“You’d lie before a Witness Stone?” Molly asked incredulously. “You’d do that? To keep Nettle safe?”
He nodded slowly. His eyes never left her face.
She shook her head. “No, Burrich, I will not have it. It is the worst of luck, to do such a thing. All know the tales of what becomes of those who profane the Witness Stones with a lie.”
“I will chance it.” He spoke grimly. I had never known the man to lie before Nettle had come into his life. Now he offered to give a false oath. I wondered if Molly knew what he was offering her.
She did. “No. You will not lie.” She spoke with certainty.
“Molly. Please.”
“Be quiet!” she said with great finality. She cocked her head and looked at him, puzzling something out. “Burrich?” she asked with a tentative note to her voice. “I have heard it told . . . Lacey said that once you loved Patience.” She took a breath. “Do you love her still?” she asked.
Burrich looked almost angry. Molly met his stare with a pleading look until Burrich looked away from her. She could barely hear his words. “I love my memories of her. As she was then, as I was then. Probably much as you still love Fitz.”
It was Molly’s turn to wince. “Some of the things I remember . . . yes.” She nodded as if reminding herself of something. Then she looked up and met Burrich’s eyes. “But he is dead.” So oddly final, those words coming from her. Then, with a plea in her voice, she added, “Listen to me. Just listen. All my life it’s been . . . First my father. He always told me he loved me. But when he struck me and cursed me, it never felt like love to me. Then Fitz. He swore he loved me and touched me gently. But his lies never sounded like love to me. Now you . . . Burrich, you never speak to me of love. You have never touched me, not in anger nor desire. But both your silence and your look speak more of love to me than ever their words or touches did.” She waited. He did not speak. “Burrich?” she asked desperately.
“You are young,” he said softly. “And lovely. So full of spirit. You deserve better.”
“Burrich. Do you love me?” A simple question, timidly asked.
He folded his work-scarred hands in his lap. “Yes.” He gripped his hands together. To stop their trembling?
Molly’s smile broke forth like the sun from a cloud. “Then you shall marry me. And afterward, if you wish, I shall stand before the Witness Stones. And I will admit to all that I was with you before we were wed. And I will show them the child.”
He finally lifted his eyes’ to hers. His look was incredulous. “You’d marry me? As I am? Old? Poor? Scarred?”
“You are none of those things to me. To me, you are the man I love.”
He shook his head. Her answer had only baffled him more. “And after what you just said about bad luck? You would stand before a Witness Stone and lie?”
She smiled a different sort of smile at him. One I had not seen in a long time. One that broke my heart. “It need not be a lie,” she pointed out quietly.
His nostrils flared like a stallion’s as he surged to his feet. The breath he drew swelled his chest.
“Wait,” she commanded him softly, and he did. She licked her thumb and forefinger. She swiftly pinched out all but one candle. Then she crossed the darkened room to his arms.
I fled.
“Oh, my boy. I am so sorry.”
I shook my head silently. My eyes were squeezed tight shut, but tears leaked from them anyway. I found my voice. “He will be good to her. And Nettle. He is the sort of man she deserves. No, Verity. I should take comfort in it. To know he will be with her, caring for them both.”
Comfort. I could find no comfort in it. Only pain.
“It seems a very poor bargain I have made you.” Verity sounded genuinely grieved for me.
“No. It’s all right.” I caught my breath. “Now, Verity. I would it were done quickly.”
“Are you sure?”
“As you will.”
He took my life from me.
It was a dream I had had before. I knew the feel of an old man’s body. The other time, I had been King Shrewd, in a soft nightshirt, in a clean bed. This time was harsher. I ached in every joint of my body. My gut burned inside me. And I had scalded myself, on my face and hands. There was more pain than life left in this body. Like a candle almost burned to the socket. I opened my eyes stickily. I sprawled on cold, gritty stone. A wolf sat watching me.
This is wrong, he told me.
I could think of nothing to say to that. It certainly did not feel right. After a time, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees. My hands hurt. My knees hurt. Every joint in my body creaked and complained as I drew myself up and looked around. The night was warm, but I still shivered. Above me, on a dais, an incomplete dragon slumbered.
I do not understand. Nighteyes pleaded for an explanation.
I do not wish to understand. I do not want to know.
But whether I wished it or not, I did know. I walked slowly and the wolf came at my heels. We walked past a dying fire between two tents. No one kept watch. From Kettricken’s tent, there were small noises. Verity’s face was what she saw in the dimness. Verity’s dark eyes, looking into hers. She believed her husband had finally come to her.
In truth, he had.
I did not want to hear, I did not want to know. I walked on with my old man’s careful pacing. Great black blocks of stone loomed around us. Ahead of us, something clicked and chinked softly. I walked through the sharp-edged stone shadows and into moonlight again.
Once you shared my body. Is this like that?
“No.” I spoke the word aloud, and in the wake of my voice, I heard a small scrabbling. What’s that?
I’ll go and see. The wolf melted into the shadows. He returned instantly. It’s only the Scentless One. He hides from you. He does not know you.
I knew where I would find him. I took my time. This body had all it could do to move, let alone move swiftly. When I came to Girl-on-a-Dragon, it was horribly hard to clamber up on her dais. Once I was up, I could see the fresh rock chips everywhere. I sat down by the dragon’s feet, a cautious lowering of my body to cold stone. I looked at his work. He had almost cut her free. “Fool?” I called out softly in the night.
He came slowly, from the shadows, to stand eyes down before me. “My king,” he said softly. “I tried. But I cannot help myself. I cannot just leave her here. . . .”
I nodded slowly, wordlessly. At the base of the dais, Nighteyes whined. The Fool glanced down at him, then back up at me. Puzzlement crossed his face. “My lord?” he asked.
I reached for the thread of Skill-bond between us and found it. The Fool’s face grew very still as he struggled to understand. He came to sit beside me. He stared at me, as if he could see through Verity’s skin. “I like this not,” he said at last.
“Nor I,” I agreed.
“Why have you . . .”
“Better not to know,” I said briefly.
For a time we sat in silence. Then the Fool reached back to brush a handful of fresh stone chips from about the dragon’s foot. He met my eyes, but there was still furtiveness as he drew a chisel from his shirt. His hammer was a stone.
“That’s Verity’s chisel.”
“I know. He doesn’t need it anymore, and my knife broke.” He set the edge carefully to the rock. “It works much better anyway.” I watched him tap another small chip free. I aligned my thoughts with his.
“She draws on your strength,” I observed quietly.
“I know.” Another chip came free. “I was curious. And my touch hurt her.” He placed his chisel again. “I feel I owe her something.”
“Fool. She could take all you offer her and it would still not be enough.”