Verity gave a small laugh. "I have no Skill, you have no Skill, but if we did, we could heal one another. Woman, this is like a tangle of rope with no ends. How is the knot to be undone, save with a sword?"

"We have a sword, my king. FitzChivalry. The Catalyst."

"Ah. That old legend. My father was fond of it." He looked at me consideringly. "Do you think he is strong enough? My nephew August was Skill-burned and never recovered. For him, I sometimes thought it a mercy. The Skill was leading him down a path ill-suited to him. I think I suspected then that Galen had done something to the coterie. But I had so much to do. Always so much to do."

I sensed my king's mind wavering. I stepped forward resolutely. "My lord, what is it you wish me to attempt?"

"I wish you to attempt nothing. I wish you to do. There. That is what Chade often said to me. Chade. Most of him is in the dragon now, but that is a bit I left out. I should put that in the dragon."

Kettle stepped closer to him. "My lord, help me to free my Skill. And I will help you to fill the dragon."

There was something in the way she said those words. She spoke them aloud before us all, yet I felt that only Verity truly knew what she said. At last, very reluctantly, he nodded. "I see no other way," he said to himself. "No other way at all."

"How am I to do a thing, when I don't even know what that thing is?" I complained. "My king," I added, at a rebuking look from Kettricken.

"You know as much as we do," Verity rebuked me quietly. "Kestrel's mind was burned with the Skill, by her own coterie, to condemn her to isolation for the rest of her life. You must use what Skill you have in any way you can, to try to break through the scarring."

"I have no idea how to begin," I began. But then Kettle turned and looked at me. There was pleading in her old eyes. Loss, and loneliness. And Skill-hunger that had built to the point at which it was devouring her from within. Two hundred and twenty-three years, I thought to myself. It was a long time to be exiled from one's homeland. An impossible time to be confined to one's own body. "But I will try," I amended my words. I put out my hand to her.

Kettle hesitated, then set her hand in mine. We stood, clasping hands, looking at one another. I reached for her with the Skill, but felt no response. I looked at her and tried to tell myself I knew her, that it should be easy to reach Kettle. I ordered my mind and recalled all I knew of the irascible old woman. I thought of her uncomplaining perseverance, of her sharp tongue, and her clever hands. I recalled her teaching me the Skill game, and how often we had played it, heads bent together over the gamecloth. Kettle, I told myself sternly. Reach for Kettle. But my Skill found nothing there.

I did not know how much time had passed. I only knew that I was very thirsty. "I need a cup of tea," I told her, and let go of her hand. She nodded at me, keeping her disappointment well hidden. It was only when I let go her hand that I became aware of how the sun had moved above the mountaintops. I heard again the scrape, scrape, scrape of Verity's sword. Kettricken still sat, silently watching him. I did not know where the others had gone. Together we left the dragon and walked down to where our fire still smoldered. I broke wood into pieces as she filled the kettle. We said little as it heated. There were still herbs that Starling had gathered earlier for tea. They were witted, but we used them, and then sat drinking our tea together. The scraping of Verity's sword against the stone was a background noise, not unlike an insect sound. I studied the old woman beside me.

My Wit-sense told me of a strong and lively life within her. I had felt her old woman's hand in my own, the flesh soft on the swollen, bony fingers save where work had callused her skin. I saw the lines in her face around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Old, her body said to me. Old. But my Wit-sense told me that there sat a woman of my own years, lively and wild-hearted, yearning for love and adventure and all that life might offer. Yearning; but trapped. I willed myself to see, not Kettle, but Kestrel. Who had she been before she had been buried alive? My eyes met hers. "Kestrel?" I asked her suddenly.

"So I was," she said quietly, and her grief was still fresh. "But she is no more, and has not been for years."

When I said her name, I had almost sensed her. I felt I held the key, but did not know where the lock was. There was a nudge at the edge of my Wit. I looked up, annoyed at the interruption. It was Nighteyes and the Fool. The Fool looked tormented and I ached for him. But he could not have picked a worse time to come to speak to me. I think he knew it.

"I tried to stay away," he said quietly. "Starling told me what you were doing. She told me all that was said while I was gone. I know I should wait, that what you do is vital. But… I cannot." He suddenly had trouble meeting my eyes. "I betrayed you," he whispered softly. "I am the Betrayer."

Linked as we were, I knew the depth of his feelings. I tried to reach through that, to make him feel what I felt. He had been used against me, yes, but it was no doing of his own. But I could not reach him. His shame, guilt, and remorse stood between us, and blocked him from my forgiveness. Blocked him, too, from forgiving himself.

"Fool!" I suddenly exclaimed. I smiled at him. He looked horrified that I could smile at all, least of all at him. "No, it is all right. You have given me the answer. You are the answer." I took a breath and tried to think carefully. Go slowly, be careful, I cautioned myself, and then, No, I thought. Now. Now is the only time in which to do this. I bared my left wrist. I held it out to him, my palm up. "Touch me," I commanded him. "Touch me with the Skill on your fingers, and see if I feel you have betrayed me."

"No!" Kettle cried, aghast, but the Fool was already reaching for me like a man in a dream. He took my hand in his right hand. Then he laid three silver fingertips against my upturned wrist. As I felt the cold burn of his fingers on my wrist, I reached over and grabbed Kettle's hand. "KESTREL!" I cried aloud. I felt the stir of her, and I pulled her into us.

I was the Fool and the Fool was me. He was the Catalyst and so was I. We were two halves of a whole, sundered and come together again. For an instant I knew him in his entirety, complete and magical, and then he was pulling apart from me laughing, a bubble inside me, separate and unknowable, yet joined to me. You do love me! I was incredulous. He had never truly believed it before. Before, it was words. I always feared it was born of pity. But you are truly my friend. This is knowing. This is feeling what you feel for me. So this is the Skill. For a moment he reveled in simple recognition.

Abruptly, another joined us. Ah, little brother, you find your ears at last! My kill is ever your kill, and we shall be pack forever!

The Fool recoiled at the wolf's friendly onslaught. I thought he would break the circle. Then suddenly he leaned into it. This? This is Nighteyes? This mighty warrior, this great heart?

How to describe that moment? I had known Nighteyes so completely for so long, it shocked me to see how little the Fool had known of him.

Hairy? That was how you saw me? Hairy and drooling?

Your pardon. This from the Fool, quite sincerely. I am honored to know you as you are. I had never suspected such nobility within you. Their mutual approval was almost overwhelming.

Then the world settled around us. We have a task, I reminded them. The Fool lifted his touch from my wrist, leaving behind three silver prints on my skin. Even the air pressed too heavily against that mark. For a time, I had been somewhere else. Now I was once more within my own body. It all had taken but moments.