Robin Hobb - Royal Assassin

The Fool turned abruptly back to Wallace. "Yes, blow, Sir Wallace, blow well and hot. Perchance we shall not need the fire at all, with the warmth of your breath to drive the chill from the room."

Wallace did not rise from his crouch, but turned to glare at the Fool over his shoulder. "Bring me some wood, would you? Not a stick of this will catch. The flame runs along it well, but the wood does not burn. I need hot water if I am to make the King his sleeping tea."

"Would I bring wood? Wood? Would I? Wooden am I not, fair Wallace. Nor would I burn, no matter how closely you huffed and puffed upon me. Guards! Ho, guards! Enter, and bring with you wood, if you would!" The Fool leaped up from his place behind the King and capered to the door, where he made a great show of attempting to treat the curtain as if it were a proper door. At last he thrust his head out into the hall and called loudly again for the guards. He drew his head back in after a moment and returned to the room with a dejected air. "No guards, no wood. Poor Wallace." He gravely studied the man. Wallace was on his hands and knees, poking angrily at the fire. "Perhaps were you to turn, bow to stern, and blow thus upon the fire, the flames might dance more merrily for you. Fore to aft, to create a draft, brave Wallace."

One of the candles that lit the room suddenly spat blue sparks. All, even the Fool, flinched to its hissing, while Wallace lumbered to his feet. I would not have thought him a superstitious man, but there was a brief wildness in his eyes that spoke well of how little he liked this omen. "The fire simply will not burn," he announced, and then as if realizing the significance of what he said, he paused, mouth agape.

"We are witched," said the Fool benignly. On the hearth, little Rosemary drew her knees up under her chin and looked about with round eyes. All trace of sleepiness was gone from her.

"Why are there no guards?" Wallace demanded angrily. He strode to the door of the room and peered out into the hallway. "The torches burn blue, every one of them!" he gasped. He drew his head back in, looked about wildly. "Rosemary. Run and fetch the guards. They said they would follow us shortly."

Rosemary shook her head and refused to budge. She hugged her knees tightly.

"Guards would follow us? Wood follow us? Followed by wood? Now that's a knotty subject! Would wooden guards burn?"

"Stop your nattering!" Wallace snapped at the Fool. "Go fetch the guards."

"Go fetch? First he thinks I am wood, now that I am his little pet dog. Ah! Go fetch the wood; the stick you mean. Where's the stick?" And the Fool began to bark like a feist and frolic about the room as if in search of a thrown stick.

"Go fetch the guards!" Wallace all but howled.

The Queen spoke firmly. "Fool. Wallace. Enough. You weary us with your antics, and Wallace, you are frightening Rosemary. Go and fetch the guards yourself, if you are so set on having them here. As for me, I would have a little peace. I am weary. Soon I must retire."

"My queen, there is something ill afoot this night," Wallace insisted. He glanced about him warily. "I am not a man swayed by chance omens, but of late there have been too many to ignore. I shall go fetch the guards, since the Fool here lacks the courage—"

"He clamors and weeps for the guards to come guard him from wood that will not burn, but I, I am the one who lacks courage? Ah, me!"

"Fool, peace, please!" The Queen's plea seemed genuine. "Wallace. Go bring, not guards, but simply different wood. Our king wishes not this commotion, but simply rest. Go now. Go."

Wallace hovered at the door, plainly reluctant to brave the blue light of the corridor alone.

The Fool simpered at him. "Shall I come with, to hold your hand, brave Wallace?"

That at last sent him striding from the room. As his footsteps faded, the Fool once more looked toward my hiding place, his invitation plain. "My queen," I said softly, and a quickly indrawn breath was the only sign that I startled her as I stepped out of the King's bedchamber. "If you wished to retire, the Fool and I could see the King to his bed. I know you are weary and that you wished to rest early this night." From the hearth, Rosemary regarded me with round eyes.

"Perhaps I shall," said Kettricken, rising with surprising alacrity. "Come, Rosemary. Good night, my king."

She swept from the room, with Rosemary practically trotting at her heels. The child gave us many a backward glance. As soon as the door curtain fell behind them, I was at the King's side. "My king, it is time," I told him gently. "I shall keep watch here as you go. Is there anything special you wished to take with you?"

He swallowed, then focused his eyes on me. "No. No, there is nothing here for me. Nothing to leave behind, and nothing to stay for." He closed his eyes, spoke softly. "I have changed my mind, Fitz. I think I shall stay here, and die in my own bed this night."

The Fool and I were both struck dumb for an instant.

"Ah, no!" the Fool cried softly, while I said, "My king, you are but tired."

"And the only thing I shall get is more tired." There was a strange lucidity in his eyes. The boy King I had touched briefly when we Skilled together looked out at me from that painracked body. "My body fails me. My son has become a serpent. Regal knows his brother lives. He knows the crown he wears is not rightfully his. I did not think he would… I thought at the last, he would think better…" Tears welled in his ancient eyes. I had thought to save my king from a disloyal Prince. I should have known there was no saving a father from the betrayal of a son. He reached a hand toward me, a hand gone from a muscled sword holder to a gaunt and yellowed claw. "I would say farewell to Verity. I would have him know, from me, that I did not countenance any of this. Let me at least keep that much faith with the son who kept faith with me." He pointed to a spot by his feet. "Come, Fitz. Take me to him."

There was no refusing that command. I did not hesitate. I came and knelt before him. The Fool stood behind him, tears cutting gray paths through the black-and-white paint on his face. "No," he whispered urgently. "My king, rise, let us go into hiding. There you may think this through. You need not decide this now."

Shrewd paid him no mind. I felt Shrewd's hand settle on my shoulder. I opened my strength to him, sorrowfully surprised that I had at last learned how to do that at will. We plunged together into the black Skill river. We turned in that current as I waited for him to give us direction. Instead, he suddenly embraced me. Son of my son, blood of my blood. In my own way, I have loved you.

My king.

My young assassin. What have I made of you? How have I twisted my own flesh? You do not know how young you still are. Chivalry's son, it is not too late to grow straight again. Lift up your head. See beyond all this.

I had spent my life becoming what he wished me to be. These words now filled me with confusion and questions there was no time to answer. I could feel his strength fading.

Verity, I whispered to remind him.

I felt him reach out, and steadied that reaching for him. I felt the brush of Verity's presence, and then a sudden dwindling of the King. I groped after him as one would dive after a drowning man in deep water. I seized his consciousness, held it to me, but it was like gripping a shadow. He was a boy in my arms, frightened and struggling against he knew not what.

Then he was gone.

Like a bubble popping.

I had thought I had glimpsed the frailty of life when I held the dead child in my arms. Now I knew it. Here, and then not here. Even a snuffed candle may leave a trailing wisp of smoke. My king was simply gone.

But I was not alone.

I think every child has flipped over the dead bird found in the woods, only to be shocked and terrified by the busy workings of the maggots on the underside. Fleas cluster thickest and ticks grow fattest on a dying dog. Justin and Serene, like sucking leeches forsaking a dying fish, rose and tried to fasten to me. Here, the source of their increased strength and the King's slow failing. Here the mist that had clouded his mind and filled his days with weariness. Galen, their master, had made Verity his target. But he had missed his kill, and instead met his own death. How long these had been fastened to the King, how long they had sucked Skill strength from him, I would never know. They would have been privy to all he Skilled through me to Verity. Much was suddenly made clear to me, but it was all too late. They closed on me, and I had no concept of how to evade them. I felt them fasten to me, knew they were drawing off my strength now, and that with no reason to refrain from it, they would kill me in moments.