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“Scarcely a new situation for me,” I reminded him. “I’d best go and wait for Dutiful to see me.”

“You’d best head to the steams before you go to meet the king. I actually smelled you before I heard you.”

“Oh.” I scowled as I realized I was still wearing the clothes I’d had on when I left Ringhill Keep. And I’d slept in Kettricken’s bed in them.

“One thing still bothers me,” the Fool said suddenly. He had leaned back in his chair, and his fingers were once more dancing between him and the fire’s light. The pale fingers gleamed almost golden.

“What’s that?”

“Shine told you that Dwalia led them into the Skill-pillar. Not Vindeliar, who I suppose has some measure of Skill or a similar magic. But Dwalia. I knew her. She is a Servant, through and through. Not a drop of White in her, and certainly not Skilled. How did she do it?”

What did it matter? She’d done it. I cast my mind back for the details of Shine’s account. “Shine said that Dwalia made them all hold hands. Then she put on a glove before she touched the stone. A very thin glove with silver fingertips …”

We both understood in the same instant. I stared as he turned his scarred fingers toward himself as if he could see the sliced surfaces. “I wondered why they took them,” he observed. “Now we know.”

They had sliced the Skill from his fingertips, sewn it into a glove, and used it to take my child into the stone. I had to gasp to remember how to breathe. I felt a surge of revulsion and then, for a blink, fury cracked through my sorrow.

I had to look aside from him for a time. When I looked back, he was rubbing the tips of his scarred fingers together, as if recalling when they were silvered with magic.

Chapter Thirty Prince
FitzChivalry

...

In contrast with the days of King Shrewd, when Skillmaster Galen judged that the Skill and all knowledge of its use be confined to as few practitioners as possible, Lady Nettle, from the beginning of her service as Skillmistress, suggested that even those with lesser levels of ability be retained and given whatever tasks they could do. Under her leadership, the summons to Skill-students has been sounded every ten years and coteries formed as soon as practitioners reached journeyman status.

Thus over a dozen coteries now exist in service to the Farseer reign, and nearly a score of Solos. Each of the watchtowers along the coast and Chalcedean borders includes a Skilled one among their troops, and every duchy has a coterie devoted to its needs. Skilled ones have been included in diplomatic parties sent to the Out Islands, Bingtown, and Jamaillia. The ability to swiftly communicate information about threats to the kingdom has facilitated the dispatching of troops. Flood-destroyed bridges, highwaymen, and pirates are but a few of the menaces that have been swiftly met because quick communication was available.

In my room I found my cooling breakfast and clothing laid out for me. I stared at the food with no appetite, then moved it around a bit so it would appear I had eaten some. Even as I did it, I wondered why I bothered. Did I think Spark or Ash would report that I wasn’t eating? To whom? Ridiculous.

I went down to the Buckkeep steams, my clean clothing under my arm. The steams were a grand tradition in Buckkeep, a place where roaring flames met icy water. There was a chamber for washing, a chamber for steaming and sweating, and then a place to wash off that sweat and clothe oneself. There was a section for guardsmen and servants. And another set of chambers that I had never visited, for nobility, including the royal family. Today I ventured there.

I was both disturbed and annoyed to find there was an attendant waiting to take my garments, both clean and dirty, to pour warm water over me in the bathing pool and offer me soap and a scrubbing cloth, to douse me again, to rinse me, and then to offer to dash the water onto the red-hot sides of the iron firebox to create steam for me. I greeted his earnest ministrations with silence for the most part. I tried not to be surly and resentful. It was difficult. The steams had once been a place where I could be alone with my thoughts, or enjoy the rough camaraderie of the guardsmen. Gone.

Clean and dry, I assured the man I could clothe myself and waved him out of the small dressing chamber. There was a bench there, and even a looking-glass and brushes. I put myself into reasonable order.

The antechamber of Dutiful’s audience chamber was a comfortable room with a fire in the hearth and benches and chairs with cushions. Large paintings of hunting scenes in gilt frames enlivened the stone walls. One could smoke or have a cup of tea. Two servants stood ready to bring whatever the waiting guest might request. I was not the only person waiting for time with Dutiful. One elderly woman in a button-cluttered gown and an elaborate hat was already deep in her cups. A simply clad fellow had spread several scrolls out on a table and was adding notes to them as he waited. Two young nobles were seated at opposite ends of a bench and glaring at each other. A dispute for Dutiful to resolve.

Eventually, the door opened and the Duke of Farrow emerged with his advisor. He was greeted by his two serving men, afforded me a hasty bow, and hurried on his way. I was surprised, as were the others who were waiting, when the page immediately indicated that I should enter. One cleared his throat loudly, but the page ignored him cheerily and escorted me in.

This chamber was elaborately appointed and featured a more martial aspect than the antechamber had. The paintings were of battles and heroes, and the spaces between were occupied by weapons won in conquest. There was a throne for the king situated in the middle of the room, on a dais. At the other end of the room there was an area with a small table and comfortable chairs arranged around it. It was close to a cozy hearth, and light refreshments were set out on the table.

That was not where Dutiful was.

He sat on his throne, robed and crowned, and I could not mistake that my audience was with King Dutiful of the Six Duchies, not my cousin. I advanced slowly into the room. When I glanced back, the page had vanished. But there was no welcoming smile on Dutiful’s face to put me at ease, and no casual greeting.

When I reached what I judged was the proper distance, I bowed. “My king.”

“Prince FitzChivalry.” The height of the throne was such that, even seated, Dutiful was looking down at me. I waited. He spoke quietly. “You found Shine Fallstar and brought her home. My mother has taken charge of her. Her restoration to Lord Chade has brought him much comfort and eased his condition. Thank you for that service.”

I bowed my head. “It was part of what I set out to do.”

He replied not to that, but said, “Before you secretly left Buckkeep Castle, the last time we convened to discuss the kidnapping, in Verity’s tower, I asked you if you remembered that I was your king.”

I gave a slow nod.

For a time longer, he sat looking at me. Then he slowly shook his head. “Prince FitzChivalry, I speak to you as your monarch. I called you here today to remind you, again, that I am your king. To remind you also that you are Prince FitzChivalry, and fully in the public eye. I regret that in the midst of our grief, this is what we must discuss. But I dare not let you continue as you’ve begun!” He paused and I saw him strive to retain his composure.

“I repeat what I mentioned yesterday. There is more going on in Buckkeep than our private tragedy. More going on than Lord Chade coming unraveled and you being unpredictable with your Skill. More going on than announcing that Nettle is my cousin, and is married and with child. More than us trying to reconcile Tom Badgerlock and Prince FitzChivalry and dealing with someone trying to kill Lant, and Shine’s stepfather attempting to murder Lord Chade. The Six Duchies and the Mountain Kingdom form a very large gaming board, and there are many pieces in motion, always. Beyond our borders, we have Chalced and the Out Islands, Bingtown and Jamaillia. And we have dragons, and each dragon is like dealing with a separate country, when they are interested in negotiating at all.”

His voice had begun to shake. He paused a moment and I sensed that he fought to get his feelings under control. Yet when he spoke again, it was the hurt that came through more than his displeasure with me.

“Always before, I’ve been able to count on you. To know that you had the best interest of the Six Duchies at heart, and would be honest with me even if it pained me to hear what you had to say. Always I felt I could trust you. At the very least, I knew that you would never do anything to cause me greater difficulties with my reign. I don’t forget what you’ve done for me. How you brought me back from my ill-considered flight to the Old Bloods, and how you accompanied me to free Icefyre and win my queen. I know that you’ve intervened on my behalf with both my mother and with Lord Chade, to assert that I was to be king in truth as well as in name. I hold this throne in part because of your efforts to see me secure upon it.”

He paused. I was looking at the ground between us. He waited until I lifted my eyes to meet his. “FitzChivalry Farseer, why did you take this action on your own? You could have challenged my plan, given me your reasons. I would have listened, as you have listened to me. Why did you not entrust me with your plans?”

I told him the truth. “I knew you would forbid it. And then I would have to disobey you.”

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