I thought I had planned for every possibility. I had sweet foods such as Thick loved and brandy if we needed a restorative. Both waited on the table. I wondered now if that had been a bad idea. Thick’s eyes kept wandering to some current buns. Would they distract him too much from his Skilling? I had wanted to have elfbark and hot water ready as well, but Chade had sternly over-ruled me. ‘Far better if the Prince’s coterie is never exposed to such a destructive drug,’ he opined righteously. I didn’t remind him that he had taught me the use of it.

I hovered anxiously behind the Prince as he set his hand upon Thick’s shoulder. If it appeared he were draining the little man, I was prepared to physically break the link between them. Well did I know that a Skill-user could deliberately kill that way. I wanted no tragic accidents.

We waited. After a time, I gave Chade a significant look. He raised his eyebrows.

‘Begin,’ I suggested to the two of them.

I’m trying,’ said Dutiful in exasperation. ‘I can Skill to Thick. But I don’t know how to draw his strength off and use it.’

‘Hmm. Thick, can you help him?’ I suggested.

Thick opened his eyes and looked at me. ‘How?’ he asked.

I didn’t know. ‘Just be open to him. Think of sending him your strength.’

Again, they settled. I watched Chade’s face, hoping for some sign that Dutiful had touched minds with him. But after a short time, Dutiful lifted his eyes to mine. His mouth twisted in a small smile. ‘He’s Skilling “strength, strength, strength” to me,’ he confided.

‘You said to!’ Thick protested angrily.

‘Yes. So I did,’ I assured him. ‘Calm down, Thick. No one is mocking you.’

He glared at me, breathing through his nose. Dogstink.

Dutiful flinched. Chade’s lips twitched but he managed not to smile. ‘Dog stink. Is that the message you wished to convey to me?’

‘I believe Thick intended that comment for me,’ I said carefully.

‘But it went through me to Chade, my target. I felt it,’ Dutiful said excitedly.

‘Well. At least we make progress,’ I said.

‘Can I have a bun now?’

‘No, Thick. Not yet. We all need to work on this.’ I pondered a moment. Dutiful had directed Thick’s Skill. Did that mean he had actually taken strength from Thick to break through to Chade, or that he had simply diverted Thick’s message intended for me to Chade?

I didn’t know. I didn’t think there was any way I could be absolutely certain of what had happened. ‘Try it together,’ I suggested. ‘Both of you attempt to send the same message to Chade, and only Chade. Try to make a concerted effort.’

‘Concerted?’

‘Do it together,’ Dutiful supplied to Thick. There was a moment of silent conference between the two. I suspected they chose a message. ‘Now,’ I suggested and watched Chade’s face.

He furrowed his brow. ‘Something about a bun.’

Dutiful gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Yes, but that wasn’t what we were supposed to be conveying. Thick is having a bit of difficulty concentrating.’

‘I’m hungry.’

‘No, you aren’t. You just want to eat,’ Dutiful told him. Which put Thick into a sulk. No amount of prodding or persuasion would induce him to try again. We eventually allowed him the food and resolved to take a lesson from it on the morrow.

Yet the next morning we seemed doomed to have as little luck as before. Spring was in the air. I had thrown the window shutters open wide to the dawn. As yet, the sun was only a promise on the horizon, but the wind off the ocean had a lively and freshened air to it that spoke of life and change in the seasons. I stood breathing it in for a long time while I waited for the others to arrive.

I was no more at ease in conscience over what I had planned against Lord Golden. I had begun to wish I had not divulged that conversation to Chade, nor told him of the Fool’s tattoos. Surely if he had wished Chade to know of them, he would have told him during the course of their conversation about the Narcheska’s tattoos. I had a deep and profound sense of having made a wrong choice. There was no way to undo it, and confessing it to the Fool seemed unimaginable. The only thing more unimaginable was to allow him to go to Aslevjal if he believed he would die there. So, childish though it felt, I had decided that I would simply hold my tongue and leave the matter in Chade’s hands. He would be the one who would not allow Lord Golden to accompany us. I drew another deep breath of spring air, hoping it would make me feel rejuvenated. Instead, I only felt more deeply anxious.

Civil Bresinga had returned to Buckkeep. The guard that had accompanied him on his journey was nominally to express Farseer sympathy at the loss of his mother. Yet he still knew, even if others did not, that he could look forward to years of being monitored at Buckkeep. He would remain at the castle until he reached his majority, with the crown benevolently managing his lands. Galekeep was closed save for a skeleton staff provided by the Queen. It seemed to me a mild rebuke compared to his treasonous conduct. His Wit had been kept confidential; I supposed that the revelation of it could be used as a threat to discourage him from further wrongdoing. He had not been connected at all to the deaths of three men in Buckkeep Town. I seethed that he had got off so lightly for exposing my Prince to so much danger. From what Chade had told me, Dutiful had insisted that Civil had passed on very little information about the Prince to the Piebalds, and most of it was knowledge that even the humblest serving-boy in the keep would have. It did not comfort me. Even more unsettling was that not only Laudwine but Padget had expressed an avid interest in whatever information Civil could discover about both me and Lord Golden. He knew little, so he had told them little. Still, Civil had confessed to the Prince that their interest made him very curious about us.

I’d spied on Civil in his rooms shortly after his return. He had looked like a forlorn and devastated young man. A single family servant remained with him at Buckkeep. He was a lad stripped of family and home, whittled down to his barest possessions, and his Wit-beast consigned to the stables. The simplicity of the chamber and furnishings offered to him was appropriate to a minor noble, but doubtless he had enjoyed far better at home. He had spent a good portion of his evening sitting and staring at the fire. I suspected he communed with his cat, but had not detected a flow of Wit between them. Instead, I had felt his misery as an almost tangible weight in his chamber.

I still didn’t trust him.

I was still staring out the window when I heard the Prince’s footfalls on the stairs. A moment later, he entered, shutting the door firmly behind him. Chade and Thick would be coming soon, by the secret passage, but for now I had a moment or two alone with him. I didn’t look at him as I asked him, ‘Does Civil’s cat speak to you?’

‘Pard? No. He’s a cat, so he could, of course, if he wished. But it would be regarded as… rude, I suppose.’ He made a considering noise. ‘It’s an odd thing to think of. Among the Old Blood who prefer cats, there are a number of shared customs. I would never attempt to initiate speech with someone else’s cat partner. It would be like, well, like flirting with someone’s intended. In all the time I’ve known Pard, he has never shown any interest in communicating with me. Of course, he did convey to me, that one time, that Civil was in danger. But that was more in the nature of a threat. Civil had brought him to me in a great canvas sack. I gathered from what Civil told me that he’d tricked the cat into getting into the sack in the course of some rough game they were playing. Only then Civil tied the sack shut and dragged him up the stairs to my chamber. And I do mean dragged. Pard’s a big cat.’

He heaved a sudden sigh. ‘I should have known, from that alone. If Civil had not been distraught, he never would have treated Pard so disrespectfully. But Civil seemed so distressed and in such a hurry that I agreed to keep the cat in my chamber until he returned for it and asked few questions. But then, after he’d gone, I couldn’t stand to hear Pard snarling and doing that singsong whine. He was trying to gut his way out of the sack with the claws on his hind feet, but Civil had chosen a very heavy canvas. After a while, he just lay there, panting, and I began to fear that he would suffocate. He sounded as if he were in distress. But the moment I opened the mouth of the bag, he came out clawing and knocked me down. He grabbed me here,’ and Dutiful’s hand measured the side of his throat, ‘and dug his hind claws into my belly. He swore he’d kill me if I didn’t let him out of the room. Then, before I could take any action, he yowled and raked his claws down me. That was when Civil was attacked. He said it was my fault and he’d kill me for it unless I saved him. So I Skilled to you.’