greeted them, and, ‘Yes, it is,’ Chade responded. His eyes were bright and he appeared well pleased about something. I waited for him to share it with me, but instead he said, ‘I’ve asked Thick to be here early this morning. So we could all talk.’
‘Oh.’ I could think of no more to say than that. Now wasn’t the time to tell Chade I’d wished he had warned me first. I would not talk over Thick’s head in his presence. I remembered too well how I had once underestimated the cunning of a little girl and spoken too freely. Rosemary had been Regal’s treacherous little pet. I doubted that Thick was anyone’s spy, but what I didn’t say in front of him, he could not repeat.
‘How is the Prince this morning?’ Chade asked suddenly.
‘He’s well,’ I replied guardedly. ‘But there is something he’ll wish to see you about, something rather urgent. You might wish to be, uh, where you can easily be found. Soon.’
‘Prince sad,’ Thick confirmed dolorously. He shook his heavy head commiseratingly.
My heart sank, but I resolved to test him. ‘No, Thick, the Prince isn’t sad. He’s merry. He has gone to have a fine breakfast with all his friends.’
Thick scowled at me. For an instant, his tongue stuck out even farther than usual, and his lower lip sagged pendulously. Then, ‘No. Prince is a sad song today. Stupid girls. A sad song. La-la-la-le-lo-lo-lo-o.’ The dimwit sang a mournful little dirge.
I glanced at Chade. He was watching our exchange closely. His eyes never left me as he asked Thick, ‘And how is Nettle today?’
I kept my face expressionless. I tried hard to breathe normally, but suddenly I could not quite remember how.
‘Nettle is worried. The dream man won’t talk to her any more, and her father and brother argue. Yah, yah, yah, yah, her head hurts with it, and her song is sad. Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na.’ It was a different tune for Nettle’s sadness, one fraught with tension and uneasiness. Then suddenly Thick stopped in mid-note. He looked at me and then jeered triumphantly, ‘Dog-stink doesn’t like this.’
‘No. He doesn’t,’ I agreed flatly. I crossed my arms on my chest and moved my glare from Thick to Chade. ‘This isn’t fair,’ I said. Then I clenched my jaw over how childish that sounded.
‘Indeed, it isn’t,’ Chade agreed blandly. Then, ‘Thick, you may go if you wish. I think you’ve finished your chores here.’
Thick pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Bring the 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
