Assassin's Fate (The Fitz and the Fool #3)

by Robin Hobb

When first he arrived in his tattered clothing, bearing a sodden scroll gifting him to me with the name of the gifter sogged away, my brother cautioned me, and even suggested I do away with him. Chade spoke quite plainly in the boy’s hearing, for the lad had not spoken a word up to that point, and we had both assumed he either was a deaf-mute or simple. But right away, the lad piped up and said, ‘Dear king, please do not do a thing you cannot undo, until you have considered well what you cannot do once you’ve done it!’

Wintrow Vestrit, chief minister to Queen Etta of the Pirate Islands and Grand Admiral of her fleet, looked so much like Althea that they could have been brother and sister rather than nephew and aunt.

‘It’s something we can’t alter. In situations like this, it is best to accept Sa’s will and try to see what comes of it rather than fighting against the inevitable. So, if Paragon is correct, after this last voyage he will return to the Rain Wilds and be given enough Silver to become two dragons.’ He shook his head and a smile flitted briefly over his face. ‘I’d like to witness that.’

‘This is real? This can actually happen? It’s not one of Paragon’s wild fancies?’ ‘It’s real,’ Brashen confirmed. His son stared into a future only he could see, one he had never imagined. Then he spoke in a whisper. ‘He has always had the heart of a dragon. I felt it when he held me in his hands and flew me over the water when I was a child …’ His words trickled away. Then he asked, ‘Has he enough wizardwood in his body to make two dragons? Won’t they be rather small?’

‘Paragon Kennitsson.’ Wintrow spoke in the brief gulch of silence before the ship bellowed out, ‘Permission granted! Paragon! Paragon, my son!’ Althea went so pale she was more greenish than white. I’d heard a strange note in the ship’s voice, a difference in timbre. ‘Sweet Sa,’ Wintrow breathed into the quiet. ‘He sounded almost like Kennit.’ Brashen looked back at his wife over his shoulder. His face was stone. Then his gaze found Wintrow. ‘I don’t want him talking to the ship,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t want him on this ship,’ Wintrow agreed. He strode to the door and Brashen edged aside to let him pass. ‘Paragon!’ Wintrow shouted and there was command in his voice. ‘Here. And now.’

‘On this deck, nothing overshadows the say of the captain,’ Brashen informed him. Paragon’s roar blasted us. ‘Except the will of the ship!’

Kennitsson laughed. ‘Ship, I am Prince Paragon of the Pirate Isles! Do you not realize who Kennit’s son is now? I am next in line for the throne.’ The light that touched his face followed the hard lines of his smile. ‘I command. I do not request.’ Paragon turned away from him and spoke out over the water. ‘Not on my decks, Kennitsson. Never on my decks.’

To learn a bit of the trade that your father knew from the bones out when he was half your age.’ Brashen Trell spoke. ‘He’s a bit too old to learn it, I fear. You missed your chance, both of you.’ A strange look crossed his face. ‘He reminds me of a spoiled merchant’s son who thought he was a Trader.’

But Sorcor flapped a knobby hand at him, silencing his objection. The older man cleared his throat. ‘I’ve failed the boy. When he was small, I was too glad to have any piece of his father that was left to us. I cherished him and kept him from all harm. I never let him feel the pain of his own mistakes.’ He shook his head. ‘And his mother still dotes on him and gives him what he desires. But it’s not just her. I wanted him to be a prince. I wanted him in fancy clothes with clean hands. I wanted to see him have what his father earned for him. To be what his father would have expected of him.’ He shook his head again. ‘But somehow, we didn’t get that other part of him.’

Sorcor was a contrast. I judged him to be a man past his middle years, used hard by his early life but now in a safe harbour. He dressed as befitted a minor noble, but the scars on his face and the wear on his hands were that of a fighter and a sailor. The sword at his side was of excellent and deadly quality. There was something in the cut of his clothing and the selection of his jewellery that spoke of a man who’d known poverty suddenly given the chance to dress in fine fabric and gold. On another man, it might have looked laughable. On him, it looked earned.

And in the next instant, the door framed an extraordinary woman. She was tall, and the planes of her face were angular. She was not beautiful, but she was striking.

I’ve been given to understand that the purpose of this voyage is to exact vengeance on a monastery there for the kidnapping and murder of a child. And that afterward, this vessel will magically change himself into two dragons.’

‘Paragon!’ Boy-O bellowed the name. ‘Would you truly do that to me, who was born on your decks and learned to walk here?’ The breath he drew shuddered into his lungs. ‘You named me! You called me Boy-O, your Boy-O, because you would not call me Trellvestrit! You said I was yours, and that name did not fit me!’

Answer me this, Fool. Do I live through this? Does the boy? Does Lant go back to Chade and is his father still alive when he gets there? Does Spark survive? Do you?’ ‘Some things are more likely than others,’ he said quietly. ‘And all of them still dance and wobble like a spun coin. Dust blown on the wind, a day of rain, a tide that is lower than expected—any and all of those things can change everything. You must know that is true! All I can do is peer into a mist and say, “it looks most clear in that direction”. I tell you that our best chance of finding Bee alive is to remain on Paragon until he arrives in Clerres.’

It is I, Paragon. A ship made from massacred dragons, both embraced and enslaved by a Bingtown Trader family. I, we, had no say in that! No choice but to care, no choice in who we loved as Ludlucks poured out their blood and souls and memories onto the bones of our deck! I do not ask: I demand! Do I not have the right to him, as much right as his ancestors had to me? Is it not fair?’

‘You will follow Paragon to Clerres?’ ‘You wish to be a dragon?’ Althea and Wintrow spoke simultaneously. ‘I am considering it,’ the ship replied judiciously. ‘Why Clerres?’ Brashen’s voice was raised in complete confusion. ‘Why not go directly to Kelsingra?’ ‘Because a memory stirs in me. A dragon memory, a memory eclipsed by human thoughts and emotions, a memory so over-scarred by human experiences that I cannot be certain of anything except a feeling of anger and betrayal that rises in me at the name Clerres.

If I drank it all, could I walk into Clerres and demand that all there kill themselves? Could it be that easy to destroy them and win back my daughter?

I give you that pain to use against him. But do not think of me again. He must not find me. He must not know that you can write or anything you have dreamed. And you must stop waiting for someone to save you. You must save yourself. Escape. Get home. But do not think of home right now. Think only of escape.

‘She used our magic against me, just now, outside the door. She made me think about biting you and how she hates me!’ Dwalia transferred her angry gaze to me. ‘That’s not possible.’ ‘She did it! She stole magic and that’s why I can’t make her do what you want.’ He drew in a deep breath, a tattling child on the verge of tears. I stared hate at him and he recoiled. ‘She’s doing it now!’ he wailed and threw up his hands before his face as if they could stem the flow of what I felt for him.

‘It’s well known, where I come from. But few are stupid enough to use it.’ That made her stare. Then, ‘No. No, it is my discovery! My new magic, a new ability that some who carry White blood can master. But only some.’

When he had the elixir, he was strong, far stronger than I was in this magic. But I understood now; a way in is also a way out. When I reached out to touch his mind or Dwalia’s, it was like opening the gates to them. Did he know that, too?

The panting sounds he had made ceased and I thought he had died. Then, in a terrible exhalation of breath, he screamed a name. ‘FitzChivalry! Fitz! Help me, oh help me! Fitz! Please, Fitz!’ Dwalia was transfigured. She lifted her head as if she had heard the voice of a god calling her and a terrible smile came over her face! Whatever she wrote in the book, she did with a flourish.

That memory made me tremble. The poor creature on the table had screamed for my father and begged him to come and save him. I was missing too many links to make a chain of reasons, but my instincts made a blind leap. That was the day Dwalia had won permission to come to Withywoods. That was the day my fate had been sealed. I watched her now as if from a great distance.

For all the years in which he taught me, I know little of how he was educated, save that his instructor was harsh. While he was never acknowledged even as a bastard, I do believe that his elder brother treated him well. From what I personally observed, he and Shrewd were fond of one another, and Shrewd counted on Chade as a counsellor as well as an assassin and spymaster.

I suspect he had other magical talents, namely scrying in water, for more than once it seemed very unlikely to me that his ‘spies’ could have possibly informed him in a timely way of events that took place at a distance from Buckkeep. But to be denied the Skill both rankled and grieved him. I think it was perhaps one of the most foolish choices our royal ancestors ever committed.

Please, if you can avoid letting him know that I am the source of this information, I would greatly appreciate it. He may have trained me to be a spy but would be the first to object if his old apprentice spied upon him.

Even if they were delayed for days, we would have seen some sign of their passage when we arrived there. Did you see any such thing?’ He gave a wild laugh. ‘I saw nothing!’ I kept my temper. ‘Well, there was nothing except for bear-sign. So perhaps they did come through and perished there. They certainly did not journey on to Kelsingra, not by foot or by pillar. Fool, please. Let me accept that Bee is gone.’

‘Folly?’ He flung the word at me. ‘Well, what did you expect from a fool?’

‘Paragon Ludluck, Prince of the Pirate Islands, will be travelling with you to Clerres. I know you do not welcome him. I am not enamoured of him making this journey either. Nonetheless, he must go. I offer coin for his passage, and eight reliable hands, experienced at both sail and sword. Though I pray that you will not have need of the latter skill.’

‘I have flown without stopping a day and a night and a day to reach this place. Farseer! I have words for you. Do not be slow to come to me. My hunger has no patience!’

‘First, know this. IceFyre is a coward. A dragon who chooses to bury himself in ice rather than take vengeance for fear of his own safety is scarcely a dragon at all!’

‘I believe it has been long since a dragon of your magnificent size descended here. Queen Etta of the Pirate Isles has provided well for your feeding.’ ‘And we are honoured, most beauteous queen! Azure and amazing you are!’ Wintrow charged past the queen’s guard and descended the steps to the furrowed green. He flourished an extravagant bow to Tintaglia. ‘Perhaps you remember me, glorious one? My sister is Queen Malta of the Dragon Traders of Kelsingra. My younger brother, Selden, has often sung your praises to me.’

However, I have cornered IceFyre, and wrung from him with shame and threats much that he should have shared with us years ago. Even Heeby has more courage than he!’ ‘Your surmise was correct. Whites and their Servants have done great injury to dragonkind. I burn with fury to think that generations of them believed they could wrong us without consequences! That shame is due entirely to IceFyre’s cowardice, but I have no belief that he will act. So I will.’

‘Understand, Farseer, this vengeance belongs to me. No mere human can deliver the punishment that Clerres deserves. When we come upon it, we will tumble it stone from stone and devour those who have dared to kill dragons, just as we did at Chalced. The satisfaction of those kills belongs to me!’ ‘Not if I get there first,’ I muttered.

‘You will take revenge on the Servants?’ ‘Did not I just tell you that? Humans. Everything must be repeated!’ She spoke with total disdain. ‘Listen, now, before I go to feed. I tell you this in little pieces for your little mind. Yes. I allow you to go to Clerres. As you rudely asserted, if you arrive before me, you have permission to slaughter as you please. I will not count that as your stealing my kills. Do you understand this favour I grant you?’ ‘Yes. Yes, I do. But we now think it’s possible that my daughter is still alive. That she might be a prisoner there in Clerres.’

‘Bring this wondrous dragon a tub of water!’ he commanded suddenly. ‘She is parched with thirst! No creature so glorious should suffer such privation! And where are the goats? Should not they be here by now? Bring her one of the brown bullocks as well! She is famished!’ And the idiot approached the hungry dragon, his hand outstretched.

Etta kept her eyes on her son. ‘Stand down, Wintrow. We appear to be establishing diplomatic relations with the Rain Wilds.’ She gave Wintrow a sideways glance. ‘I think the prince who befriends dragons may deserve a bride that comes with a larger dowry.’ She lifted her hand from her sword hilt and turned her smile toward Rapskal. There was a lilt of amusement in her voice. ‘Greetings. I am Queen Etta of the Pirate Isles. This is my chief minister and admiral, Wintrow Vestrit.’

‘Heroic!’ Rapskal exclaimed. His fist thudded the table, making us all jump and his eyes shone with tears. ‘I will share this tale with Heeby, and with all dragons!’

‘Well, Prince FitzChivalry, you have brought more excitement, disaster and puzzlement to Divvytown than we have enjoyed in many a year.’

‘Possibly I could share my dreams with you? If you touched me with no thought of healing but only of sharing, perhaps?’ ‘No.’ I tried to soften my refusal. ‘When we link, Fool, what happens has nothing to do with my intent. Something that feels inevitable begins to happen. Like the current of a river sweeping us along.’ ‘Like the Skill-river you speak of, like a current of magic?’ ‘No. It’s different.’ ‘Then what is it?’ I sighed. ‘How can I explain something that I don’t understand myself?’ ‘Hmph. When I say something like that, you get angry at me.’ I brought us back to the subject. ‘You said you’ve had more dreams about Bee.’ ‘I have.’

‘But I also dreamed a hand holding a dead torch. It was a confusing dream. The torch fell to the ground and a foot ground it out. I heard a voice. “Better to grope in darkness than to follow false light”.’

I hesitated for a moment. Bastard or prince? Dutiful had made me a prince. ‘I am,’ I said quietly. ‘But due to illegitimacy, not in line for the throne.’ He shrugged that aside. ‘That lad, that Per. He was your stableboy?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You work alongside him, and he never defers to you at all.’ ‘He does, but not in a noticeable way, I suppose. He respects me, even if others don’t see it.’

It was feeble and thin, a child’s voice shouting into strong wind over water. I reached for her. Bee! Is it you, are you alive? Da? Where are you? Why didn’t you come for me? Da? Bee, where are you? My first desperate question. On a ship. Bound for Clerres. Da? They are cruel to me. Please help me. Why don’t you come for me?

I found I was on the floor beside my bunk. Tears were streaming unchecked down my cheeks. She was out there, my Bee, tossed and torn in a storm of Skill, captured and treated badly. The Fool had been right all along. I could not give up. I plunged in again, sieving the Skill-current for her, over and over, until I felt my strength failing. When I came back to my surroundings, I was curled in a ball. My body ached and my head pounded. Old, I felt a hundred years old. I had failed and abandoned not only my child but my old mentor.

We had hurt him tonight, and I knew it was not the first time he had felt abandoned and persecuted. I wished I could be there to sit by his bed and take his hand and assure him that, yes, he was loved and had always been loved.

How had she managed, all those months, alone with her captors? It burned that I had pushed her away when she reached for me. But alive! Indubitably alive! That knowledge was air in my lungs, water after drought. I pulled myself to my feet. She was alive! I had to share the news with the Fool. Our primary quest was now her rescue! And then bloody vengeance on those who had kept her from me.

Amber had never saved Kettricken, or carried me on her back through a snowy night. She’d never known Nighteyes. She’d never been tortured and maimed. Never served King Shrewd through danger and treachery. I clenched my teeth. What, exactly, did I share with this Amber? Very little, I decided.

‘Walk away,’ Amber said in a small, deadly voice. ‘Walk away, Fitz. From things you don’t want to hear. Things you don’t want to feel. Things you don’t want to know.’ I had halted at her first words, but as she continued, I did as she suggested. I walked away. She lifted her voice to call after me, her words freighted with anger. ‘Would that I could walk away from what I know! Would that I could choose to disbelieve my dreams!’ I kept walking.

‘She dreams your death. When we were on the river, it was only once, at most twice. But now it is almost every night. She talks and cries out warnings to you in her sleep, and wakes up shaking and weeping. She does not speak of it to me, but I know, for she talks in her sleep. “The son will die? How can the son die? It must not be, there must be another path, another way.” But if there is, I do not think she can find it. It’s destroying her. I do not know why she does not tell you of her nightmares.’

Was that what had made Amber so callous when I shared my news? Did she now believe that Bee lived, but would not survive to be rescued? No! It had to be me. I was the Unexpected Son, not Bee. Please, Eda and El, not Bee.