Fool’s Fate. Робин Хобб

but did not betray that wondering to him.

      I have never found sea travel enthralling. One watery seascape is much like any other. After a few days, the Prince’s cabin seemed almost as cramped, confining and stuffy as the hold my fellow guardsmen shared. The monotonous food, the endless rocking and my anxiety for Thick hollowed me. Our diminished coterie made little progress in our Skill-lessons.

      Swift continued to come to me daily. He read aloud, earning knowledge of the Out Islands and refreshing mine as he did so. At the end of each session, I would question him to be sure the knowledge was settling into his mind and not simply passing through his eyes and out of his mouth. He had a good head for holding information, and asked a few questions of his own. Swift was seldom gracious but he was obedient to his teacher, and for now that was all I asked.

      Thick seemed to find Swift’s presence soothing, for he would relax, and some of the lines would smooth from his brow as he listened. He spoke little and breathed hoarsely and would sometimes go off into coughing fits. The process of coaxing spoonfuls of broth into him exhausted both of us. The rounded paunch he had recently gained dwindled, and dark hollows showed under his small eyes. He was as sick a creature as I’ve ever seen, and his acceptance of his misery was heart wrenching. In his own mind, he was dying, and not even in his dreams could I completely vanquish that notion.

      Nor could Dutiful aid me in that. The Prince did his best, and he was truly fond of Thick. But Dutiful was fifteen, and a boy in many ways still. Moreover, he was a boy being courted by his nobles, who daily devised distractions that would put him in their company. Freed of Kettricken’s austere traditions, they plied him with entertainment and flattery. Smaller boats shuttled between the ships of our betrothal fleet, not only bringing nobles to visit Dutiful but often carrying Chade and him off to the other vessels for wine and poetry and song. Such trips were meant to divert his attention from the ennui of the uneventful voyage and they succeeded only too well, but it behoved Dutiful to distribute his favours and attentions amongst his nobles. The success of his reign would be built upon the alliances he forged now. He could scarcely have refused to go. Yet all the same, it bothered me to see how easily his attention could be drawn away from his ill servant.

      Web was my sole comfort. He came every day, offering quietly to keep watch by Thick while I took some time for myself. I could not completely relax my vigil, of course. I maintained a Skill-awareness of Thick lest he sweep us all into some wild and fearful dream. But I could at least leave the confines of the cabin to stroll briefly on the deck and feel some wind in my face. This arrangement, however, kept me from having time alone with Web. It was not just for Chade’s ends that I longed to speak with him. More and more, his quiet competency and kindness impressed me. I had a sense that he courted me, not as Dutiful’s nobles courted the Prince, but as Burrich had insinuated himself into the presence of a horse he wished to retrain. And it worked, despite my being aware of it. With every passing day, I felt less wariness and caution toward him. It no longer seemed a threat that he knew who I really was, but almost a comfort. I harboured a host of questions I longed to ask him: How many of the Old Blood knew that FitzChivalry still lived? How many knew I was he? Yet I dared not voice such questions in Thick’s hearing, even when he wandered in his fever dreams. There was no telling how he might repeat such words, aloud or in dreams.

      Very late one evening, when the Prince and Chade had returned from some entertainment, I waited until Dutiful had dismissed his servants. He and Chade sat with glasses of wine, talking quietly on the cushioned bench beneath the window that looked out over our wake from our dimly lit cabin. I rose and left Thick’s side, and going to the table, beckoned them. Weary as they both were from a long session of stones with Lord Excellent, they were still intrigued enough to immediately join me. I spoke to Dutiful without a preamble. ‘Has Web ever confided to you that he knows I am FitzChivalry?’

      The look of astonishment on his face was answer enough.

      ‘Did he need to know that?’ Chade grumbled at me.

      ‘Is there a reason to keep such knowledge from me?’ the Prince replied for me, more sharply than I would have expected.

      ‘Only that this bit of intrigue has nothing to do with our present mission. I would keep your mind focused on the matters that most concern us, Prince Dutiful.’ Chade’s voice was restrained.

      ‘Perhaps, Councillor Chade, you could let me decide which matters concern me?’ The asperity in Dutiful’s voice warned me that this was a topic that had been discussed before.

      ‘Then there is no sign that anyone else in your “Witted coterie” knows who I am?’

      The Prince hesitated before replying slowly. ‘None. There has been talk, from time to time, of the Witted Bastard. And when I think back, Web has initiated it. But he brings it up in the same manner in which he teaches us Witted history and traditions. He speaks of a topic, and then asks us questions that lead us deeper into understanding it. He has never spoken of FitzChivalry as other than a historic figure.’

      A little unnerving, to hear of myself as a ‘historic figure’. Chade spoke before I became too uncomfortable.

      ‘Then Web teaches your Witted coterie formally? History, traditions … what else?’

      ‘Courtesy. He tells us old fables of Witted folk and beasts. And how to prepare before beginning a Search for an animal partner. I think that what he teaches are things that the others have known from childhood, but he teaches them for my benefit and Swift’s. Yet when he tells tales, the others listen closely, especially the minstrel Cockle. I think he possesses much lore that was on the verge of being lost, and he speaks it to us that we may keep it safe and pass it on in our turn.’

      I nodded to that. ‘When persecution broke up the Witted communities, the Witted had to conceal their traditions and knowledge. It would be inevitable that less of it was passed on to their children.’

      ‘Why, do you think, does Web speak of FitzChivalry?’ Chade asked speculatively.

      I watched Dutiful think it through, in the same way Chade had taught me to ponder any man’s action. What could he gain by it? Who did it threaten? ‘It could be that he suspects that I know. Yet I don’t think that is it. I think he poses it to the Wit-coterie to make them consider, “what is the difference between a ruler who is Witted or unWitted? What would it have meant for the Six Duchies if Fitz had come to power at that time instead of being executed for his magic? What might it mean for the Six Duchies if it ever becomes safe for me to reveal that I am Old Blood? And also, how does it benefit my people, all my people, to have an Old Blood ruler? And how can my Wit-coterie assist me in my reign”?’

      ‘In your reign?’ Chade asked sharply. ‘Do their ambitions run that far ahead of us? They had spoken of aiding you on this quest, to show the Six Duchies that the Wit can be put to a good cause. Do they think to continue as advisors beyond this task?’

      Dutiful frowned at Chade. ‘Well, of course.’

      When the old man knit his brows in irritation, I intervened. ‘It seems natural to me that they would, especially if their efforts do assist the Prince in his quest. To use them and then cast them aside afterward is not the sort of political wisdom you have taught me over the years.’

      Chade was still scowling. ‘Well … I suppose … if they truly proved to be of any value, they would expect some compensation.’

      The Prince spoke levelly, but I could sense him holding his temper. ‘And what would you expect them to ask in return if they were a Skill-coterie aiding me?’ He sounded so like Chade as he set his trap question that I almost laughed aloud.

      Chade bristled. ‘But that would be entirely different. The Skill is your hereditary magic, as well as being vastly more powerful than the Wit. That you would bond with your Skill-coterie and accept both counsel and companionship from them would be expected.’ Then he stopped speaking abruptly.

      Dutiful nodded slowly. ‘Old Blood is also my hereditary magic. And I suspect there is far more to it than we know. And, yes, Chade, I do feel a bond of both companionship and trust with those who share that magic. It is, as you said, to be expected.’