“So. And how is Patience these days?” I chose my question with care. News of my father’s wife was well wide of what I wished to know, but I could use his answer to venture closer.
“Lady Patience? Ah, well, it has been some months since I have seen her. Over a year, now that I think of it. She resides at Tradeford, you know. She rules there, and quite well. Odd, when you think of it. When she was indeed queen and wed to your father, she never asserted herself. Widowed, she was well content to be eccentric Lady Patience. But when all others fled, she became queen in fact if not by title at Buckkeep. Queen Kettricken was wise to give her a domain of her own, for she never again could have abided at Buckkeep as less than queen.”
“And Prince Dutiful?”
“As like his father as he can be,” Chade observed, shaking his head. I watched him closely, wondering how the old man intended the remark. How much did he know? He frowned as he continued. “The Queen needs to let him out a bit. The folk speak of Dutiful as they did of your father, Chivalry. ‘Correct to a fault, they say and almost have the truth of it, I fear.”
There had been a very slight change in his voice. “Almost?” I asked quietly.
Chade gave me a smile that was almost apologetic. “Of late the boy has not been himself. He has always been a solitary lad but that goes with being the sole prince. He has always had to keep his position in mind, always had to take care that he was not seen to favor one companion over another. It has made him introspective. But recently he has shifted to a darker temperament. He is distracted and moody, so caught up in his inner thoughts that he seems completely unaware of what is going on in the lives of those around him. He is not discourteous or uncaring; at least, not deliberately. But…”
“He’s what, fourteen?” I asked. “He does not sound so different from Hap, of late. I’ve been thinking much the same things about him; that I need to let him out a bit. It’s time he got out and learned something new, from someone other than myself.”
Chade nodded. “I think you are absolutely correct. Queen Kettricken and I have reached the same decision about Prince Dutiful.”
His tone made me suspect I had just run my head into the snare. “Oh?” I said carefully.
“Oh?” Chade mimicked me, and then leaned forward to tip more brandy into his glass. He grinned, letting me know the game was at an end. “Oh, yes. You’ve no doubt guessed it. We would like to have you come back to Buckkeep and instruct the Prince in the Skill. And Nettle too, if Burrich can be persuaded to let her go and if she has any aptitude for it.”
“No.” I said the word quickly before I could be seduced. I am not sure how definitive my answer sounded. No sooner had Chade broached the idea than desire for it surged in me. It was the answer, the so-simple answer after all these years. Train up a new coterie of Skill-users. I knew Chade had the scrolls and tablets relating to the Skill magic. Galen the Skillmaster and then Prince Regal had wrongfully withheld them from us, so many years ago. But now I could study them, I could learn more and I could train up others, not as Galen had done, but correctly. Prince Dutiful would have a Skilled coterie to aid and protect him, and I would have an end to my loneliness. There would be someone to reach back when I reached out.
And both my children would know me, as a person if not as their father.
Chade was as sly as ever. He must have sensed my ambivalence. He left my denial hanging alone in the air between us. He held his cup in both hands. He glanced down at it briefly, putting me sharply in mind of Verity. Then he looked up again, his green eyes meeting mine without hesitation. He asked no questions, he made no demands. All he had to do was wait.
Knowing his tactic did not shield me against it. “You know I cannot. You know all the reasons I should not.”
He shook his head slightly. “Not really. Why should Prince Dutiful be denied his birthright as a Farseer?” More softly he added, “Or Nettle?”
“Birthright?” I tried for a bitter laugh. “It’s more like a family disease, Chade. It’s a hunger, and when you are taught how to satisfy it, it becomes an addiction. An addiction that can become strong enough eventually to set your feet on the paths that lead past the Mountain Kingdom. You saw what became of Verity. The Skill devoured him. He turned it to his own ends; he made his dragon and poured himself into it. He saved the Six Duchies. But even if there had been no Red Ships to battle, Verity would eventually have gone to the Mountains. That place called him. It is the ordained end for any Skilled one.”
“I understand your fears,” he confessed quietly. “But I think you are wrong. I believe Galen deliberately instilled that fear in you. He limited what you learned, and he battered fear into you. But I’ve read the Skill-scrolls. I haven’t deciphered all that they tell, but I know it is so much more than simply being able to communicate across a distance. With the Skill, a man can prolong his own life and health. It can enhance a speaker’s powers of persuasion. Your training… I don’t know how far it went, but I’ll wager Galen taught you as little as he could.” I could hear the excitement building in the old man’s voice, as if he spoke of a hidden treasure. “There is so much to the Skill, so much. Some scrolls imply that the Skill can be used as a healing tool, not only to find out exactly what is wrong with an injured warrior, but actually to encourage the healing of those hurts. A strong Skilled one can see through another’s eyes, hear what that other hears and feels. And—”
“Chade.” The softness of my voice cut him off. I had known a moment of outrage when he admitted he’d read the scrolls. He’d had no right, I’d thought, and then known that if his Queen gave them to him to read, he had as much right as anyone. Who else should read them? There was no Skillmaster anymore. That line of ability had died out. No. I had killed it. Killed off, one by one, the last trained Skill-users, the last coterie ever created at Buckkeep. They had been faithless to their King, so I had destroyed them and the magic with them. The part of me that was rational knew that it was magic better left dead. “I am no Skill-master, Chade. It’s not only that my knowledge of the Skill is incomplete, but that my talent was erratic. If you’ve read the scrolls, then I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself, or heard from Kettricken, that using elfbark is the worst thing a Skilled one can do. It suppresses or kills the talent. I’ve tried to stay away from it; I don’t like what it does to me. But even the bleakness it brings on is better than the Skill-hunger. Sometimes I’ve used elfbark steadily for days at a time, when the craving was bad.” I looked away from the concern on his face. “Whatever talent I ever had is probably stunted beyond recall now.”
His voice was soft as he observed, “It seems to me that your continued craving would indicate the opposite, Fitz. I’m sorry to hear you’ve been suffering; we truly had no idea. I had assumed the Skill-hunger would be like a man’s craving for drink or smoke, and that after a period of enforced abstinence, the longing would grow less.”
“No. It does not. Sometimes it lies dormant. Months pass, even years. Then, for no reason I can tell, it stirs to life again.” I squeezed my eyes shut for an instant. Talking about it, thinking about it was like prodding at a boil. “Chade. I know that this is why you came all this way to find me. And you’ve heard me say no. Now can we speak of other things? This conversation… pains me.”