Fool's Fate

I slammed my cup down. Tea splattered the table between us. “Stop talking like that! Eda and El in a tangle, Fool! Is that why you've been squandering your fortune and living like some degenerate Jamaillian? Please tell me that you haven't spent all your windfall, that there is something left for . . . for you to come back to.” And there my words halted, as I teetered at the edge of betraying myself.

He smiled strangely. “It's gone, Fitz. It's all gone, or else arranged to be bestowed. And getting rid of that much wealth has not only been a challenge, but a far greater pleasure than possessing it ever was. I've left papers that Malta is to go to Burrich. Can you imagine his face when someone hands her reins to him? I know he will value her and care for her. And for Patience, oh, you should have seen it before I sent it on its way! A cartload of scrolls and books on every imaginable topic. She'll never imagine where they came from. And I've provided for Garetha, my garden maid. I've bought her a cottage and a plot of earth to call her own, as well as left her the coin to keep herself well. That should cause a mild scandal; folks will wonder why Lord Golden left a garden girl so well endowed. But let them. She will understand and she won't care. And for Jofron, my Jhaampe friend? I've sent her a selection of fine woods and all of my carving tools. She'll value them, and recall me fondly, regardless of how abruptly I left her. She's made her reputation as a toymaker. Did you know that?”

As he divulged his generous mischief to me, he smiled and the shadow of imminent death nearly left his eyes. “Please stop talking like that,” I begged him. “I promise you, I won't let you die.”

“Make me no promises that can break us both, Fitz. Besides.” He took a breath. “Even if you manage against all the foreordained grinding of fate to keep me alive, well, Lord Golden still must vanish. He's lived to the end of his usefulness. Once I leave here, I shall not be him again.”

As he spoke on of how he'd dismantled his fortune and how his name would fade to obscurity, I felt sick. He had been determined and thorough. When we left him behind on the docks, we'd be leaving him in a difficult situation. That Kettricken would provide for him, no matter how he had squandered his wealth, I had no doubt. I resolved to have a quiet word with her before we left, to prepare her to rescue him if need be. Then I reined my thoughts back to the conversation, for the Fool was watching me oddly.

I cleared my throat and tried to think of sensible words. “I think you are too pessimistic. If you have a coin or two left to your name, you'd best be frugal with it. Just in case I'm right and I keep you alive. And now I must go, for Swift will be waiting for me.”

He nodded, rising as I did. “Will you come down to my old chambers when it is time for us to meet Chade for the Skill-lesson?”

“I suppose so,” I concurred, trying not to sound reluctant.

He smiled faintly. “Good luck with Burrich's boy,” he said, and left.

The teacups and charts were still on the table. I suddenly felt too weary to tidy them away, let alone hasten to my lesson with Swift. But I did, and when I arrived on the towertop garden, he was waiting for me in a square of crenellated sunlight, his back to a chill stone wall, idly playing on a pennywhistle. At his feet, several doves bobbed and pecked, and for a moment, my heart sank. As I approached, they all took flight, and the handful of grain that had drawn them scattered in their wind. Swift noticed the relief on my face. He took the whistle from his lips and looked up at me.

“You thought I was using the Wit to draw them in, and it scared you,” he observed.

I made myself pause before answering him. “I was frightened for a moment,” I agreed. “But not at the idea you might be using your Wit. Rather I feared that you were trying to establish a bond with one of them.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. Not with a bird. I've touched minds with birds, and my thoughts glance off their minds like a stone skipping on moving water.” Then he smiled condescendingly and added, “Not that I expect you to understand what I mean.”

I reined myself to silence. Eventually I asked him, “Did you finish reading the scroll about King Slayer and the acquisition of Bearns?”

He nodded and we proceeded with the day's lessons, but his attitude still vexed me. I vented it on the practice court, insisting that he pick up an axe and try his strength against me before I would let him go to his bow lesson. The axes were heavier than I recalled, and even with the heads well muffled in leather wraps, the bruises from such a session are formidable. When he could no longer hold the weapon aloft, I let him go to Cresswell for his bow lesson. Then I punished myself for taking out my temper on the boy by finding a new partner, one seasoned to the axe. When I was well and truly aware of just how rusty my skills were, I left the courts and went briefly to the steams.