The Complete Farseer Trilogy: Assassin’s Apprentice, Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest. Robin Hobb

years. A central tree had been selected, the area cleared, and then the circle of supporting trees planted and tended, and shaped during their growing by ropes and pruning, so that they all bowed toward the centre tree. At some point all other branches had been lopped away and the treetops interwoven to form a crown. Then the walls had been created, first with a layer of finely-woven fabric, that was then varnished to hardness, and then overlaid with lapping after lapping of sturdy cloth made from bark. The bark-cloth was daubed over with a peculiar local clay, and then coated with a bright layer of resinous paint. I never did discover if every building in the city had been created in this laborious fashion, but the ‘growing’ of the palace had enabled its creators to give it a living grace that stone could never mimic.

      The immense interior was open, not unlike the great hall at Buckkeep, with a similar number of hearths. There were tables set out, and areas obviously for cooking and weaving and spinning and preserving, and all the other necessities of a great household. The private chambers seemed to be no more than curtained alcoves, or rooms like small tents set against the exterior wall. There were also some elevated chambers, reached by a network of open wooden stairs, reminding me of tents pitched on stilt platforms. The supporting legs of these chambers were natural tree-trunks. My heart sank as I realized how little privacy there would be for any ‘quiet’ work I needed to do.

      I was shown quickly to a tent chamber. Inside I found my cedar chest and clothing bag awaiting me, as well as more warm and scented wash-water and a dish of fruit. I changed quickly from my dusty travelling clothes into an embroidered robe with slit sleeves and matching green leggings that Mistress Hasty had decreed as appropriate. I wondered once more at the threatening buck embroidered on it, then set it out of my mind. Perhaps Verity had thought this changed crest less humiliating than the one that so clearly proclaimed my illegitimacy. In any case, it would serve. I heard chimes and small drums from the great central room, and left my chamber hurriedly to find out what was afoot.

      On a dais set before the great trunk and decorated with flowers and evergreen swags, August and Regal stood before an old man flanked by two servants in plain white robes. A crowd had gathered in a great circle around the dais, and I quickly joined them. One of my litter-bearers, now robed in rose drapings and crowned with a twining of ivy, soon appeared at my side. She smiled down at me.

      ‘What is happening?’ I made bold to ask.

      ‘Our Sacrifice, er, ah, you say, King Eyod will welcome you. And he will show to you all his daughter, to be your Sacrifice, hem, ah, queen. And his son, who will rule for her here.’ She stumbled through this explanation, with many a pause, and many encouraging nods from me.

      With mutual difficulty, she explained that the woman standing beside King Eyod was her niece and I awkwardly managed a compliment to the effect that she looked both healthy and strong. At the moment it seemed the kindest thing I could find to say of the impressive woman standing so protectively by her king. She had an immense mass of the yellow hair that I was becoming accustomed to in Jhaampe, with some of it braided up and coiled about her head, and some flowing loose down her back. Her face was grave, her bare arms muscular. The man on the other side of King Eyod was older, but still as like to her as a twin, save that his hair was cut severely short at his collar. He had the same jade eyes, straight nose and solemn mouth. When I managed to ask the old woman if he, too, were a relative, she smiled as if I must be a bit dim, and replied that, of course, he was her nephew. She shushed me then, as if I were but a child, for King Eyod was speaking.

      He spoke slowly and carefully, but even so, I was glad of my conversations with my litter-bearers, for I was able to make out most of his speech. He greeted us all formally, including Regal, for he said that previously he had greeted him only as the emissary of King Shrewd and now he greeted him as Prince Verity’s symbol of his presence. August was included in this greeting, and both were presented with several gifts, jewelled daggers, a precious fragrant oil, and rich fur stoles. When the stoles were placed about their shoulders, I thought with chagrin that both now looked more like decorations than princes, for in contrast to the simple garb of King Eyod and his attendants, Regal and August were decked in circlets and rings, and their garments were of opulently rich fabrics and cut with no regard for either thrift or service. To me, they both appeared foppish and vain, but I hoped that our hosts would merely think their outlandish appearance was part of our foreign customs.

      And then, to my personal chagrin, the King summoned forward his male attendant, and introduced him to our assemblage as Prince Rurisk. The woman beside him was, of course, Princess Kettricken, and Verity’s betrothed.

      And finally, I realized that those who had been our litter-bearers and greeted us with cakes and wine were not the servants, but the women of the royal household, the grand-mothers, aunts and cousins of Verity’s betrothed, all following the Jhaampe tradition of serving their people. I quailed to think I had spoken to them so familiarly and casually, and again mentally cursed Regal that he had not foreseen to send us more word of their customs rather than the long list of clothing and jewellery he wished brought for himself. The elderly woman beside me, then, was the King’s own sister. I think she must have sensed my confusion, for she patted my shoulder benignly and smiled at my blushes as I attempted to stutter an apology.

      ‘For, you have done nothing to shame yourself,’ she informed me, and then bade me call her not, ‘My lady’, but Jonqui.

      I watched as August presented to the Princess the jewellery Verity had selected to send her. There was a net of finely-woven silver chain set with red gems to drape her hair, and a silver collar set with larger red stones. There was a silver hoop, wrought like a vine, full of jingling keys, that August explained were her household keys for when she joined her husband at Buckkeep, and eight plain silver rings for her hands. She stood still as Regal himself decked her. I thought to myself the silver with red stones would have looked better on a darker woman, but Kettricken’s girlish delight was dazzlingly obvious in her smile, and around me people turned and murmured approvingly to one another to see their princess so adorned. Perhaps, I thought, she might enjoy our outlandish colours and accoutrements.

      I was grateful for the briefness of King Eyod’s speech that followed, for all he added was that he bade us welcome, and invited us to rest, relax and enjoy the city. If we had any needs, we had but to ask of anyone we encountered, and they would attempt to meet them. Tomorrow at noon would begin the three-day ceremony of the Joining, and he desired that we all be well-rested to enjoy it. Then he and his offspring descended, to mingle as freely with one and all as if we were all soldiers on the same watch.

      Jonqui had obviously attached herself to me, and there was no gracious way to escape her company, so I resolved to learn as much as I could as quickly as I could about their customs. But one of her first acts was to present me to the Prince and Princess. They were standing with August, who appeared to be explaining how, through him, Verity would witness his ceremony. He was speaking loudly, as if this would somehow make it easier for them to understand. Jonqui listened for a moment, then apparently decided that August had finished speaking. She spoke as if we were all children brought together for sweetcakes while our parents conversed. ‘Rurisk, Kettricken, this young man is most interested in our gardens. Perhaps later we can arrange that he speak with those who tend them.’ She seemed to speak especially to Kettricken as she added, ‘His name is Fitz-Chivalry.’

      August frowned suddenly and amended her introduction. ‘Fitz. The bastard.’

      Kettricken looked shocked at this soubriquet, but Rurisk’s fair face darkened somewhat. Ever so slightly, he turned toward me, putting his shoulder to August. Even so, it was a gesture that needed no explaining in any language. ‘Yes,’ he said, switching to Chyurda and looking me full in the eye. ‘Your father spoke of you to me, the last time I saw him. I was grieved to hear of his death. He did much to prepare the way for the forging of this bond between our folk.’

      ‘You knew my father?’ I asked stupidly.

      He smiled down at me. ‘Of course. He and I were treating together, regarding the use of Bluerock Pass, at Moonseye, north-east of here, when he first learned of you. When our time of talking of passes and trade as envoys were done, we sat down to meat together, and spoke, as men, of what he must next do. I confess, I still do not understand why