The day had brought me more than I could bear. Chade had come to see me finally, to say that Kettricken wished to see me on the morrow. I allowed as I would be there. With a bit of prodding from Chade, I agreed that I would be presentable—washed, shaven, cleanly attired, and sober. None of which I was at that moment. It was a poor time for me to endeavor to match wits or words with Chade, but my judgment was such that I attempted it. I asked bellicose and accusing questions. He answered them calmly. Yes, he had suspected Molly carried my child, and yes, he had urged Burrich to become her protector. Burrich had already been seeing that she had money and shelter; he had been reluctant to share her dwelling, but when Chade had pointed out the dangers to her and the child if anyone else figured out the circumstances, Burrich had agreed. No, he had not told me. Why? Because Molly had coerced Burrich into promising her he would not tell me of her pregnancy. His condition for guarding her as Chade requested was that Chade would also respect that promise. Initially Burrich had hoped I would puzzle out for myself why Molly had disappeared. He had also confided to Chade that as soon as the child was born he would consider himself freed of his promise and would tell me, not that she was pregnant, but that I had a child. Even in my state, I could see that that was about as devious as Burrich had ever managed to be. A part of me appreciated the depth of his friendship that he’d bend his promise that far for me. But when he had gone to tell me of my daughter’s birth, he had instead discovered evidence of my death.
He had gone straight to Buck, to leave word with a stonemason there, who passed word to another and so on until Chade came to meet Burrich at the fish-docks. They had both been incredulous. “Burrich could not believe that you had died. I could not understand why you had still been there. I had left word with my watchers, all up and down the river road, for I had been sure you would not flee to Bingtown, but would immediately set out for the Mountains. I had been so sure that despite all you had endured, your heart was true. It was what I told to Burrich that night: that we must leave you alone, to discover for yourself where your loyalty was. I had wagered Burrich that left to your own devices you would be like an arrow released from a bow, flying straight to Verity. That, I think, was what shocked us both the most. That you had died there, and not on the road to your king.”
“Well,” I declared with a drunkard’s elaborate satisfaction, “you were both wrong. You both thought you knew me so well, you both thought you had crafted such a tool as could not defy your purposes. But I did NOT die there! Nor did I go to seek my king. I went to kill Regal. For myself.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms on my chest. Then sat up abruptly at the uncomfortable pressure on my healing injury. “For myself!” I repeated. “Not for my king or Buck or any of the Six Duchies. For me, I went to kill him. For me.”
Chade merely looked at me. But from the hearth corner where Kettle rocked, her old voice rose in complacent satisfaction. “The White Scriptures say, ‘He shall thirst for the blood of his own kin, and his thirst shall go unslaked. The Catalyst shall hunger for a hearth and children in vain, for his children shall be another’s, and another’s child his own. . . .”
“No one can force me to fulfill any such prophecies!” I vowed in a roar. “Who made them, anyway?”
Kettle went on rocking. It was the Fool who answered me. He spoke mildly, without looking up from his work. “I did. In my childhood, in the days of my dreaming. Before I knew you anywhere, save in my dreams.”
“You are doomed to fulfill them,” Kettle told me gently.
I slammed my cup back onto the table. “Damned if I will!” I shouted. No one jumped or replied. In a terrible instant of crystalline recall, I heard Molly’s father’s voice from his chimney, corner. “Damn you, girl!” Molly had flinched but ignored him. She had known there was no reasoning with a drunk. “Molly,” I moaned soddenly and put my head down on my arms to weep.
After a time, I felt Chade’s hands on my shoulders. “Come, boy, this avails you nothing. To bed with you. Tomorrow you must face your queen.” There was far more patience in his voice than I deserved, and I suddenly knew the depths of my churlishness.
I rubbed my face on my sleeve and managed to lift my head. I did not resist as he helped me to my feet and steered me toward the cot in the corner. As I sat down on the edge of it, I said quietly, “You knew. You knew all along.”
“Knew what?” he asked me tiredly.
“Knew all this about the Catalyst and the White Prophet.”
He blew air out through his nose. “I know nothing of that. I knew something of the writings about them. Recall that things were comparatively settled before your father abdicated. I had many long years after I had taken to my tower, when my king did not require my services for months at a time. I had much time for reading, and many sources for scrolls. So I had encountered some of the foreign tales and writings that deal with a Catalyst and a White Prophet.” His voice became milder, as if he’d forgotten the anger in my question.
“It was only after the Fool had come to Buckkeep, and I had quietly discovered that he had a strong interest in such writings, that my own interest was piqued. You yourself once told me that he had referred to you as the Catalyst. So I began to wonder . . . but in truth, I give all prophecies small credence.”
I lay back gingerly. I could almost sleep on my back again. I rolled to my side, kicked off my boots, and dragged a blanket up over me.
“Fitz?”
“What?” I asked Chade grudgingly.
“Kettricken is angry with you. Do not expect her patience tomorrow. But keep in mind that she is not only our queen. She is a woman who has lost a child and been kept in suspense over her husband’s fate for over a year, hounded away from her adopted country, only to have trouble dog her steps to her native land. Her father is understandably bitter. He turns a warrior’s eyes toward the Six Duchies and Regal, and has no time for quests to search for the brother of his enemy, even if he believed he lived. Kettricken is alone, more grievously alone than you or I can imagine. Find tolerance for the woman. And respect for your queen.” He paused uncomfortably. “You will need both tomorrow. I can be of little help to you with her.”
I think he went on after that, but I had ceased to listen. Sleep soon dragged me under its waves.
It had been some time since Skill dreams had troubled me. I do not know if my physical weakness had finally banished my dreams of battle, or if my constant guard against Regal’s coterie had blocked them from my mind. That night my brief respite ended. The strength of the Skill dream that snatched me from my body was as if a great hand had reached inside me, seized me by the heart, and dragged me out of myself. I was suddenly in another place.
It was a city, in the sense that folk dwelt there in great number. But the folk were unlike any I had ever seen, nor had I ever seen such dwellings. The buildings soared and spiraled to airy heights. The stone of the walls seemed to have flowed into their forms. There were bridges of delicate tracery and gardens that both cascaded down and tendriled up the sides of the structures. There were fountains that danced and others that pooled silently. Everywhere brightly clad people moved through the city, as numerous as ants.