Within the keep, all was bustle and excitement. It was far more than the ordinary preparations for Springfest. During that auspicious time, the Prince would take ship to the Out Islands, and all must be prepared for that. The captain and crew of the Maiden’s Chance were pleased that their ship had been chosen as the transport vessel. There was much vying amongst the guardsmen to be among those chosen for the Prince’s own guard. In the end, too many volunteered, myself amongst them, and the Prince was reduced to having the guardsmen draw lots to see who would be among the fortunate few. I was not surprised to be chosen; after all, Chade had given me the lot I would ’draw’ the night before.
Civil Bresinga would indeed be going with us. Chade was also part of the company, as was Thick, much to the surprise of the Prince’s court. Web, rapidly on his way to becoming a favourite with the Queen, had begged her permission to accompany her son and been granted it. He promised that his sea-bird would range far ahead of the vessel and keep a watch on the weather.
Civil was not the only noble hoping to accompany the Prince. Quite a number of his lords and ladies expressed the intent of going along. It quickly put me in mind of the immense expedition that had set out for the Mountains so many years ago when Kettricken was Verity’s bride-to-be. Now, as then, every noble brought with them an entourage of servants and beasts. Secondary ships were rapidly hired. Nobles who could not afford the time or money to accompany the Prince would still make their presence felt. Gifts were also amassing at Buckkeep Castle, not just for the Narcheska but for her mother’s house and her father’s clan.
In Verity’s tower, the Skill-lessons continued, but all my pupils were distracted and difficult. Thick sensed too well Dutiful’s anxiety and anticipation and responded to it with excitability that made it well-nigh impossible to get him to concentrate on anything. Prince Dutiful arrived and left with a harried air. He seemed constantly to have a clothing fitting that he must go to, or a lesson in Outislander courtesy or language to attend.
I pitied him, but pitied myself more as I struggled to learn all I could from scrolls in the evening. Even Chade was distracted. He puppeteered far too many situations within Buckkeep to be able to leave the castle easily. Despite his keen interest in pursuing the Skill, much of his attention was given over to selecting folk to handle his responsibilities while he was gone. I was relieved that Rosemary would not be accompanying us, yet felt unhappy with the idea that she would be left in charge of much of Chade’s spy network. I suspected that Chade was also burning some night oil with further experiments on his explosive powder, but the less I knew of that, the more contented I was.
Our imminent departure was more than enough to fill my mind, and yet life never allows a man to focus on one task at a time. Dutiful and Civil also had nightly lessons with Web in the history and customs of the Old Blood folk. These were held before a hearth in the Great Hall, and Web had made it plain that any who were interested were welcome to attend. The Queen herself had been present on several occasions. At first, his ‘lessons’ were sparsely attended, and many of the faces were set in disapproving lines. But Web was a masterful storyteller and many of his tales were new to the folk of Buckkeep. He rapidly gained an audience, especially amongst the children of the keep. And soon those who were ostensibly busy carding wool or fletching arrows or mending garments began to set up those tasks within earshot of Web’s voice. I do not know that many became convinced the Old Blood were not to be feared, but at least they learned more of how such people lived and thought.
Web had one other student at those sessions, one I had never thought to see again at Buckkeep. Swift, Burrich’s son, often sat silently on the outskirts of Web’s circle.
Word that Queen Kettricken would welcome Witted folk had gone out. Few had responded. The difficulty was plain. How could one offer his son or daughter as page without revealing that the Wit was in the family bloodline? Here at court, the Queen might be able to protect such a child, but what of his kin at home? Lord Brant, a lesser noble of Buck, had brought his ten-year-old son and sole heir. He had presented him to the Queen as Old Blood, but claimed that the magic came from his mother, dead these six years and with few surviving kin. The Queen had accepted him at his word. I also suspected one seamstress who had recently come to Buckkeep, but if she did not wish to openly declare her Wit, I would not ask.
The Queen’s other new page was none other than Swift. He had come, alone and on foot, wearing new boots and a new jacket and bearing a letter from Burrich. I had witnessed him presenting it to the Queen from my usual vantage point. The letter ceded the boy to the Farseers, admitting that Burrich had done his best with the lad but failed to shake him from his course. If he would not leave that base magic, then let him embrace it, and his father was done with him. He could not afford to have the boy around his younger brothers. It also directed that the lad not be known as Burrich’s son at the court. When Queen Kettricken gently asked of him how he wished to be known then, Swift had lifted his pale face and answered quietly but firmly, ‘Witted. It is what I am and will not deny.’
‘Swift Witted it shall be then,’ she had replied with a smile. ‘And I think it a name that will fit you well. I turn you over to my councillor, Chade, now. He will find appropriate duties for you, and lessons as well.’
The boy had given a small sigh, and then bowed deeply, obviously relieved that the ordeal of his royal audience was over. He had walked very stiff and straight as he left the audience chamber.
That Burrich would discard the boy shocked me to the depths of my soul, but I was also relieved. While Swift remained in Burrich’s household and the Wit was a point of contention between them, it could lead only to strife and misery. I suspected the decision had been both difficult and bitter for Burrich, and I lay awake nearly all of one night wondering what Molly thought of it and if she had wept at her son’s departure. I was sorely tempted to reach out to Nettle but had refrained from doing so since the day of Thick and Dutiful’s wild Skilling, It was not only that I did not wish to connect what we shared with that Skill-summons. I still feared the echoing memory of that alien voice. I would not chance a strong sending that would draw its attention to myself or to my daughter.
Yet on that night, as if my heart betrayed my mind, Nettle’s mind touched mine. It seemed almost a chance encounter, as if we had happened to dream of one another at the same moment. I wondered again at how effortlessly our minds could unite with the Skill, and wondered if Chade were correct. Perhaps this was something I had taught her from the time she was small. I dreamed of her sitting on the grass beneath a spreading tree. She held something in her cupped hands, something secret and small, and stared at it sorrowfully.
What troubles you? I asked her. Even as I spoke to her and she focused on me, I felt my dream self assume the shape she always gave me. I sat down and curled my tail around my forefeet. I grinned at her wolfishly. I do not look like this, you know.
How would I know what you look like? she asked me peevishly. You tell me nothing about yourself. Abruptly, there were daisies growing at her feet. A tiny blue bird alighted in a branch over her head and sat fanning its delicate wings.
What do you have there, I asked her curiously.
Whatever I have, it is mine. Just as your secrets are yours. Her hands closed around the treasure she clasped. She pressed it to her chest, concealing it within her heart. Had she fallen in love, then?