I pushed aside reluctance and tried to reconstruct that moment of contact we’d had. With Chade rushing down on us like a summer squall on a small boat, pushing and scattering and threatening. Fitz, my boy! An echo in the vast current of Skill. A brief recollection of Chade, like a perfume on a spring breeze. Dead. Gone. The flood of loss was too much. I tried again to reach for Bee but I was groping in dark water. My child was as gone as Chade was. I drew back from the Skill-current and opened my eyes to the darkness of the Fool’s chamber. He was sleeping deeply. There was no one else in the
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ughhhh chadeeeeeee
