Royal Assassin (The Farseer Trilogy, #2)

by Robin Hobb

“Farewell, Fitz. Do try to do a bit better at not letting people kill you.”

“Like moths drawn to a candle flame,” Verity observed. “Or flies to carrion,” I added sourly. “The ones to fascination, the others to feed,” Verity mused.

“Fitz? What will you do?” Tears stung my eyes. I blinked, and it passed. “What I am told,” I said heavily. “When have I ever done otherwise?”

I wiped my hands down my pants and then rubbed them in clean snow, but nothing could ever cleanse them.

“Sometimes,” Chade observed, “it would be much easier to die for one’s king than to give one’s life to him.”

Burrich followed me in. “If I had a dog that was sick as often as you are, I’d put it down,” he observed kindly.

“A fine bit of pork fat,” observed the Fool. I leaped to my feet and nearly fell down the steps. A wild pinwheeling of my arms brought my balance back. “Interesting. Do you think you could teach me to do that?”

He rocked me back and forth, sitting in the snow at the edge of my grave. “You’re not dead, son. You’re not dead.”