Assassin's Apprentice (The Farseer Trilogy, #1)

by Robin Hobb

“Aren’t you going to ask him if he intended to poison you?” Kettricken demanded. “If he answered yes, you would never trust him. If he answered no, you would probably not believe him, and think him a liar as well as an assassin. Besides, is not one admitted poisoner in this room enough?” Kettricken ducked her head and a flush suffused her cheeks. “So come,” Rurisk told her,

But the way the food was given was what impressed me. It was unquestioning, this giving and taking between the royalty and their subjects. I noted, too, there were no sentries or guards of any kind upon the doors. And all mingled and talked as they ate.

“Sleep on, old man. You’ve fathered enough pups that you never need hunt again, except you love it so,” Rurisk told him genially. At his master’s voice, the old hound heaved himself to his feet and came to lean affectionately on Rurisk. He looked up at me, and it was Nosy.

“You believed I would kill a dog for something you did?” “I only knew he was gone. I could imagine nothing else. I thought it was my punishment.” For a long time he was still. When he looked back up at me, I could see his torment. “How you must have hated me.” “And feared you.”

You believed I had it in me to kill any animal you used the Wit on. But it did not stop you from doing it.” “I don’t see it the way you do,” I began, but he shook his head. “We are better parted, boy. Better for both of us. There can be no misunderstandings if there are no understandings at all. I can never approve, or ignore, what you do. Never. Come to me when you can say you will do it no more. I will take your word on it, for you’ve never broken your word to me. But until then, we are better parted.”

I remembered Regal’s own voice, from so long ago, quoting Shrewd. Don’t do what you can’t undo, until you’ve considered what you can’t do once you’ve done it.

In the dream, the Fool stood by my bed. He looked down at me and shook his head. “Why cannot I speak clearly? Because you make it all a muddle. I see a crossroads through the fog, and who always stands within it? You. Do you think I keep you alive because I am so entranced with you? No. It is because you create so many possibilities. While you live you give us more choices. The more choices, the more chances to steer for calmer water. So it is not for your benefit, but for the Six Duchies that I preserve your life. And your duty is the same. To live so that you may continue to present possibilities.”

This would be a game of riddles, if I were to keep August unaware of my true problem. “Tell him Prince Rurisk’s health is excellent, and we may all hope to see him live to old age. Regal still wishes to give him the gift, but I do not think it appropriate.”

Sevrens rose abruptly and left me. Rowd sat like a toad in the corner, eyeing me and smiling. I would have to kill both of them before we returned to Buckkeep, if I were to preserve my usefulness as an assassin. I wondered if they knew that. I smiled back at Rowd, tasting smoke in the back of my throat. I took my poison and left.

I could hear little through the floor, but enough to know Regal’s voice. My evening’s plans were being divulged to Cob. When I was certain of it, I wriggled out of my hiding place, clambered down, and retreated to my own room. There I made certain of some specialized supplies.

He filled two glasses. I leaned forward and showed him my twist of paper. Painstakingly, I tipped it into his wine, picked up the glass, and swirled it to see it well dissolved. I handed it to him. “I’ve come to poison you, you see. You die. Then Kettricken kills me. Then she marries Verity.” I lifted my glass and sipped from it. Apple wine.

I heard a noise outside the door. “That will be Cob, coming to catch me in the act of poisoning you,” I surmised. I rose, went to the door, and opened it. Kettricken pushed past me into the room. I closed the screen quickly behind her. “He’s come to poison you,” she warned Rurisk. “I know,” he said gravely. “He put it in my wine. That’s why I’m drinking his.”

“I was told it was a slow poison. But I looked at it. It is not. It is a simple extract of deadroot, and actually rather swift, if given in sufficient quantity. First, it gives a man tremors.” Rurisk extended his hands on the table, and they trembled. Kettricken looked furious with both of us. “Death follows swiftly. And I expect I am supposed to be caught in the act and disposed of along with you.” Rurisk clutched at his throat, then let his head loll forward on his chest. “I am poisoned!” he intoned theatrically. “I’ve had enough of this,” Kettricken spat, just as Cob tore the door open. “ ’Ware treachery!” he cried. He went white at the sight of Kettricken.

The blinding realization of how I had been duped took but an instant. Poison in the wine. A gift of Farrow apple wine, probably given this very evening. Regal had not trusted me to put it there, but it was easy enough to accomplish, in this trusting place. I watched Rurisk arch again, knowing there was nothing I could do. Already, there was the spreading numbness in my own mouth. I wondered, almost idly, how strong the dose had been. I had only had a sip. Would I die here, or on a scaffold? Kettricken herself understood, a moment later, that her brother was truly dying.

Whoever killed my nephew clearly wished you to die also. Shall I let him win that toss? I think not. I do not know who I wish to win; until I do, I will let no player be eliminated.” “That’s logic I understand,” Burrich said approvingly.

“Ruthlessness creates its own rules. So my mother taught me. People are intimidated by a man who acts with no apparent regard for consequences. Behave as if you cannot be touched and no one will dare to touch you.

I saw with Verity’s eyes: the freshly decked throne room, the Book of Events on the great table before him, laid open to receive the recording of Verity’s marriage. Around him, in their best finery and most costly jewels, the few honored ones who had been invited to witness Verity witnessing his bride’s pledge through August’s eyes. And Galen, who was supposed to be offering his strength as a king’s man, was poised beside and slightly behind Verity, waiting to drain him dry. And Shrewd, in crown and robe upon his throne, was all unknowing, his Skill burned and dulled away years ago by misuse, and him too proud to admit it.

You’re enough to wake the dead, he told me genially. We must find a master for you, to teach you some control, if nothing else. Kettricken finds it a bit peculiar that I dream so often of drowning. I suppose I should be grateful you slept well on my wedding night at least. “Verity?” I said groggily. Go back to sleep, he told me. Galen is dead, and I’ve put Regal on a shorter leash. You’ve nothing to fear. Go to sleep, and stop dreaming so loud.