apartments. I blinked, denying the stinging boy’s tears that clung to my eyelashes. Alone. It always came back to alone. It was like a contagion that had clung to me since my mother had lacked the courage to defy her father and keep me, and since my father had abandoned his crown and holdings rather than own up to me.
I leaned my forehead against the cold stone, forcing control onto myself. I steadied my breathing, and then became aware of faint voices through the wall. I sighed deeply. Then, as much to retreat from my own life as for any other reason, I set my eye to the spyhole and listened.
The Narcheska sat on a low stool in the middle of the room. She was weeping silently, clasping her elbows and rocking back and forth. Tears had tracked down her face and dripped from her chin and they still squeezed out from her closed eyes. A wet blanket shawled her shoulders. She held herself in such silence amidst her pain that I wondered if she had just endured some punishment from her father or Peottre.
But even as I wondered, Peottre came hurrying into the room. A tight little whimper burst from her at the sight of him. His jaw was clenched and at the sound, his face went tighter and whiter. He carried his cloak, but it was bundled to serve as a sack. He hurried to Elliania’s side and set the laden cloak on the floor before her. Kneeling, he took her by the shoulders to get her attention. ‘Which one is it?’ he asked her in a low voice.
She gasped in a breath, and spoke with an effort. ‘The green serpent. I think.’ Another breath. ‘I cannot tell. When he burns, he burns so hot that the others seem to burn, too.’ And then she lifted her hand to her mouth and bit down on the meat on her thumb. Hard.
‘No!’ Peottre exclaimed. He caught up the dripping hem of the blanket, folded it twice, and offered it to her. He had to shake her hand free of her jaws. Then, eyes closed, she clamped her teeth on the blanket edge. I saw the clearly demarcated prints of her teeth on her hand as it fell away to her side. ‘I am sorry I took so long. I had to go secretly, so no one would notice what I did and ask questions. And I wanted it fresh and clean. Come, turn this way, into the light,’ he told her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so that her back was towards me. She let the wet blanket fall from her shoulders.
She was stripped to the waist above doeskin trousers. From shoulder to waist, she was tattooed. That was shocking enough to me, but the markings were like none I had ever seen. I knew that the Outislanders tattooed themselves, to show clan and claim victories and even to show the status of a woman, with marks for marriages and for children. But those were like the clan tattoo on Peottre’s brow, a simple pattern of blue marks.
Elliania’s tattoos were nothing like that. I’d never seen anything to compare to them. They were beautiful, the colours brilliant, the designs sharp and clear. The colours had a sparkling metallic quality to them, reflecting the lamplight like a polished blade. The creatures that sprawled and twined on her shoulders and spine and down her ribs gleamed and glistened. And one, an exquisite green serpent that began at the nape of her neck and meandered down her back amongst the others, stood out puffily, like a fresh burn blister. It was oddly lovely, for it gave the impression that the creature was trapped just below her skin, like a butterfly trying to break free from its chrysalis. At the sight of it, Peottre gave a sharp exclamation of sympathy. He opened the bundled cloak at his feet to reveal a mound of fresh, white snow. Cupping a handful of it, he held it to the serpent’s head. To my horror, I heard a sizzling like a quenched blade. The snow melted immediately, to run down her spine in a narrow rivulet. Elliania cried out at the touch, but it was a cry of both shock and relief.
‘Here,’ Peottre said gruffly. ‘A moment.’ He spread his cloak out and then pushed the snow out into an even layer on it. ‘Lie down here,’ he instructed her, and helped her from the stool. He eased her back onto the bed of snow and she whimpered as it quenched the burning. I could see her face now, and the sweat that ran from her brow as well as the tears that still flowed down her face. She lay still, eyes closed, her new breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath she took. After a few moments, she began to shiver, but she did not roll away. Peottre had taken the discarded blanket and was wetting it fresh with water from a pitcher. He brought it back to her and set it by her side. ‘I’m going out for more snow,’ he told her. ‘If that melts and stops soothing your back, try this blanket. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
She unclenched her jaws and wet her lips. ‘Hurry,’ she pleaded in a gasp.
‘I will, little one. I will.’ He stood up, and then said gravely, each word solemn, ‘Our mothers bless you for what you endure. Damn these Farseers and their stiff-necked ways. And damn those dragon-breeders.’
The Narcheska rolled her head back and forth on the snow bed. ‘I just … I just wish I knew what she wanted. What she expected me to do about it, past what we have done.’
Peottre had begun moving about the room, looking for something to carry snow in. He had picked up the Narcheska’s cloak. ‘We both know what she expects,’ he said harshly.
‘I am not a woman yet,’ she said quietly. ‘It is against the mothers’ law.’
‘It is against my law,’ Peottre clarified, as if his will was the only one that mattered in this. ‘I will not see you used that way. There must be another path.’ Unwillingly, he asked, ‘Has Henja come to you? Has she said why you are tormented like this?’
Her nod was a jerk of her head. ‘She insists I must bind him to me. Open my legs to him to be sure of him before I leave. It is the only path she believes in.’ Elliania spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I slapped her and she left. And then the pain became fourfold.’
Anger froze his features. ‘Where is she?’
‘She is not here. She took her cloak and left. Perhaps it is to avoid your temper, but I think she has gone into the town again, to further her cause there.’ Elliania’s teeth clenched in a smile. ‘Just as well. Our position here is difficult enough without having to explain why you’ve killed my maid in