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Dutiful’s gaze scanned the crowd, and I knew he was looking for me, but he was searching for me in the guise of Lord Feldspar. Lord Chade stood and moved slowly from his place at the high table. I thought he was going to Kettricken, but then his steps wavered and he began to wend his way through the crowd. I watched him, puzzled, and then with horror realized that he had seen me and was coming straight toward me.

No, I Skilled to him, but he was sealed tight—not to keep me out but to keep whatever he was feeling in. When he reached me, he took a firm hold of my arm. “Chade, please, no,” I begged him. Had the old man’s mind turned?

He looked at me. His cheeks were wet with tears. “It’s time, Fitz. Time and past time. Come. Come with me.”

The people standing closest to me were watching and listening. I saw one man’s eyes widen and his face transform from puzzlement to shock. We were in the midst of the crowd. If they turned on me now, they could tear me apart. There was no retreat here. And so, as Chade tugged at my arm, I let myself be led. My knees felt loose: I felt as if I walked like a puppet, jouncing with every step.

No one had expected this. Queen Elliania smiled joyously, but all color had drained from Nettle’s face. Kettricken’s chin trembled and then her face crumpled and she wept as if I were King Verity himself walking toward her. As we passed Starling, she lifted her head. When she saw me her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes went wide and greedy, and some part of me thought, Already she plans what song she will make of this.

The empty space between the crowd and the king and queen’s dais was an endless desert we crossed. King Dutiful’s face was white and stark. What are you doing? What are you doing? he demanded of us, but Chade did not hear him and I had no answer to give. A tumultuous roar of confusion, whispers, speculations, and then shouts rose behind us. Nettle’s eyes were black in a face carved of ice. Her fear soaked me. When we stood before my king, I went to my knees more out of sudden weakness than from any sense of propriety. My ears were ringing.

Dutiful saved us all.

He shook his head slowly as I stared up at him. “Never is over,” he proclaimed to the crowd. He looked down at my upturned face. I stared up at him. I saw King Shrewd and King Verity there. My kings, looking down at me with earnest sympathy. “FitzChivalry Farseer, too long have you sojourned among the Elderlings, your memory spurned by the very people you saved. Too long have you been in a place where the months pass as if days. Too long have you walked among us in false guise, deprived of your name and your honor. Rise. Turn and face the folk of the Six Duchies, your folk, and be welcomed home at last.” He bent and took my arm.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he whispered by my ear. “Can you stand up?”

“I think so,” I muttered. But it was his strength that pulled me to my feet. I stood. I turned. I faced them all.

The roar of acclaim broke over me like a wave.

Chapter Nine
The Crown

...

As I have risked my life for this knowledge, I expect that for my next piece of information, I will be paid more handsomely! When you first approached me for these “small tasks” as you called them, there at Buckkeep Castle, I had no idea what sorts of missions you would be assigning me. As I have said in the past, I will continue to convey interesting information to you, but nothing that I feel undermines or exploits my friendships.

Kelsingra is indeed a city of wonders past imagining. Information is stored in almost every stone there. I have heard that there is even more to be found in the Elderling archives recently discovered in the city, but I am not invited to enter, and I won’t risk my friends’ trust by attempting to go there. A great deal of information about Elderlings is available in the walls of the old market space and one can’t help but be aware of it, even just strolling by on an evening. If you wish to advance me some coin and ask specific questions, I will answer the ones that I can. Had I not lost a hand to a windlass, I would not be in need of your funds. Nonetheless, I will remind you that I have my pride. A simple sailor you may think me, but I have my own code of honor.

But to your most pressing question. I have seen no “silvery river or stream.” And as I traveled there on the Rain Wild River and then up one of its tributaries, I assure you that I saw a great many rivers and streams feeding into that vast waterway. They were gray with silt. I suppose they might appear silvery in some lights.

However, I think I have had tidings of what it is that you seek. It is not a river, but a well. Silvery stuff rises within it, and the dragons seem to find it almost intoxicating. The location of this well and its very existence are supposed to be a great secret, but for one who can hear dragons, their clamor when the stuff rises close enough to the surface for them to drink betrays it. At other times, I imagine it must be drawn up in a bucket for them. I was obliged to keep my questions on this topic oblique. Two of the young keepers have little tolerance for brandy, and we had a lovely wandering conversation until their commander arrived and berated them and threatened me. This Rapskal seems a very unsettled sort of person, capable of carrying out his various threats against me if he found me encouraging his men to drunkenness. He demanded that I leave Kelsingra, and the next morning I was escorted from my accommodations to the next departing ship. He did not ban me from the city as I have heard other travelers and entrepreneurs have been banned, but I think I shall let some time pass before I attempt another visit.

I will anticipate your next letter of credit and your queries. I am still quartered at the Splintered Fid, and messages sent to that inn will reach me.

It was dawn when I fell facedown on my bed. I was exhausted. I had climbed the stairs, eager as a boy to tell the Fool all that had transpired, only to find him soundly asleep. For a time, I had sat by his bed, wishing he could have been there with me. When I dozed off in the chair, I’d surrendered and tottered back down the stairs to my bed. I closed my eyes and slept. I sank into sweet oblivion, and then jerked awake as if someone had stuck a pin in me. I could not free myself from the sensation that something was wrong: terribly, terribly wrong.

I could not sleep. Danger, danger, danger thrummed through my nerves. I seldom felt such unease without a reason. Years ago, my wolf had always been at my back, using his keener sense to warn me of lurking intruders or unseen watches. He was gone these many years, but in this he remained. When something prickled against my senses, I had learned to pay attention.

I remained perfectly still on my bed. I heard only what I expected to hear, the winter wind outside my window, the soft sounds of the fire, my own breathing. I smelled nothing beyond my own smells. I opened my eyes to slits, feigning sleep still, and studied what I could of the room. Nothing. With Wit and Skill, I sensed all around me. There was nothing to alarm me. And yet I could not shake my anxiety. I closed my eyes. Sleep. Sleep.

I slept, but I did not rest. My heart was a wolf, hunting over snow hills, not for prey but for his lost pack. Hunting and hunting and hunting. Howling out my pain to the night, I ran and ran and ran. I woke sweaty and still in my clothes. I had a moment of stillness and then heard the tiny scratch at my door. My senses remained wolf-sharpened from my dream. I crossed the room and opened the door while Ash was still poking at the lock.

Without a trace of embarrassment, he removed the pick from the lock, stooped, picked up the breakfast tray, and carried it into my room. Moving efficiently, he set out my breakfast. Then he moved a small table that had been by my bed. He unslung a pouch from his shoulder, removed papers from it, and laid them out in orderly rows.

“What are those? Are they from Chade?”

He pointed to each category. “Letters of congratulation. Invitations. Petitions for you to use your influence. I did not read them all, only the ones that looked useful. I expect you will have a host of them every day now.”

My unwanted correspondence arranged, he looked around my chamber for his next task. I was still grasping that reading my private correspondence was part of what he considered his duty. I saw only a shadow of disapproval in his eyes as he took in my rumpled clothes before he offered, “Have you any washing, my lord? I should be happy to take it to the laundry folk.”

“Yes, I suppose I do. But I don’t think guests use the washerfolk that way. And I am not your lord.”

“Sir, I do believe all of that changed last night. Prince FitzChivalry, I should be greatly honored to convey your dirty smallclothes to the washerfolk.” A grin twitched and then disappeared.

“Are you being cheeky with me?” I was incredulous.

He lowered his eyes and observed quietly, “Not cheeky, sir. But one bastard may rejoice at another lowborn’s good fortune, and dream of better days for himself.” He cocked his head at me. “Chade has had me hard at learning the history of the Six Duchies. Did you know that one queen-in-waiting actually gave birth to a bastard, and that he rose to be King of the Six Duchies?”

“Not quite. You are thinking of the Piebald Prince. And that did not end well for him at all.” His cousin had killed him for being Witted and had taken the throne.

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