Fool's Fate Part 22

"The Rain Wilds, actually. The fabric is Elderling-made, I suspect, but I chose the patterns sewn into it."

"Elderling-made?" Swift sat up with the avidity of a boy who senses a tale. A very faint smile played about the Fool's mouth. I suspected that he had seen the quickening of interest in my face, too.

"So the Rain Wild people say. Those who live far up the Rain Wild River. They say that once there were great cities there, and that the cities were the homes of the Elderlings. What exactly or who the Elderlings were is harder to tell. But in some places, buried deep in the muck of the Rain Wild swamps, there are cities of stone. Sometimes, one can find a way into them and, within whatever chambers have remained dry and intact, discover the treasures of another time and people. Some of the items they rescue are magical, with uses and abilities that not even the Rain Wilders completely understand. At other times, they find things that are just as we might make ourselves, but of a different quality."

"Like this arrow?" Swift held up the gray arrow. "You said it came from the Rain Wilds. I've never seen wood such as this."

The Fool's eyes flickered to me and then away. "It's wizardwood, a very rare wood. Even more rare than the fabric of this tent, which is finer than silk, and stronger than silk. I can crush all the fabric into a wad I could hold concealed inside my hand, yet stretched over the poles of the tent, it is st.u.r.dy, and so strongly woven that it holds warmth in and wind out."

Swift reached out to run a wondering finger down one wall. "It's nice in here. Warmer than I had thought a tent could be. And I like the dragons on the walls."

"So do I," the Fool said. He reclined on his pallet again as he stared into the firepot. The tiny flames found twin homes in his eyes. I leaned back, away from the light, and studied him. There were planes and angles to his face that had never been there when we were children. His hair had seemed to gain substance with color. It no longer floated wildly around his face when it was loose, as it was now. Sleek as a horse's mane but far finer, it hung to his shoulders. "The dragons are why I am here."

For a fraction of a moment, his eyes flickered to mine. I crossed my arms on my chest and leaned back deeper into the shadows.

"There are dragons in the Rain Wilds," he went on, speaking to Swift. "But only one that is hearty and strong. Tintaglia is her name."

The boy edged even closer to him. "Then the Bingtown Traders spoke truth? They have a dragon?"

The Fool c.o.c.ked his head as if considering the answer. Again, that ghost of a smile bent his mouth. Then he shook his head. "That is not something I would say. Rather, I would say that there is a dragon in the Rain Wilds, and Bingtown falls within the territory she claims as her own. She is a magnificent creature, blue as good steel and silver as a gleaming ring."

"Have you seen her, your own self?"

"Indeed I have." The Fool smiled at the boy's wonder. "And had words with her."

Swift drew his breath in. He seemed to have forgotten my hulking presence. Yet I wondered to which of us the Fool spoke as he said, "This tent is one of the gifts she persuaded the Rain Wild folk to give me."

"Why did she ask them to give you gifts?"

"She told them to give me gifts because she knew that I would serve her purpose unswervingly. For we have known each other, in other days and shapes."

"What do you mean?" The boy suspected he was being teased. I feared he was not.

"I am not the first of my kind to have dealings with dragonkind. And she has all the memories of her race. They cascade through her mind like bright beads sliding on a string. Back they go, past the serpent she was once to the egg that serpent came from, to the dragon that laid that egg, to the serpent that dragon was, to the egg that serpent hatched from, to the dragon that laid that egg, to the serpent that dragon-"

"Enough!" the boy laughed breathlessly. The Fool's tongue juggled the words like pins.

"Back to where she knew another such as I. And perhaps, had I a dragon's memory, I might have been able to say to her, 'Ah, yes, I do recall, and that is exactly how it was. Such a pleasure to meet you again.' But I have not a dragon's memory. And so I had to take her word for it that I was as trustworthy a fellow as she was ever likely to meet."

His words had fallen into the artful cadence of the storyteller. The boy was enraptured. "And what is her purpose that you shall serve?" Swift asked eagerly.

"Ah!" The Fool swept his hair back from his face, then stretched, but suddenly his long forefinger was pointing unerringly at me. "He knows. For he has promised to help me. Haven't you, Badgerlock?"

Frantically, I scrambled through my memories. Had I promised to aid him? Or had I only said that I would decide when the time came for it? I smiled, and with a wittiness I did not feel, I replied, "When the time comes, I'll serve my purpose."

I knew he marked my distancing from his words, but he smiled as if I had agreed and said, "As shall we all. Even young Swift, Burrich's son and Molly's son."

"Why do you name me so?" In that instant, the boy was stung. "My father is nothing to me. Nothing!"

"Whatever he is to you, you are still son to him. Perhaps you can deny him, but you cannot make him deny you. Some ties cannot be severed by a word. Some ties simply are. Such ties are what bind the world and time together."

"Nothing binds me to him," the boy insisted sullenly. A little time pa.s.sed. He perceived he had broken the string of the story, and that the Fool was not going to knot it back together for him. After a pause, he conceded, asking again, "What is the dragon's purpose in your being here?"

"Oh, you know what it is!" The Fool sat up. "You've heard what was said back on the beach, and I know how swiftly gossip travels in a small group like this. You have come to slay the dragon. I am here to see that you don't."

"Unless it's a righteous battle. Unless the dragon attacks us first."

The Fool shook his head. "No. I am simply here to see that the dragon survives."

Swift's eyes traveled from the Fool to me and back again. He spoke hesitantly. "Then you are our enemy here? To battle us if we try to kill the dragon? But there is only one of you! How can you think to challenge us?"

"I challenge no one. I make no one my enemy, though some may consider me theirs. Swift, it is simply as I say it is. I am here to see that no one slays the dragon under the ice."

The boy shifted uncomfortably. I could almost see the thought pa.s.s through his mind, and when he spoke it, he sounded so like Burrich that it nearly broke my heart. "I am sworn to serve my prince." He took a breath, but when he spoke his voice was still troubled. "If you oppose him, sir, then I must oppose you."

The Fool had kept his eyes fixed on the boy's face all the while. "I am sure you will, if you believe it is the right thing to do," he said quietly. "And if that is so when the time comes, well, that will be soon enough for us to be opponents. I am sure you will respect the duty of my heart just as I respect yours. For now, however, we travel all together in the same direction, and I see no reason why we should not share what Tom Badgerlock came to seek here. Fellowship."

Again Swift's eyes traveled between us. "Then you are friends, you two?"

"For many years," I said, at almost the same instant that the Fool said, "Far more than friends, I would say."

It was at precisely that moment that Civil Bresinga flung open the tent flap and thrust his head inside. "I feared as much!" he declared angrily. Swift looked up at him, his mouth a round O of surprise. The Fool gave an exasperated sigh. I was the first to find my tongue.

"Your fears are groundless," I said quietly, while Swift, entirely mistaking Civil's declaration, retorted, "I would never be disloyal to my prince, no matter who tempted me!"

That comment, I think, threw Civil into complete confusion. Now totally uncertain of what was going on, he contemptuously ordered, "Swift, come out from there, and go to bed in your own blankets." Then, to the Fool, "And don't believe this is the end of this. I'll be taking my concerns to the Prince."

On the heels of his words, before the Fool or I could respond, we heard Riddle's voice ring out in challenge. "Hold where you are! Who goes there?"

I thrust Swift out of the way to bolt out of the tent. I nearly knocked Civil over as I pa.s.sed him, not that I would have regretted it much. I sensed him following me, and knew that Swift and the Fool would, also. By the time I reached Riddle's sentry post, most of the camp had tumbled out of their blankets to see what the uproar was about.

"Who goes there?" Riddle shouted again, his uncertainty making him more angry and challenging.

"Where?" I demanded as I came up beside him, and he lifted a finger to point.

"There," he said quietly, and then I saw the man's shadow. Or was it the man himself? The uneven surface of the blown snow on the glacier and the feeble light of the fire quarreled with the deep gray of the northern night, making it hard to tell substance from shade. The snowy mountains above us cast a second, deeper shadow across the reach of snow. I squinted. Someone stood at the far edge of the dwindled fire's reach. I saw no more than his silhouette, but I was certain it was the man I had glimpsed earlier in the day. Behind me, I heard Peottre gasp, "The Black Man!" He spoke with dread, and the spreading mutter among the Hetgurd men who had also roused was uneasy. The Fool was suddenly beside me, his long fingers gripping my forearm hard. He breathed his words, and I doubt any heard them save me. "What is he?"

"Come forward and show yourself!" Riddle commanded him. His drawn sword was in his hand as he stepped out of our circle and into the darkness. Longwick had thrust a torch into the dwindled embers of the fire. As the pitch took flame, and he lifted it aloft, however, the man simply was no longer there. Just as a shadow vanishes when light comes too close to it, so had he disappeared.

His appearance had roused the camp, but it was his disappearance that threw us into chaos. Everyone spoke at once. Riddle and the other guards ran forward to examine the place where the man had stood even as Chade shouted at them not to tread on the snow there. By the time Chade and I reached the spot, they had already trampled over whatever sign he might have left. Longwick lifted the torch higher, but we saw no definite footprints either approaching or leaving that spot. It was within the boundaries that Peottre had staked out for the camp, and our own trails crossed and overcrossed there.

One of the Outislanders was praying loudly to El. Never have I heard anything so unnerving as a hardened warrior praying to a G.o.d known for his merciless heart. It was a harsh prayer, one that promised gifts and sacrifices if El would only turn his attention elsewhere. Web looked shocked by it and Peottre's face was pale even in the torchlight. The Narcheska looked as if she had been carved from ivory, so still and stunned were her features.

"Perhaps it was only a trick of the light and shadows," c.o.c.kle suggested, but no one took him seriously. The Hetgurders offered no suggestions, but spoke low and swift amongst themselves. They sounded worried. Peottre too held his silence.

"Whatever or whoever it was, he's gone now," Chade declared at last. "Let us get what sleep is left to us tonight. Longwick, double the guard. And build up the fires."

The Hetgurd contingent, perhaps not trusting our sentries, set a guard of their own. They also spread an otter skin on the snow at the edge of our encampment and once more set out offerings on it. I saw Peottre shepherd the Narcheska back to their tent, but doubted he would sleep any more this night. I wondered why he appeared so badly rattled, and wished that I knew more of this "Black Man" and the traditions surrounding him.

I thought Chade would want to speak to me, but he only gave me an accusing glare. I thought at first that he wished that I had done more to apprehend the visitor; then realized it was because the Fool still stood beside me. I started to move away from him, then irritably checked my own action. I would determine where I wished to be, not Chade. I met his gaze levelly and kept my face devoid of expression. Nonetheless, he gave his head a small shake before he turned aside to accompany Dutiful back to their tent.

I was made aware of Swift's fears when he spoke from beside me. "What should I do now?" I heard both unadmitted fear and dread in his voice and I tried to think what would have rea.s.sured me at that age, and went back to Burrich's wisdom. Give him a task.

"Follow the Prince and stay at his side. I think it best if you sleep in his tent tonight, for you've a keen set of ears and the Wit to warn you if any should approach the tent from outside. Remind them of that, and let them know I suggested you be his guard tonight. Now go quickly, get your blankets and join them before they're abed."

He looked at me, mouth agape for an instant. Then he flashed me a look of pure grat.i.tude. His eyes met mine, without resentment or restraint, and he said, "You know I'm loyal to my prince."

"I do." I confirmed it for him. I wondered if Burrich's face had shone like that the first time Chivalry had proclaimed that he belonged to him. I suddenly felt he was too cheaply bought, this son of Burrich. If he had half the loyalty and courage of his father, then Dutiful had acquired a jewel indeed. As Swift ran off into the darkened camp, I turned to the sound of footsteps behind me. Web approached, with Civil a scant two steps behind him. As if he could read my thoughts, he said, "The boy will be a good man."

"If he's allowed to grow that way, without interference or the creation of unnatural appet.i.tes," Civil appended to his words. He stepped into the circle, and never have I seen a man more ready to fight. His cat was a snowy ghost at his heels. I didn't want this. I didn't want the allegations and I didn't want the fight. I saw no way to avoid any of it. The Fool spoke before I could.

"You willfully persist in laboring under that misapprehension," he said quietly. "Yet if it must be said to you yet again, then I shall. I am no threat to that boy. What pa.s.sed between us at your mother's home was a subterfuge, designed to make my quick departure easily explained. You are not a simpleton. You have seen that both Tom Badgerlock and I serve the Prince, in ways that no one has fully explained to you. Nor will anyone. So set that hope aside. This is as much as you get from me, and I speak it plainly. I feel no physical attraction to that boy, and I have no designs on his flesh. The same is true of how I feel toward you."

That should have put him at ease, if that had been his true concern. But it wasn't, of course. I could tell it by the way his Wit-cat flattened his ears. Civil spoke in a low voice. "And she who was affianced to me, Sydel? Will you say you felt no physical attraction to her and never had any designs on her flesh when you ruined the trust that was between us?"

The silence and cold that closed tight around us was not entirely of the glacier's making. I had seldom seen the Fool weigh his words so carefully. I became aware that c.o.c.kle stood just outside our circle, witnessing our words, and those who had started to return to their tents had also halted to watch this play. I wondered what the minstrel would make of what he had already heard, let alone what the Fool might say next. "Sydel was a lovely child when last I saw her," the Fool said quietly. "And like a child, she was given to quick turns of fantasy and fascination. I took advantage of her interest in me. I admit that. And I have told you already why I did so. But I did not ruin the trust between you. Only the two of you could do that, and that is indeed what you did. Some time has pa.s.sed and perhaps, if you look back now, you will see that the trust she gave you was just that: the trust of a child, not the love of a young woman. I would wager that she had known few other young men besides you; she did not truly choose you, Civil. You were simply there and her parents approved. And when I came along and she perceived there might be a choice-"

"Don't try to blame it all on me!" Civil's voice was a low growl. His cat echoed it. "You seduced her and stole her from me. And then you cast her aside, and left her to her shame."

"I . . ." The Fool's shock was palpable to me. He seemed at a loss for words. But when he spoke, his voice was firm and in control again. "You are wrong. All that pa.s.sed between Sydel and me, you saw. Such, of course, was my intent! There were no private moments between us, and certainly no seduction. I left her, certainly, but I did not shame her."

Civil shook his head, a bit wildly. The more calmly the Fool spoke, the more agitated the lad seemed to become. "No! No, you ruined everything between us, with your loathsome appet.i.tes! And now you will say it was some sort of game or ruse. You shattered my mother's dreams for us, and humiliated her father so that he cannot bear to be in the same room with her. All this for a jest? No. No, I refuse to believe it."

I felt queasy. I had been a part of that deception. We had guested in Civil Bresinga's home, in guise of enjoying the hunting there while actually tracking Prince Dutiful and the Piebalds who had taken him. When we needed to depart abruptly on the Prince's trail, Lord Golden had created a reason for Lady Bresinga to welcome our departure. He had made blatant advances toward Lady Sydel, Civil's fiancee, turning her young head with his wealth and charm and flattery. When Civil had attempted to intervene, he had drunkenly informed the young man that he too would be welcome to share Lord Golden's bed. We had done it for the Prince's sake, that we might more swiftly follow him and leave no one wondering why we departed so suddenly. But the trail of destruction we had left behind us sickened me now. I suddenly feared where this must lead. My prince, I fear I must beg your intervention between Civil and the Fool. They quarrel, and I think Civil will take it to blows. My prince, I fear I must beg your intervention between Civil and the Fool. They quarrel, and I think Civil will take it to blows.

"I am sorry," the Fool said, and he put a depth of feeling into those words that could leave no one doubting his sincerity. He halted, then offered, "Truly, Civil, it is never too late. If you love the girl as you seem to, then go to her when you return to the Six Duchies and tell her so. Give her time to become a woman and see if she reciprocates your feelings. If she does, take joy in one another. If she does not, well, then know that it would not have lasted between you, regardless of whether I had come along or not."

It wasn't what Civil wanted to hear. His face went from scarlet to white, and he suddenly shrieked out, "I demand satisfaction of you!" And he launched himself at the Fool.

An instant too late, Web reached for his shoulder. A moment too late, I tried to block him. He pounced on the Fool like a cat on a mouse, and together they went rolling into the snow. Civil snarled like a cat as he fought. Something Web did, I think, restrained Civil's cat from leaping into the fray. I stepped forward to intervene, but felt the Prince inside my mind as he arrived, half-clothed, on the scene.

Let them have it out, Fitz. Better that the two of them settle it than that you become involved and we suddenly have the whole party taking sides. This has festered long with Civil and words will not suffice to settle it.

But the Fool doesn't fight. Never have I seen him fight!

Nonetheless. And this from Chade, with a grim sort of satisfaction. And this from Chade, with a grim sort of satisfaction. He will now. He will now.

I think they expected to see Civil triumph quickly. There, I knew the Fool better. Slight he might appear, but even when I was in fighting trim, he had always seemed able to pit his strength against mine. Once, when I was injured, he had carried me through the snow back to his home. His tumbler's tricks had always demanded strength as well as agility. So I knew he had the power to defeat Civil if he chose. What I feared was that he would choose not to do so. And my fears were well grounded. Civil straddled the Fool. I winced to the solid sound of Civil's fists striking him, chest and shoulder and jaw.

Stop this! I begged the Prince. I begged the Prince. Command them to stop! Command them to stop!

Let them finish it and let it be over, Chade suggested, and I glowered at him, thinking he had other reasons why he would see the Fool defeated before the men who had so swiftly gathered. Chade suggested, and I glowered at him, thinking he had other reasons why he would see the Fool defeated before the men who had so swiftly gathered.

Then I'll stop it! But as I stepped forward, I saw that the tide of the battle had already turned. The Fool had writhed beneath Civil until he had his hip under him. He caught one of Civil's legs in the crook of his knee. Then by some twisting trick, the Fool suddenly unseated him and reversed their positions. In the next instant, he had flung himself on top of Civil. I was shocked even as I waited to see the Fool take his revenge. But as I stepped forward, I saw that the tide of the battle had already turned. The Fool had writhed beneath Civil until he had his hip under him. He caught one of Civil's legs in the crook of his knee. Then by some twisting trick, the Fool suddenly unseated him and reversed their positions. In the next instant, he had flung himself on top of Civil. I was shocked even as I waited to see the Fool take his revenge.

He didn't. He caught Civil's flailing arms and restrained them, seemingly without effort. Dark red blood was running from one of the Fool's nostrils. It dripped down onto Civil as the lad struggled. The Fool's grip only tightened, and I saw how reluctantly he twisted down on one of Civil's elbows until the young man grunted with pain. Nearby, his cat snarled savagely. Web's touch on his back looked effortless, but the cat seemed to strain against iron restraints.

The Fool held the struggling young man down. I could sense Civil's outrage that the tawny man did so without apparent effort. When one has insulted someone's manliness, he does not expect to be easily mastered by the man. "It's done." The Fool spoke firmly, not just to Civil but to all of us. "It's over. I won't discuss this with you again."

Suddenly Civil went limp. The Fool held him down an instant longer, then pushed himself up off his p.r.o.ne body, took a staggering step, and then drew himself up straight. Just as he began to walk away, Civil rolled to his feet and sprang at him. I leaped forward at the same instant that the Fool, without so much as a glance back, moved lithely to one side. Civil and I were suddenly chest to chest in the night, the boy gawking up at me as I stared him down. He stumbled back a step, then he spun and hissed the insult at the Fool. "You say he isn't your lover, yet he stands ready to fight your battles for you."

Like a ship under full sail, the Fool seethed through the snowy night to stand aggressively close to the boy. He spoke flatly. "He is not my lover. He is far more than that to me, far more precious. I am the White Prophet and he is my Catalyst, and we are come here to change the course of time. I am here to see that Icefyre lives."

Peottre had ghosted up to the edge of the circle. In the dimness, he shuddered as if he had just taken an arrow. The Hetgurd men, gathered for the pleasure of watching a fight, suddenly muttered amongst themselves. But I had no time to watch them. Civil was like a crouching cat with a lashing tail. All his attention was focused on the Fool as he growled, "I don't care what you call yourself or him. I know what you are!"

He all but spat the final words and again he sprang. But this time the Fool met his onslaught. Civil went in swinging heavy blows but the Fool swayed around them and stepped in to seize Civil by the body. He did not push him away, but pulled him forward, increasing his momentum so that the boy slammed face first into the crystallized snow. The Fool followed him down. He pinioned him again, wrapping one arm around the boy's throat and winding the other under Civil's arm and up, so that his right arm was bent up behind him. Civil was cursing wildly and close to tears when the Fool hoa.r.s.ely warned him, "We can do this as many times as you like. Struggle and you'll dislocate your shoulder. That is true, I promise you. Let me know when you are calm and ready to give this up."

I feared the boy would be stupid enough to hurt himself. The Fool, his weight spread flat on the snow, held him down and let him struggle. Twice Civil flung himself back against the Fool's grip. Each time I heard him grunt with pain. Finally, having proven the Fool's words to himself, he lay still. But he was far from calm. He panted and cursed and then shouted, "It was all your fault! You can't deny it. You ruined everything, everything. And now my mother is dead and I have nothing. Nothing. Sydel is shamed and I cannot go to her and offer her marriage, for I have nothing, and her father blames my family for his daughter's fall. He will not let me see her. If you had not come there, none of it would have happened. I'd still have my life."

"And the Prince would be dead. Or worse." Without realizing it, I had edged closer to the combatants. I wondered if anyone else heard the Fool's low comment.

With a moan of defeat, Civil dropped his face into the snow. He lay still. The Fool did not make him speak his surrender. Instead, he released his hold from the boy and got up. I winced for the pain he must feel.

The Fool spoke between gasps for breath. "It wasn't me. I didn't kill your mother. Or shame her. That was the Piebalds. Blame them. Not me. And don't fix blame on a young girl who did nothing more terrible than flirt with a stranger. Forgive her . . . and yourself. You were trapped and used. Both of you."

And the Fool's perceptive words lanced into Civil's soul, and his pain poured forth into the night. Wit and Skill, I felt it, like some hot, foul poison rushing out of him. When the Fool turned away, the young man didn't spring after him, but curled on his side in the snow, gagging with sorrow. His cat gave a low rumble of distress, and, released by Web, rushed to his side. The Fool stood well clear of them both. Panting, he dragged his sleeve across his face, and then shook his head at how he had marked the snowy white of it with the deep scarlet of his blood. He took several steps away from them, and then bent over, hands on his knees, taking deep panting breaths of the cold air.

The Prince finally spoke. "Let this be an end to it now, right here. We are a small party and can ill afford any divisions amongst us. Civil, you made your challenge and this will have to be your satisfaction. Lord Golden, you are here on my tolerance. You have openly avowed that you oppose my mission. I accept that, just as I accept the conscience that puts the Hetgurd watchers among us. But if you carry any ill will against Civil because of this, my tolerance will end. We will put you out of our company to make your own way."

I felt those last words as a threat. I went to the Fool's side and waited while he caught his breath. Web had gone to Civil and crouched in the snow beside him. He lay there, hugging his cat as if he were a child's comforting doll. Web's voice was a low rumble as he spoke to him. I could not catch the words. Swift stood, caught in between, staring from one combatant to the other. I took the Fool's arm and started moving him toward his tent. Now that it was over, he seemed half-stunned. "Follow your prince, son," I told Swift as I pa.s.sed him. "It's done for now. We'll talk later."

He nodded, staring as we pa.s.sed. The Fool stumbled a little and I firmed my grip on him. Behind us, I heard Longwick berating the guards for being distracted from their duty. Slowly, the camp dispersed back to their beds.

I put the Fool inside his tent, and then went back out, his kerchief in my hand, to gather up a pack of snow for him. When I returned, he had added a bit of oil to the tiny firepot, and the renewed flames danced higher, sending rippling shadows of color across the silken walls. He set a tiny kettle upon it as I watched, and then sat back on his pallet, pinching his nostrils shut with one b.l.o.o.d.y hand. His nose had almost stopped bleeding but his face was starting to darken where Civil's fists had landed. He leaned back gingerly as if the entire left side of his body were sore.

"Try this," I told him. I sat down beside him and gently pressed the cold compress against the side of his face. He turned away from it.

"Please don't! It's icy and I'm already too cold," he complained. Wearily he added, "I'm too cold all the time in this place."

"Nevertheless," I told him relentlessly. "Just until your nose stops bleeding. And it will keep your face from swelling too much. You'll probably have a black eye anyway."

"Please, Fitz," he protested feebly and reached up, bare-handed, to seize my wrist in the same moment that my fingertips brushed his cheek.

The impact of that mutual touch blinded me for an instant, just as if I had stepped out of a dim stable into full direct sunlight. I twitched away from him, the snow bundle falling to the tent floor, and blinked, but the image of what I had seen was imprinted on the inside of my eyelids. I cannot say how I knew what it was I had glimpsed. Perhaps something in that closed circle of touching told me. I drew a shaky breath and reached recklessly toward his face with outstretched fingers.

"I can heal you," I told him, amazed and breathless with the discovery. The knowledge of my newfound power rushed through my blood, hot as whiskey. "I see what is wrong, the bits that are broken and how the blood pools under your skin where it should not. Fool, I can use the Skill and heal you."

Again he seized my wrist, but this time it was to hold my hand wide of his face. Again, I felt jolted by that sense of connection as his Skill-imbued fingertips made contact with my skin. He shifted his grip quickly to the cuff of my sleeve. "No," he said quietly, but a smile played over his swollen face. "Did you learn nothing from the 'healing' that we put you through? I have no reserves to burn for the sake of a swift healing. I'll let my own body mend itself, in its own way and time." He let go of my wrist. "But thank you," he added quietly, "for offering."

A shudder ran over me, as when a horse shakes flies from his coat. I blinked at him, feeling as if I had just awakened. The temptation was slower to fade. There was, I thought wryly, much of Chade in me. Knowing that I could do a thing made me itch to do it. Looking at his bruised face was like looking at a picture hung crooked on a wall. The impulse to right it was instinctive. I sighed. Resolutely, I crossed my arms on my chest and leaned back from him.

"You see it, don't you?" he asked me.

I nodded, and then he shocked me, for his mind was on something completely different. "Word must be sent to the Queen, somehow. Sydel, I think, is innocent. She deserves rescue, and after the misery I have helped cause her, I hope she receives it. I dare not guess which of her parents is the Piebald who worked with Laudwine. Perhaps both did. Sydel is shamed for accidentally falling in with our plans. And Civil is no longer seen as an appropriate match for her, for he has sided with the Fa.r.s.eers."

Of course. The connections were all there, plain to see when the Fool pointed them out. I reconsidered her parents' apparent reaction to "Lord Golden's" interest in their daughter. Her mother had seemed avid to take advantage of it; her father more cautious. Had they seen him as someone who could give the Piebalds access to Buckkeep society? As a benefactor whose wealth might forward their cause?

"Why didn't Civil just tell Dutiful, months ago?" I felt outraged. My prince had forgiven Civil, had welcomed him back as a comrade and friend, and he had held back from us this key piece of information.