He leaned forward then and for an instant pressed his brow to mine. Then he breathed a heavy sigh and drew back from me. “Go to sleep, boy,” he said in a fair imitation of Chade’s voice. “Tomorrow comes early. And we’ve work to do.” He laughed unevenly. “We’ve the world to save, you and I.”
21
Confrontations
Diplomacy may very well be the art of manipulating secrets. What would any negotiation come to, were not there secrets to either share or withhold? And this is as true of a marriage pact as it is of a trade agreement between kingdoms. Each side knows truly how much it is willing to surrender to the other to get what it wishes; it is in the manipulation of that secret knowledge that the hardest bargain is driven. There is no action that takes place between humans in which secrets do not play a part, whether it be a game of cards or the selling of a cow. The advantage is always to the one who is shrewder in what secret to reveal and when. King Shrewd was fond of saying that there was no greater advantage than to know your enemy’s secret when he believed you ignorant of it. Perhaps that is the most powerful secret of all to possess.
The days that followed were not days for me, but disjointed periods of wakefulness interspersed with wavery fever dreams. Either my brief talk with the Fool had burned my last reserves, or I finally felt safe enough to surrender to my injury. Perhaps it was both. I lay on a bed near the Fool’s hearth and felt wretchedly dull when I felt anything at all. Overheard conversations rattled against me. I slipped in and out of awareness of my own misery, but never far away, like a drum beating the tempo of my pain was Verity’s Come to me, come to me. Other voices came and went through the haze of my fever but his was a constant.
“She believes you are the one she seeks. I believe it, too. I think you should see her. She has come a long and weary way, seeking the White Prophet.” Jofron’s voice was low and reasonable.
I heard the Fool set down his rasp with a clack. “Tell her she is mistaken, then. Tell her I am the White Toymaker. Tell her the White Prophet lives farther down the street, five doors down on the left.”
“I will not make mock of her,” Jofron said seriously. “She has traveled a vast distance to seek you and on the journey lost all but her life. Come, holy one. She waits outside. Will not you talk to her, just for a bit?”
“Holy one,” the Fool snorted with disdain. “You have been reading too many old scrolls. As has she. No, Jofron.” Then he sighed, and relented. “Tell her I will talk with her two days hence. But not today.”
“Very well.” Jofron plainly did not approve. “But there is another one with her. A minstrel. I don’t think she will be put off as easily. I think she is seeking him.”
“Ah, but no one knows he is here. Save you, me, and the healer. He wishes to be left alone for a time, while he heals.”
I moved my mouth. I tried to say I would see Starling, that I had not meant to turn Starling away.
“I know that. And the healer is still at Cedar Knoll. But she is a smart one, this minstrel. She has asked the children for news of a stranger. And the children, as usual, know everything.”
“And tell everything,” the Fool replied glumly. I heard him fling down another tool in annoyance. “I see I have but one choice then.”
“You will see them?”
A snort of laughter from the Fool. “Of course not. I mean that I will lie to them.”
Afternoon sun slanting across my closed eyes. I woke to voices, arguing.
“I only wish to see him.” A woman’s voice, annoyed. “I know he is here.”
“Ah, I suppose I shall admit you are right. But he sleeps.” The Fool, with his maddening calm.
“I still would see him.” Starling, pointedly.
The Fool heaved a great sigh. “I could let you in to see him. But then you would wish to touch him. And once you had touched him, you would wish to wait until he awakened. And once he awakened, you would wish to have words with him. There would be no end to it. And I have much to do today. A toymaker’s time is not his own.”
“You are not a toymaker. I know who you are. And I know who he truly is.” The cold was flowing in the open door. It crept under my blankets, tightened my flesh and tugged at my pain. I wished they would shut it.
“Ah, yes, you and Kettle know our great secret. I am the White Prophet, and he is Tom the shepherd. But today I am busy, prophesying puppets finished tomorrow, and he is asleep. Counting sheep, in his dreams.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Starling lowered her voice, but it carried anyway. “He is FitzChivalry, son of Chivalry the Abdicated. And you are the Fool.”
“Once, perhaps, I was the Fool. It is common knowledge here in Jhaampe. But now I am the Toymaker. As I no longer use the other title, you may take it for yourself if you wish. As for Tom, I believe he takes the title Bed Bolster these days.”
“I will be seeing the Queen about this.”
“A wise decision. If you wish to become her Fool, she is certainly the one you must see. But for now, let me show you something else. No, step back, please, so you can see it all. Here it comes.” I heard the slam and the latch. “The outside of my door,” the Fool announced gladly. “I painted it myself. Do you like it?”
I heard a thud as of a muffled kick, followed by several more. The Fool came humming back to his worktable. He took up the wooden head of a doll and a paintbrush. He glanced over at me. “Go back to sleep. She won’t get in to see Kettricken any time soon. The Queen sees few people these days. And when she does, it’s not likely she’ll be believed. And that is the best we can do for now. So sleep while you may. And gather strength, for I fear you will need it.”
Daylight on white snow. Belly down in the snow amongst the trees, looking down on a clearing. Young humans at play, chasing one another, leaping and dragging one another down to roll over and over in the snow. They are not so different from cubs. Envious. We never had other cubs to play with while we were growing. It is like an itch, the desire to race down and join in. They would be frightened, we caution ourselves. Only watch. Their shrill yelps fill the air. Will our she-cub grow to be like these, we wonder? Braided hair flies behind as they race through the snow chasing one another.
“Fitz. Wake up. I need to talk to you.”
Something in the Fool’s tone cut through both fog and pain. I opened my eyes, then squinted painfully. The room was dark, but he had brought a branch of candles to the floor by my bedside. He sat beside them, looking into my face earnestly. I could not read his face; it seemed that hope danced in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, but also he seemed braced as if he brought me bad tidings. “Are you listening? Can you hear me?” he pressed.
I managed a nod. Then, “Yes.” My voice was so hoarse I hardly knew it. Instead of getting stronger for the healer to pull the arrow, I felt as if the wound were getting stronger. Each day the area of pain spread. It pushed always at the edge of my mind, making it hard to think.
“I have been to dine with Chade and Kettricken. He had tidings for us.” He tilted his head and watched my face carefully as he said, “Chade says there is a Farseer child in Buck. Just a babe yet, and a bastard. But of the same Farseer lineage as Verity and Chivalry. He swears it is so.”
I closed my eyes.
“Fitz. Fitz! Wake up and listen to me. He seeks to persuade Kettricken to claim the child. To either say that it is her rightful child by Verity, hidden by a false stillbirth to protect her from assassins. Or to say the child is Verity’s bastard, but that Queen Kettricken chooses to legitimize her and claim her as heir.”
I could not move. I could not breathe. My daughter, I knew. Kept safe and hidden, guarded by Burrich. To be sacrificed to the throne, Taken from Molly, and given to the Queen. My little girl, whose name I didn’t even know. Taken to be a princess and in time a queen. Put beyond my reach forever.