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That had fostered him, fed him, clothed and protected him. He loved only bloodshed.
No loyalty did the Bastard cede to king or country.
Wounded in heart, sorrowing as a son, burdened with the concerns of a country at war,
The prince, now king, stepped forward to his tasks. His brothers dead or fled, to him fell
The heavy crown. To him fell the mourning, and to him, the protecting. The last son,
The loyal son, the brave prince became the king of the wracked and troubled land.
‘Vengeance first!’ weary King Regal cried. To his shelter flocked his dukes and nobles.
‘To the dungeons with the Bastard!’ they pleaded with one voice. And so King Regal
Did his duty. To cell and chains went the conniving Bastard, the Witted One, the Regicide.
To dark and cold he was sent, as befitted such a dark and cold heart.
‘Discover his magic,’ the king bade his loyal men. And so they tried. With questions and fists,
Clubs and iron, with cold and dark, they broke the traitor. They found no nobility, no cleverness,
Only wolf-greed and dog-selfishness. And so he died, the Traitor, the Witted One, the Bastard.
Of no use to anyone but himself had his life been. His death freed us from his shame.
King Regal’s Burden – a song by Celsu Cleverhands, a Farrow minstrel
I tottered back to my room, silently cursing my painful shoes. I needed to sleep. Then I would check on the Fool, and after that, I thought with a sigh, I would once more assume my role as Lord Feldspar. There would be feasting, dancing, and music again tonight. My mind wandered to Bee, and I felt that sudden gulf of guilt. Revel, I told myself sternly. He would see that Winterfest was well kept at Withywoods. And surely Shun would not allow the holiday to go by without appropriate foods and festivity. I hoped only they would include my child. I wondered again how long I would be away from her. Was Kettricken wiser than I? Would it be best to send for her?
I was chewing my lip at that thought as I reached the top of the stairs. When I looked down the corridor and saw Riddle standing outside my door, my heart lifted as it does when one sees an old friend. Then as I drew closer it sank again, for his face was solemn and his eyes opaque as when a man hides his feelings. ‘Lord Feldspar,’ he greeted me gravely. He bowed, and I took care that the bow I gave him was little more than a nod. Further down the hallway, two servants were replenishing the corridor lamps.
‘What brings you to my door, good man?’ I took care that my words held the right amount of disdain for a messenger.
‘I bring you an invitation, Lord Feldspar. May I step within your chambers and recite it for you?’
‘Of course. A moment.’ I patted about in my garments, found my key and, opening the door, I preceded him into the room.
Riddle shut the door firmly behind us. I removed the wig and hat gratefully, and turned to him, expecting to see my friend. But he still stood at the door as if he were no more than a messenger, his face both grave and still.
I said the words I hated most. ‘I’m so sorry, Riddle. I had no idea what I was doing to you. I thought I was giving the Fool my strength. I never intended to steal from you. Have you recovered? How do you feel?’
‘I’m not here about that.’ He spoke flatly. My heart sank.
‘Then what? Sit, please. Shall I summon someone to bring us food or drink?’ I asked. I tried to keep my words warm, but his manner warned me that his heart was sealed against me right now. I could not blame him.
He worked his mouth, took in a deep breath and then let it out. ‘First,’ he declared, in a voice almost hard despite its shaking, ‘this is not about you. You can be offended. You can offer to kill me, you’re welcome to try to kill me. But it’s not about you or your pride or your place at court, or who Nettle is or my common parentage.’ His words grew more rushed and impassioned as he spoke, and the colour rose higher in his face. Anger and pain sparked in his eyes.
‘Riddle, I—’
‘Just be quiet! Just listen.’ He took another breath. ‘Nettle is pregnant. I will not let her be shamed. I will not let our child be shamed. Say what you will, do what you will, she is my wife and I will not let our joy be dirtied with politics and secrets.’
I was the one who sat down. Luckily, the bed was behind me when I did so. If he had driven the air out of me with a blow to my belly, the impact could not have been stronger. Words rattled in my head. Pregnant. Shamed. Wife. Dirtied. Secrets.
A baby.
I found my voice. ‘I’m going to—’
Riddle crossed his arms on his chest. His nostrils flared and he exclaimed defiantly, ‘I don’t care what you do. Understand that. Do whatever you wish, but it won’t change anything.’
‘—be a grandfather.’ I choked on the word. Incredulity melted his face and he stared. It gave me the moment I needed to organize my thoughts. Words tumbled from my lips. ‘I have money saved. You can have it all. You must leave soon, before travel is too difficult for her. And I think you must flee the Six Duchies entirely. She is the Skillmistress; she is too well known for you to …’
‘We are not leaving!’ Anger tightened his slack face. ‘We refuse. We were lawfully wed—’
Impossible. ‘The king forbade it.’
‘The king can forbid whatever he likes, but if a man and a woman make their vows before the Witness Stones, with at least two witnesses—’
‘Only if one is a minstrel!’ I interrupted him. ‘And the witness must know both parties.’
‘I wager the Queen of the Six Duchies knows us both,’ he said quietly.
‘Kettricken? I thought Kettricken was a party to forbidding the marriage.’
‘Kettricken is not the queen of the Six Duchies. Elliania is. And she comes from a place where a woman can marry whoever she wishes.’
It all fitted together as tightly as the blocks that make up an arch. Almost. ‘But your other witness had to be a minstrel …’ My words trickled away. I knew who their minstrel had been.
‘Hap Gladheart.’ Riddle confirmed it quietly. A smile almost twisted his face. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of him?’
My fostered son. He’d been delighted to call Nettle ‘sister’. I found I had clamped both hands over my mouth. I tried to think. So. Married. In public and yet in secret. Yes, Elliania would do it, and possibly not realize that in flaunting her husband’s authority she was doing far more than simply asserting her belief that a woman should have complete control over who she wed. Or didn’t wed, and merely slept with.
I let my hands fall away from my mouth. Riddle still stood as if he expected me to leap to my feet and pummel him. I tried to recall if I’d even felt that impulse. I hadn’t. No anger: that was drowned in dread.
‘The king will never accept this. Nor Kettricken, nor Chade. Oh, Riddle. What were the two of you thinking?’ Joy warred with tragedy in my voice. A child, a child that I knew Nettle wanted. A child that would change their lives completely. My grandchild. And Molly’s.
‘Babies happen. For years, we have been cautious. And lucky, I suppose. And then we were neither. And when Nettle realized she was pregnant, she told me she intended to be happy about it. No matter what she must do.’ His voice changed and suddenly my friend spoke to me. ‘Fitz. We are neither of us youngsters. This may be our only chance for a child.’
No matter what she must do. I could almost hear Nettle’s voice saying those words. I took a deep breath and tried to re-order my thoughts. So. This was something done. They were wed, they were going to have a baby. Useless to advise them against having a baby, useless to remonstrate with them over defying the king. Begin now, where they are.
In danger. Foolishly defiant.
‘What does she plan to do? Go to the king, tell him she is both married and pregnant?’
Riddle’s dark eyes met mine and I saw something like pity there. ‘She shared her news with Queen Elliania only. Only we four know that Nettle is with child. And only five people know that we are truly wed. Not even to her brothers has she confided the news. But she told Elliania. And the queen is ecstatic. And full of plans for the child. She did some sort of needle-dangling magic over Nettle’s palm, and she is certain our child will be a girl. Finally, a daughter born to the Farseer’s mothershouse. And hence a future narcheska.’
‘I’m confused,’ I said after a silence.
‘As well you should be. As I was when they first told me. First, you must understand how close Nettle and Queen Elliania have become over the years. They are nearly of an age. Both felt like outsiders when first they came to Buckkeep Castle court: Elliania an OutIslander, and Nettle a simple country girl made a lady. When Elliania realized that Nettle was her husband’s cousin, she claimed her as kin.’
‘Her husband’s second cousin?’
Riddle shook his head. ‘A member of her new mothershouse.’ At my puzzled expression, he added, ‘You have to think of it from Elliania’s perspective. In the OutIslander culture, the mother’s lineage is what matters. It was terribly hard for Elliania to leave her mothershouse and come here to be the Farseer queen. If she had stayed in her own land, she would have become the narcheska of her mothershouse. Equivalent to a queen. She bartered that away to save her mother and her little sister Kossi. And to finally ensure peace between the Six Duchies and the OutIslands. That she and Dutiful came to love one another was simply the kindness of fate.
‘You know how Elliania has grieved that she has borne only two sons. Her grief at her failure to provide a daughter to send back to the OutIslands and reign after her mother as narcheska consumes her.’
‘What of Kossi? Surely her younger sister would be next in line for that title?’
Riddle shook his head. ‘No. We saved Kossi’s life, but her health never recovered. She was nearly two years in the Pale Woman’s captivity. Two years of starvation, cold and mistreatment. She is a brittle woman, frail as dried twigs. And she has shown a marked dislike for the company of men. She will bear no children.’
‘I recall she had a girl cousin …’
‘Disliked by both Elliania and her mother. One of the reasons for her desperate desire to present a girl to her mothershouse.’
‘But Nettle’s child is no kin to Elliania at all!’
‘She is if Elliania says she is. There is a saying there. “Every mother knows her own child.” Thus, when Elliania draws up genealogies, you are Patience’s son.’
I was hopelessly befuddled. ‘What does that have to do with it?’
He smiled. ‘You Farseers are an inbred lot. And yet pitiable by OutIslander standards. Generations without a female child. It left Elliania wondering if there were any true descendants of the original Farseer Mothershouse. In her desperate quest for a female of true lineage, she had the most doddering of the minstrels singing themselves hoarse with genealogies. Do you know who Queen Adamant is?’
‘No.’
‘The first Farseer to stake a claim on the cliffs of Buck was Taker. He himself was an OutIslander, and is seen as something of a rogue there, for he forsook his own mothershouse to establish a new one here. He took a wife from among the people he conquered. Her name was Adamant. We now call her Queen Adamant. The first of the Farseer’s mothershouse.’
‘Very well.’ I didn’t see where any of this was going.
‘Patience and Chivalry were very distant cousins, according to Elliania. Both descended by wandering lineage from Adamant. She of the “copper-gleaming hair and violet eyes”, according to one very old ballad. Hence you are doubly descended from that mothershouse. That makes Nettle the rightful “narcheska” of the Farseer line. The mothershouse that Elliania joined. Her kin. And hence a possible source of an heir for Elliania.
‘The thought that there have been generations with no female offspring to refresh the line troubles her. And at the same time, it has comforted her. She now feels the fault is with the Farseer males, who cannot seem to seed girls in their wives’ wombs. For years, she tormented herself that it was her own failing that she had borne only two males. She has known for years about Nettle’s true parentage and sees her opportunity to raise Nettle’s child as a narcheska as righting a great wrong done to Nettle. After a dearth of females, Nettle was born, finally, a true daughter of the Farseer Mothershouse. But instead of being celebrated, she was hidden in the shadows. Concealed from the royal court. Her parentage denied. And only brought to Buckkeep when she became useful to the Farseers.’
I was silent. I could not deny the truth of his words. It stung badly to hear them uttered by her husband and my friend. I had believed I was protecting her. As I was protecting Bee by keeping her away from Buckkeep? There was an uncomfortable thought. I tried to justify myself.
‘Nettle is the bastard daughter of a bastard son of an abdicated prince, Riddle.’
A flash of anger. ‘Here, perhaps. But in the OutIslands our child might well be seen as a princess of their line.’
‘You and Nettle would do that? Leave Buckkeep and the court and go to the OutIslands?’
‘To save my daughter being seen as a shame and a bastard? Yes. I would.’
I found I was nodding in agreement. ‘And if the child is a boy?’
He heaved a sigh. ‘That will be a different battle, on a different day. Fitz. We were friends before I fell in love with your daughter. I’ve felt guilty that I did not come to you before this. That I did not reveal our marriage to you.’
I didn’t hesitate. I’d had too much time in the last few days to remember all sorts of decisions that had been taken out of my hands. ‘I’m not angry, Riddle.’ I stood and held out my hand. We clasped wrists and then he embraced me. I spoke by his ear. ‘I thought you had come here in fury over what I did to you as we passed through the Skill-pillars.’
He stepped back from me. ‘Oh, I’ll leave that to Nettle. If she hasn’t blasted the skin from your flesh with her words yet, then you’ve that to look forward to. I don’t know what will come of this, Fitz, but I wanted you to know that I’ve done my best to be honourable.’
‘I can see that. As you always have. Riddle. No matter what comes of this, I will take your side and Nettle’s.’
He gave a tight nod, then heaved a heavy sigh and went over to sit on the chair I had offered him earlier. He clasped his hands and looked down on them.
‘There’s more, and it’s bad news,’ I guessed.
‘Bee.’ He said her name, took a deep breath and then sat, wordless.
I sank back down onto the bed. ‘I remember what you said at the tavern, Riddle.’
He looked up at me suddenly. The muscles in his face were tight. ‘And the situation hasn’t changed, Fitz. Nor the outcome. Nettle said she would talk to you, that this wasn’t my burden. But it is. Even if I were not married to your daughter, as your friend it would still be my duty. Fitz, you have to give her up. You have to bring her here, to Buckkeep, where she can be properly supervised and educated. You know that. You do.’
Did I? I clenched my teeth to hold back my angry response. I thought back over the last month. How many times had I resolved to do better with Bee? And failed. How many times had I set her aside to deal with disasters and mayhem? I’d involved my nine-year-old daughter in disposing of a body and concealing a murder – even if she didn’t know I’d killed the messenger. For the first time I thought of the potential danger to my child, if, indeed, there were pursuers still searching for the messenger. Or assassins seeking Shun and FitzVigilant. Chade had put those two with me for safekeeping, secure in his belief that I would protect them. I’d given no thought to that at all when I’d left everyone to bring the Fool to Buckkeep. No consideration that Bee might be in danger from assassins seeking their targets in my home. That last attempt on Shun’s life had been a poisoning. The assassin had killed a kitchen boy instead of Shun. A sloppy job. And what if his next attempt was just as sloppy? Winterfest would open the doors of Withywoods to all sorts of folk. What if the assassin poisoned more than a single dish in his next try for Shun?
Why hadn’t I seen this before?
‘I’ve lost my edge,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m not protecting her.’
Riddle looked puzzled. ‘I’m talking about your being a father, Fitz, not her guardsman. I think you’re more than capable of protecting her life. But someone has to make sure she has that life, for you to protect. Give your daughter an education and the opportunities appropriate to her station. The manners, the dress, the social experiences. She is the daughter of Lady Molly, as well as the child of Holder Badgerlock. It would be very appropriate for her to come to court and spend time with her sister.’
He was right. But, ‘I can’t give her up.’
Riddle stood, squared his shoulders and spoke firmly. ‘Then don’t. Come with her, Fitz. Find a new name and come back to Buckkeep. This is where Bee belongs. And where you belong. And you know that.’
I stared at the floor. He waited some time for me to speak, and when I did not, he said more softly, ‘I’m sorry, Fitz. But you do know that we’re right.’
He left quietly and as he shut the door behind him I wondered how difficult that had been for him. We’d known each other a long time. He had begun as a sort of spy for Chade and a bodyguard for when I needed someone to watch my back. He’d become a comrade and someone I’d trusted as we’d experienced terrible things. And then, somehow, he’d become the man who courted my daughter. Riddle would be the father of my grandchild. Strange. I’d trusted him with my life, more than once. I had no choice now in that he must be trusted with not just my daughter’s heart but the fate of the child they would have. I swallowed. And with Bee? Because I was failing her.
If I gave Bee to Riddle and Nettle, I could undertake the Fool’s vengeance.
That traitorous thought made me want to vomit.
I got up suddenly. I could not think about it at the moment. I tried so hard, but there was just not enough time or enough of me. And trying was not doing. ‘Oh, Molly,’ I said aloud and then clenched my jaws together. There had to be an answer, but I couldn’t see it. Not now.
Time to go check on the Fool. I went to the window and looked out. I felt as if it should be late afternoon bordering on evening. Too much had happened already today. Kettricken was Witted. She was interested in Bee. Web wanted me to adopt a crow. I was to be a grandfather, possibly the grandfather of a narcheska. And Riddle believed I was a failure as a father and wished to take my child from me. As I turned to head toward the stairs, Nettle tugged on my thoughts.
Riddle told me. No point in pretending I did not know. She would feel the current of concern in my thoughts.
I knew he would, though I wish he had left it to me. Something about manly honour. Did you shout at him? Tell him he had shamed me and therefore you?
Of course not! Her prickly sarcasm stung me. Need I remind you that I am a bastard and know what it is to be seen as my father’s shame?
Which is why you have always denied me entirely.
I … what? I never denied you. Had I? Uncertainty flavoured my thoughts. Memories flooded in. I had. Oh, yes, I had. Only to protect you, I amended. Times were harsher then. To be, not just the Bastard’s daughter, but the child of the Witted Bastard, possibly possessing that dirty magic … some folk would have seen fit to kill you.
So you let Burrich claim me.
