‘Then take a day here, Burrich. Go to the steams to ease that leg of injuries twice taken in defending a Farseer’s life. Eat well, and sleep in a soft bed tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough for your journey home.’

‘I cannot, my lady.’

‘You can. Must I command this comfort to you, also?’ The Queen’s voice was fond.

Burrich met her gaze squarely. ‘My queen, would you command me to break my word to my own lady?’

Kettricken gravely bowed her head to him. ‘Good man, your honor is the only thing as stiff as your stubbornness. No, Burrich, I would never command you to break your word. Too often has my own life depended upon it. I will let you go then, as you please. But you shall delay long enough to allow me to pack such gifts as I wish you to take back to your family. And while I do so, you may as well eat a hot meal and warm yourself at the hearth.’

Burrich was silent for a moment. Then, ‘As you wish, my lady.’ again, he went ponderously and painfully down upon one knee.

When he rose and waited her permission, Kettricken sighed. ‘You go, my friend.’

When the door had closed behind him, Kettricken and Chade sat silently for a time. They were the only people left in the chamber Then Chade turned and looked toward my peephole. He spoke softly. ‘You have a little time while he eats. Think hard. Shall I summon him back to this chamber? You could be alone here with him. You could put his heart at ease.’ He paused. ‘This is your decision, my boy. Neither I nor Kettricken will make it for you. But…’ His words died away. Perhaps he knew just how much I did not want his advice on this. In a soft voice, he added, ‘If you wish me to ask Burrich to come back to this chamber, tell Lord Golden to send me a message. If you do not, then… do nothing.’

Then the Queen arose, and Chade escorted her from the audience chamber. She gave one pleading backward glance at my wall before she left the room.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the dust and dimness. When my candle began to drown in its own wax, I rose and made my way back to my own small chamber. The corridor seemed long and dreary. I walked unseen, through dust and cobwebs and mouse-droppings. Like a ghost, I smiled stiffly to myself. Just as I walked through my life.

In my room, I took my cloak from its hook. I listened for a moment at the door, then stepped out into the central chamber of Lord Golden’s apartments. He sat alone at the table. He had pushed his breakfast tray aside. He did not appear to be doing anything. He gave me no greeting. I spoke without preamble.

‘Burrich is here. He followed his son Swift, Nimble’s twin. Swift is Witted, and sought asylum in the Queen’s service. Burrich refused to let her have the boy. He’s taking him home with him, to teach him not to use the Wit. He still thinks the Wit is evil. He blames it for my death. He also blames himself, that he did not beat it out of me.’

After a moment, Lord Golden turned his head indolently to look at me. ‘An interesting bit of gossip. This Burrich, he was Stablemaster here at one time, was he not? I don’t believe I’ve ever met him.’

For a time, I just looked at him. He returned my stare with a gaze devoid of interest. ‘I’m going down to Buckkeep Town today,’ I announced flatly.

He turned back to his contemplation of the tabletop. ‘As you will, Tom Badgerlock. I’ve no need of your services today. But be ready to go out tomorrow at noon. Lady Thrift and her niece have offered take me out hawking. I don’t care to keep a bird of my own, you know. Their talons spoil the sleeves of my coats. But perhaps I shall be able to add some feathers to my collection.’

My hand was on the door latch before he had finished his hateful charade. I shut it firmly behind me and went briskly down the stairs. I dared myself and fate. If I ran into Burrich in the hallway, he would know me. Let the gods decide for themselves if he should walk in guilty ignorance or pain-wracked truth. But I did not encounter him in the halls of Buckkeep, nor even glimpse him as I went past the guards’ dining hall. Then I snorted at my own foolish fancy. Doubtless they would take the Queen’s guest to the main hall, and there feed him well, alongside his wayward son. I did not let myself pause to consider any other temptations. I went out into the courtyard, and soon was striding down the road to Buckkeep Town.

The day was fine, clear and cold. It bit the tops of my cheeks and the tips of my ears, but my pace kept the rest of me warm. I played a dozen scenes in my head of how it might go were I to confront Burrich. He would embrace me. He would strike me and curse me. He would not recognize me. He would faint with shock. In some of these visions he welcomed me warmly with tears of joy, and in others he cursed me for all the years I had let him live in guilt. But in none of those scenes could I imagine how we would speak of Molly and Nettle, nor what would come after. If Burrich discovered that I was alive, could he keep it from Molly? Would he? Sometimes his honor operated on such a lofty scale that what was unthinkable for any other man became the only correct option for him.

I broke from my thoughts to find myself in the centre of Buckkeep Town. Men and women alike gave me a wide berth, and I realized I was scowling darkly and probably muttering to myself. I tried to find a more pleasant expression, but my face could not seem to recall how to form one. Nor could I decide where I wished to be. I went by the woodjoiner’s shop where Hap was apprenticed. I lingered outside until I caught a glimpse of him within. There were tools in his hands. I wondered if that meant he was being given more responsibility, or if it only meant he was fetching them for someone. Well, at least he was where he was supposed to be. I would not trouble him today.

I next wandered by Jinna’s shop, but found it closed up tight A quick check of her shed showed that the pony and cart were gone. Something must have called her away today. I was not sure if I felt relief or disappointment. To quench my loneliness in her company would not have eased me, but if she had been home, I would probably have given myself over to the temptation.

So I made the next most foolish decision that I could make, which was to go to the Stuck Pig. A tavern fit for the Witted Bastard. I entered, and as I stood in the doorway with the bright winter sunlight flowing in from behind me, I decided it was one of those places that always looked better by lamplight. Daylight revealed, not just the weariness of the leaning tables and the damp straw that begged pardon on the floor, but the dreariness of the folk who came to such a tavern on a bright winter afternoon. People such as myself, I surmised sourly. A gaffer and a man with a twisted leg and only one arm sat together at a table near the hearth, some game bones between them. At another table, a man with a badly bruised face sat nursing a tankard and muttering to himself. A woman looked up as I came in. When she raised one brow inquiringly, I shook my head. She scowled at me and returned to staring at the hearthfire. A boy with a bucket and rag was scrubbing tables and benches. When I sat down, he wiped his hands on his trouser legs and came over to me.

‘Beer,’ I said, not because I wanted it, but because I was there and I had to order something. He bobbed acknowledgement, took my coin, brought me a mug, and went back to his tasks. I took a sip of it and tried to remember why I had walked down to Buckkeep Town. I decided it had simply been the need to be moving. But now I was sitting still. Stupid.

I was still sitting still when Svanja’s father walked in. I don’t think he saw me at first, coming into the dim tavern from the bright winter day. When I recognized him, I looked down at the tabletop, as if by not looking at him, I could make myself invisible. It didn’t work. I heard his heavy boots on the sodden straw, and then he dragged out a chair and sat down across from me. I nodded at him guardedly. He stared at me blearily. His eyes were red-rimmed, but whether from drinking or lack of sleep or drink, I could not tell. His dark hair had been brushed that morning, but he had not shaved. I wondered that he was not at his trade. The tavern boy soon scurried over with a pot of ale for him. He took the man’s coin and went back to his scrubbing. Hartshorn took a drink of his ale, scratched his whiskery cheek and said, ‘Well.’