help him focus his magic.’
‘Focus?’ Chade swirled the pot, then put the lid on it.
‘Right now when he Skills he shouts from the top of the tower and anyone listening could hear him. We strive to narrow that shout, to make it a whisper only to me. And we work to have him convey only what he wishes to tell me, not all the information in his mind at that time. So we do set exercises. I have him try to reach my mind while he is at table and carrying on a conversation. Then we refine it; can he reach my mind, convey what he is eating, while keeping to himself who his companions are? After that, we set other goals. Can he wall me out of his mind? Can he set walls that I could not breach, even in the dead of night while he sleeps?’
Chade frowned to himself as he found a cup, and wiped it clean with one end of his trailing sleeve. I tried not to smile. Sometimes, when we were alone like this, he reverted from the grand noble to the intent old man who had taught me my first trade. ‘Do you think that’s wise? Teaching him how to close you out of his mind?’
‘Well, he has to learn to do it, in case he ever encounters someone who doesn’t have his best interests at heart. At the moment I’m the only other Skill-user he can practise with.’
‘There’s Thick,’ Chade pointed out as he poured for himself. The hot liquid splashed, greenish-black, into his cup. He regarded it with distaste.
‘I think one student is all I can deal with right now,’ I demurred. ‘Did you take any action on Thick’s problem?’
‘What problem?’ Chade took his cup over in front of the fire.
I felt a moment’s alarm and tried to conceal it by speaking casually. ‘I thought I told you about it. He was having problems with the other servants hitting him and taking his money.’
‘Oh. That.’ He leaned back in his chair as if it were of no consequence. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. He hadn’t forgotten our conversation. ‘I found a reason for the cook to give him separate quarters. Ostensibly, that’s where he works, you know. The kitchens. So now he has his own room near the pantries. It’s small, but I gather it’s the first time he’s ever had any place all to himself. I think he likes it.’
‘Well. That’s good, then.’ I paused for a moment. ‘Did you ever consider sending him away from Buckkeep? Just until the Prince has a better grasp on the Skill? There are times when his wild Skilling is a bit distracting. It’s like trying to work a complicated sum while near you someone else is counting out loud.’
Chade sipped from his revolting cup. He made a face, then swallowed determinedly. I winced sympathetically, and said nothing as he reached a long arm to seize my wine glass and wash away the taste. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. ‘As long as Thick remains the only other Skill-candidate we have, I will not send him away. I want him where we can watch over him. And where you can try to win his regard. Have you made any efforts with him?’
‘I haven’t had the opportunity.’ I got up and brought another glass back to the table and poured more wine for both of us. Chade came back to the table. He set the teacup and the wine glass side by side and eyed them dolorously. ‘I don’t know if he’s avoiding me, or if his other duties for you simply have kept him out of my way.’
‘He has had other tasks, of late.’
‘Well, that explains his lack of care with his work here,’ I observed sourly. ‘Some days he remembers to replace the candle stubs with fresh tapers, some days he doesn’t. Some days the hearth is cleared of ashes and wood laid for the fire, and sometimes the old ashes and coals remain. I think it’s because he dislikes me so. He does as little as he possibly can.’
‘He can’t read, so I can’t give him a list of tasks. Sometimes he remembers to do all I tell him, sometimes he doesn’t. That only makes him a poor servant, not a lazy or spiteful one.’ Chade took another mouthful of his brew. This time, despite his efforts, he coughed, spraying the table. I snatched the scrolls out of harm’s way. He wiped his mouth with his kerchief and then blotted the table. ‘Beg pardon,’ he said gravely, his eyes watering. He took a gulp of wine.
‘What’s in the tea?’
‘Sylvleaf. Witch’s butter. Seacrepe. And a few other herbs.’ He took another mouthful of it and chased it down with more wine.
‘What’s it for?’ A memory tickled at the back of my mind.
‘Some problems I’ve been having,’ he demurred, but I rose and began to shuffle through the scrolls on the table. I came up with the one I wanted almost immediately. The illustrations were still bright despite the years. I unrolled it and pointed to the sylvleaf drawing.
‘Those herbs are named here as being helpful to open a candidate to the Skill.’
He gave me a flat look. ‘So?’
‘Chade. What are you doing, what are you trying?’
For a moment, he just looked at me. Then he asked coldly, ‘Are you jealous? Do you also think my birthright should be forbidden me?’
‘What?’
An odd sort of anger broke from him in a tumble of words. ‘I was never even given the chance to be tested for the Skill. Bastards are not taught it. Not until you, when Shrewd made an exception. Yet I am as much Farseer as you are. And I’ve some of the lesser magics, as well you should know by now.’
He was upset, and I didn’t know why. I nodded and said calmingly, ‘Such as your scrying in water. It was how you knew of the Red Ship attack on Neatbay all those years ago.’
‘Yes,’ he said with satisfaction. He sat back in his chair, but his hands scuttled along the table’s edge like spiders. I wondered if the drugs in the tea were affecting him. ‘Yes, I have magics of my own. And perhaps, given the chance, I’d have the magic of my blood, the magic I’ve a right to. Don’t try to deny it to me, Fitz. For all those years, my own brother forbade me even being tested. I was good enough to watch his back, good enough to teach his sons and his grandson. But I was never good enough to be given my rightful magic.’
I wondered how long the resentment had festered in him. Then I recalled his excitement when Shrewd allowed me to be taught, and his frustration when I seemed to fail and would not even discuss my lessons with him. This was a very old anger, unveiled to me for the first time.
‘Why now?’ I asked him conversationally. ‘You’ve had the Skill-scrolls for fifteen years. Why have you waited?’ I thought I knew what the answer would be: that he had wanted me to be close by, to help him with it. Again, he surprised me.
‘What makes you think I waited? But, yes, I’ve applied more effort to it of late, because my need for this magic became so desperate. We’ve spoken of this before. I knew you would not wish to help me.’
It was true. Yet if he had asked me just then, I would not have been able to say why. I avoided the question. ‘What is your need now? The land is relatively peaceful. Why risk yourself?’
‘Fitz. Look at me. Look at me! I’m getting old. Time has played me a treacherous trick. When I was young and able, I was locked up in these chambers, forced to remain hidden and powerless. Now, when I have a chance to set the Farseer throne on a firm foundation, when indeed my family needs me most, I am old and becoming feeble. My mind totters, my back aches, my memories cloud. Do you think I haven’t seen the dread on your face
