“Of course.” I tried in vain to stifle a yawn. Somehow it seemed foolish to deny it now. “I’m not sure it was wise to mention Chivalry to Nik. He might make a connection.” I turned to look at her. Her face was too close. I couldn’t bring her features into focus. “But I’m too sleepy to care,” I added.
“You’ve no head for merrybud,” she laughed.
“There was no Smoke tonight.”
“In the cake. She told you it was spiced.”
“Is that what she meant?”
“Yes. That’s what spiced means all over Farrow.”
“Oh. In Buck it means there’s ginger. Or citron.”
“I know that.” She leaned against me and sighed. “You don’t trust these people, do you?”
“Of course not. They don’t trust us. If we trusted them, they’d have no respect for us. They’d think us gullible fools, the sort who get smugglers into trouble by talking too much.”
“But you shook hands with Nik.”
“I did. And I believe he will keep his word. As far as it goes.”
We both fell silent, thinking about that. After a time, I started awake again. Starling sat up beside me. “I’m going to bed,” she announced.
“Me, too,” I replied. I claimed a blanket and started to roll up in it by the fire.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told me. “That bed’s big enough for four. Sleep in a bed while you can, for I bet we aren’t going to see another one soon.”
I took very little persuading. The feather bed was deep, if a trifle smelly from damp. We each had a share of the blankets. I knew I should retain some caution but the brandy and the merrybud had unloosed the knot of my will. I fell into a very deep sleep.
Toward morning, I awoke once when Starling threw an arm over me. The fire had burned out and the room was cold. In her sleep she had migrated across the bed and was pressed up against my back. I started to ease away from her but it was too warm and companionable. Her breath was against the back of my neck. There was a woman smell to her that was not a perfume but a part of her. I closed my eyes and lay very still. Molly. The sudden desperate longing I felt for her was like a pain. I clenched my teeth to it. I willed myself into sleep again.
It was a mistake.
The baby was crying. Crying and crying. Molly was in her nightrobe with a blanket draped over her shoulders. She looked haggard and weary as she sat by the fire and rocked her endlessly. Molly sang a little song to her, over and over, but the tune had long since gone out of it. She turned her head slowly to the door as Burrich opened it. “May I come in?” he asked quietly.
She nodded him in. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” she asked him tiredly.
“I could hear her crying clear out there. Is she ill?” He went to the fire and poked it up a little. He added another piece of wood, then stooped to look in the baby’s small face.
“I don’t know. She just cries and cries and cries. She doesn’t even want to nurse. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” There was misery in Molly’s voice far past the use of tears.
Burrich turned to her. “Let me take her for a while. You go lie down and try to rest a bit, or you’ll both be ill. You can’t do this night after night.”
Molly looked up at him without comprehension. “You want to take care of her? You’d truly do that?”
“I may as well,” he told her wryly. “I can’t sleep through her crying.”
Molly stood up as if her back ached. “Warm yourself first. I’ll make some tea.”
For answer he took the babe from her arms. “No, you go back to bed for a while. No sense in all of us not sleeping.”
Molly seemed unable to grasp it. “You truly don’t mind if I go back to bed?”
“No, go ahead, we’ll be fine. Go on, now.” He settled the blanket about her and then set the infant to his shoulder. She looked very tiny with his dark hands against her. Molly walked slowly across the room. She looked back at Burrich but he was looking into the baby’s face. “Hush now,” he told her. “Hush.”
Molly clambered into bed and pulled the blankets up over herself. Burrich did not sit down. He stood before the fire, rocking slightly on his feet as he patted the baby’s back slowly.
“Burrich,” Molly called to him quietly.
“Yes?” He did not turn to look at her.
“There’s no sense your sleeping in that shed in this weather. You should move inside for the winter, and sleep by the hearth.”
“Oh. Well. It’s not so very cold out there. It’s all in what you’re used to, you know.”
A small silence fell.
“Burrich. I would feel safer, were you closer.” Molly’s voice was very small.
“Oh. Well. Then I suppose I shall be. But there’s nothing you need fear tonight. Go to sleep, now. Both of you.” He bent his head and I saw his lips brush the top of the baby’s head. Very softly he began singing to her. I tried to make out the words, but his voice was too deep. Nor did I know the language. The baby’s wailing became less determined. He began to pace slowly around the room with her. Back and forth before the fire. I was with Molly as she watched him until she, too, fell asleep to Burrich’s soothing voice. The only dream I had after that was of alone wolf, running, endlessly running. He was as alone as I was.
15
Kettle
Queen Kettricken was carrying Verity’s child when she fled King-in-Waiting Regal to return to her Mountains. Some have criticized her, saying if she had remained at Buck and forced Regal’s hand, the child would have been born safely there. Perhaps if she had, Buckkeep Castle would have rallied to her, perhaps all of Buck Duchy would have presented a more unified resistance to the Outislander Raiders. Perhaps the Coastal Duchies would have fought harder if they had had a queen at Buck. So some say.
The general belief of those who lived in Buckkeep Castle at the time and were well informed of the internal politics of the Farseer Regency is very different. Without exception, they believed that both Kettricken and her unborn child would have met with foul play. It can be substantiated that even after Queen Kettricken had removed herself from Buckkeep, those who supported Regal as king did all that they could to discredit her, even to saying that the child she carried was not Verity’s at all, but had been fathered by his bastard nephew FitzChivalry.
Whatever suppositions might be made about what would have happened if Kettricken had remained at Buckkeep are but useless speculations now. The historical fact is that she believed her child would have the best chance of surviving if born in her beloved Mountain Kingdom. She also returned to the Mountains in the hope of being able to find Verity and restore her husband to power. Her search efforts, however, only yielded her grief. She found the battle site of his companions against unidentified attackers. The unburied remains were little more than scattered bones and draggled bits of clothing after the scavengers had finished with them. Among those remains, however, she found the blue cloak Verity had worn when she had last seen him, and his sheath knife. She returned to the royal residence at Jhaampe and mourned her husband as dead.
More distressing to her was that for months afterward she received reports of sightings of folk in the garb of Verity’s Guard in the mountains beyond Jhaampe. These individual guards were seen wandering alone by Mountain villagers. They seemed reluctant to have conversation with the villagers and despite their ragged condition often refused offers of aid or food. Without exception, they were described by those who saw them as “pathetic” or “piteous”. Some few of these men trickled in to Jhaampe from time to time. They seemed unable to answer her questions about Verity and what had become of him coherently. They could not even recall when they had parted company with him or under what circumstances. Without exception, they seemed almost obsessed with returning to Buckkeep.