"Stop your lies," the stout man said disdainfully. "She's the WitBastard's get. As tainted as he was."

"That's right. She is."

All eyes turned to the door. Molly stood there, very pale, breathing hard. Her right hand was reddened with blood. She clutched to her chest a large wooden box. An ominous humming came from it. "The bitch you sent after me is dead," Molly said harshly. "As you will soon be, if you don't put down your weapons and free my child and man." The stout man grinned incredulously. Redbeard lifted his sword.

Her voice shook only slightly as she added. "The child is Witted, of course. As am I. My bees will not harm us. But injure one of us, and they will rise up and follow you and give you no quarter. You shall die of a million burning stings. Think your swords will be of much use against my Wit-bees?" She looked from face to face, her eyes flashing with anger and her threat as she clutched the heavy wooden hive box to her. One bee escaped it, to buzz angrily about the room. Red-beard's eyes followed it, even as he exclaimed, "I don't believe it!"

Burrich's eyes were measuring the distance to his sword as Molly asked softly, almost coyly, "Don't you?" She smiled oddly as she lowered the hive to the floor. Her eyes met Red-beard's as she lifted the lid of the box. She reached in and even as the stout man gasped aloud, she drew out her hand, gloved with moving bees. She closed the lid of the hive and then stood. She looked down at the bees coating her hand and said quietly, "The one with the red beard, little ones." Then she held her hand out as if offering them as a gift.

It took a moment, but as each bee took flight, it unerringly sought out Red-beard. He flinched as first one and then another buzzed past him, and then came back, circling. "Call them back or we kill the child!" he cried out suddenly. He batted at them ineffectually with the branch of candles he held.

Molly instead stooped suddenly and heaved up the whole hive as high as she could. "You'll kill her anyway!" she cried out, her voice breaking on the words. She gave the hive a shake, and the agitated humming of the bees became a roar. "Little ones, they would kill my child! When I set you free, avenge us!" She raised the hive higher yet in her arms, prepatory to smashing it to the floor. The injured man at her feet groaned loudly.

"Hold!" cried the stout man. "I'll give you your child!"

Molly froze. All could see that she could not hold the weight of the hive box much longer. There was strain in her voice but she calmly directed, "Give my baby to my man. Let them both come to me. Or you shall all die, most certainly and most horribly." The stout man looked uncertainly at Red-beard. Candles in one hand and sword in the other, Red-beard had retreated from the table, but the bees still buzzed confusedly about him. His efforts to slap them away only seemed to make them more determined. "King Regal will kill us do we fail!"

"Then die from my bees instead," Molly suggested. "There are hundreds of bees in here," she added in a low voice. Her tone was almost seductive as she offered, "They will get inside your shirts and the legs of your trousers. They will cling to your hair as they sting. They will crawl into your ears to sting, and up your noses. And when you scream, they will crowd into your mouth, dozens of humming, fuzzy bodies, to sting your tongue until it will not fit inside your mouth. You will die choking on them!"

Her description seemed to decide them. The stout man crossed the room to Burrich, thrust the still-screaming babe into his arms. Redbeard glared but said nothing. Burrich took Nettle, but did not neglect to stoop and seize up his sword as well. Molly glared at Red-beard. "You. Get over there beside him. Burrich. Take Nettle outside. Take her to where we picked mint yesterday. If they force me to act, I do not wish her to see it. It might make her fear the very bees who are her servants."

Burrich obeyed. Of all the things I had witnessed that night, that seemed to me the most amazing. Once he was outside, Molly backed slowly toward the door. "Do not follow," she warned them. "My Wit-bees will be keeping watch for me, right outside the door." She gave the hive a final shake. The roaring hum increased and several more bees escaped into the room, buzzing angrily. The stout man stood frozen, but Red-beard lifted his sword as if it would defend him. The man on the floor gave an incoherent cry and scrabbled away from her as Molly backed outside. She dragged the door shut behind her, then leaned the hive against it. She took the lid off the hive and then kicked it before she turned and ran off into the night. "Burrich!" she called quietly. "I'm coming." She did not go toward the road, but off toward the woods. She did not look back.

"Come away, Fitz." It was no Skilling, but Verity's soft voice close by me., "You have seen them safe. Watch no more, lest others see with your eyes and know where they go. It is better if you do not know yourself. Come away."

I opened my eyes to the dimness inside the tent. Not only Verity, but Kettle sat beside me. Kettle's mouth was set in a flat line of disapproval. Verity's face was stern, but understanding was also there. He spoke before I could. "Did I believe you had sought that, I would be most angry with you. Now I say to you plainly. It is better if you know nothing of them. Nothing at all. Had you heeded me when I first advised you of that, none of them would have been threatened as they were tonight."

"You both were watching?" I asked quietly. For an instant, I was touched. They both cared that much for my child.

"She is my heir, too," Verity pointed out relentlessly. "Do you think I could stand by and do nothing if they had injured her?" He shook his head at me. "Stay away from them, Fitz. For all our sakes. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head. His words could not distress me. I had already decided I would choose not to know where Molly and Burrich took Nettle. But not because she was Verity's heir. Kettle and Verity stood and left the tent. I flung myself back into my blankets. The Fool, who had been propped on one elbow, lay down also. "I will tell you tomorrow," I told him. He nodded mutely, his eyes huge in his pale face. Then he lay back down. I think he went to sleep. I stared up into darkness. Nighteyes came to lie beside me.

He would protect your cub as his own, he pointed out quietly. That is pack.

He meant the words for comfort. I did not need them. Instead I reached to rest a hand on his ruff. Did you see how she stood and faced them down? I demanded with pride.

A most excellent bitch, Nighteyes agreed.

I felt I had not slept at all when Starling woke the Fool and I for our watch. I came out of the tent stretching and yawning, and suspecting that keeping watch was not really a necessity. But the last shard of night was pleasantly mild, and Starling had left meat broth simmering at the fire's edge. I was halfway through a mug when the Fool finally followed me out.

"Starling showed me her harp last night," I said by way of greeting.

He smirked with satisfaction. "A crude bit of work. Ah, this was but one of his early efforts, they shall say of it someday," he added with strained modesty.

"Kettle said you have no caution."

"No, I have not, Fitz. What do we do here?"

"Me? What I'm told. When my watch is over, I'm off to the hills, to gather broom twigs. So that I can sweep the rock chips out of Verity's way."

"Ah. Now there's lofty work for a Catalyst. And what shall a prophet do, do you suppose?"

"You might prophesy when that dragon will be finished. I fear we shall think of nothing else until it is done."

The Fool was shaking his head minutely.

"What?" I demanded.

"I do not feel we were called here to make brooms and harps. This feels like a lull to me, my friend. The lull before the storm."