LITMIR.BIZ

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wood. Bring the water. Take the dishes. Bring the food. Fix the candles.’ He picked his nose. ‘Yes. Chores done.’ He started to go.

      ‘Thick,’ I said, and when he halted, scowling, I asked, ‘Do the other servants still hit Thick, take his coins? Or is it better now?’

      He frowned at me, his brow wrinkling. ‘The other servants?’ He looked vaguely alarmed.

      ‘The other servants. They used to “hit Thick, take his coins”, remember?’ I tried to copy his inflection and gesture. Instead of jogging his memory, it made him draw back from me in panic. ‘Never mind,’ I said hastily. My effort to remind him that perhaps he owed me a favour had instead worsened his opinion of me. Thrusting out his lower lip, he backed away from me.

      ‘Thick. Don’t forget the tray,’ Chade reminded him gently.

      The serving-man scowled, but he came back for a tray of dishes that held the remains of Chade’s breakfast. He took it up and then crabbed hastily from the room as if I might attack him.

      When the wine rack swung back into place behind him, I sat down in my chair. ‘So?’ I asked Chade.

      ‘So, indeed,’ he replied agreeably. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

      ‘No.’ I leaned back in my chair, and then decided there was nothing more to say about it. Instead, I settled on a distraction. ‘Earlier I told you that Dutiful has something urgent to speak about with you. You should be available.’

      ‘What is it?’

      I gave him a look. ‘I think what Dutiful wishes to tell you would come best directly from him.’ I bit down on my tongue before I could add, ‘of course, you could always ask Thick what it is about’.

      ‘Then I’ll go to my own chambers. Shortly. Fitz. Is Nettle in any danger?’

      ‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

      I saw him rein in his temper. ‘You know what I mean. She’s Skilling, isn’t she? Without guidance of any kind. Yet she seems to have found you. Or did you initiate that contact?’

      Had I? I didn’t know. Had I intruded on her dreams when she was younger, as I had on Dutiful’s? Had I unwittingly laid the foundation for the Skill-bond that she sought to build now? I pondered it, but Chade took my silence for mulishness. ‘Fitz, how can you be so short-sighted? In the name of protecting her, you’re endangering her. Nettle should be here, at Buckkeep, where she can be properly taught to master her talent.’

      ‘And she can be put into service for the Farseer throne.’

      He regarded me levelly. ‘Of course. If the magic is the gift of her bloodlines, then the service is her duty. The two go hand-in-hand. Or would you deny it to her because she, too, is a bastard?’

      I strangled on sudden anger. When I could speak, I said quietly, ‘I don’t see it so. As denying her something. I’m trying to protect her.’

      ‘You see it that way only because you are stubbornly focused on keeping her away from Buckkeep at all costs. What is the terrible threat to her if she comes here? That she could know music and poetry, dance and beauty in her life? That she might meet a young man of noble lineage, marry well, and live comfortably? That your grandchildren might grow up where you could see them?’

      He made it all sound so rational on his part and so selfish on mine. I took a breath. ‘Chade. Burrich has already said “no” to his daughter coming to Buckkeep. If you press him, or worse, force the issue, he will suspect there is a reason. And how can you reveal to Nettle that she is Skilled without leading her to ask, “where did this magic come from?” She knows Molly is her mother. That leaves only her father’s lineage in question –’

      ‘Sometimes children are found to have the Skill with no apparent link to the Farseer bloodline. She might have received it from Molly or Burrich.’

      ‘Yet none of her brothers have it,’ I pointed out.

      Chade slapped the table in frustration. ‘I have said it before. You are too cautious, Fitz. “What if this, what if that?” You hide from trouble that may never knock at our door. What if Nettle did discover that a Farseer had fathered her? Would that be so terrible?’

      ‘If she came to court, and found herself not only a bastard, but the bastard of a Witted Farseer? Yes. What of her fine husband and genteel future then? What does it do to her brothers and to Molly and Burrich, to have to face that past? Nor can you have Nettle here without Burrich coming to see her, to be sure she is well. I know I have changed, but my scars are no disguise to Burrich, nor are my years. If he saw me, he’d know me, and it would destroy him. Or would you try to keep secrets from him, tell Nettle that she must never tell her mother and father that she is taught the Skill, let alone that she is taught by a man with a broken nose and a scar down his face? No, Chade. Better she stays where she is, weds a young farmer she loves, and lives a settled life.’

      ‘That sounds very bucolic for her,’ Chade observed heavily. ‘I’m sure that any daughter of yours would be delighted with such a sedate and settled life.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words until he demanded, ‘But what of her duty to her prince? What of Dutiful’s need for a coterie?’

      ‘I’ll find you someone else,’ I promised recklessly. ‘Someone just as strong as she is, but not related to me. Not tarnished with any complications.’

      ‘Somehow I doubt that such candidates will be easy to find.’ He scowled suddenly. ‘Or have you encountered such others, and not seen fit to tell me of them?’

      I noticed he did not offer himself. I let that sleeping dog lie. ‘Chade, I swear to you, I know of no other Skill-candidates. Only Thick.’

      ‘Ah. Then he is the one you will train?’

      Chade’s question was flippant, an attempt to make me admit there were no other real candidates. I knew Chade expected a flat refusal from me. Thick hated and feared me, and was dim-witted besides. A less desirable Skill-student I could not imagine. Except for Nettle. And perhaps one other. Desperation forced the next words from my tongue. ‘There might be one other.’

      ‘And you haven’t told me?’ He trembled at the edge of rage.

      ‘I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. I’ve only recently begun to wonder about him myself. I met him years ago. And he may be as dangerous to train as Thick, or even more so. For not only has he strong opinions of his own, but he is Witted.’

      ‘His name?’ It was a demand, not a request.

      I took a breath and stepped off the precipice. ‘Black Rolf.’

      Chade scowled. He squinted, rummaging through the attics of his mind. ‘The man who offered to teach you the Wit? You encountered him on the way to the Mountains?’

      ‘Yes. That’s the one.’ Chade had been present when I had offered Kettricken my painfully complete account of my travels across the Six Duchies to find her. ‘He used the Wit in ways I’d never seen it used. He alone seemed to almost know what Nighteyes and I said privately to one another. No other Witted one has shown me that ability. Some could tell when we used the Wit, if we were not extremely careful, but did not seem to understand what we said to one another. Rolf did. Even at the times when we tried to keep it secret from him, I always suspected that he knew more than he let on. He could have been using the Wit to find us, and the Skill to listen to my thoughts.’

      ‘Wouldn’t you have felt it?’

      I shrugged. ‘I didn’t. So perhaps I am mistaken. Nor am I eager to seek out Rolf to discover the truth of it.’

      ‘In any case, you could not. I’m sorry to tell you that he died three years ago. He took a fever, and his end was swift.’

      I stood still, stunned as much by the news as by the fact that Chade knew it. I found my way to a chair and sat down. Grief did not flood me. My relationship with Black Rolf had always been a fractious one. But there was regret. He was gone.

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