She turned to Lord Golden. Her voice pleaded. “We returned with aid as swiftly as we could. It is not the fault of Old Blood that they must live scattered and silent. From farm to cottage we rode, gathering those of influence who were willing to speak sense to Laudwine. It was hard, for that is not the Old Blood way. Each man is supposed to rule himself, each household have its own integrity. Few wanted to stand over Laudwine and demand he do what was right.” Her gaze left Lord Golden and traveled over the others gathered there. “To those of you who came, I give great thanks. And if you would let me, I would make your names known to the Queen, so she would know where her debt lies.”
“And where to bring the rope and the sword?” the healer asked quietly. “Times are not yet kind enough for names to be given, Laurel. We have yours. If we need the Queen's ear, we can seek her out through you.”
Those they had gathered were Old Blood folk, but they did not style themselves Piebalds, nor did they condone the latter's ways. They cleaved to the old teachings, Deerkin told Lord Golden earnestly. It shamed him that for a time he had followed Laudwine. Anger had made him do it, he swore, not a desire to master animals and turn them to his own purposes as the Piebalds did. He had seen too many of his own folk hung and quartered these last two years. It was enough to turn any man's reason, but he had seen the error of his ways, thank Eda. And thanks to Laurel, and he hoped his cousin would forgive him the cruelty of their childhood years.
The conversation lapped against me like the rhythmic washing of waves. I tried to stay awake and make sense of his words, but we were so weary, my wolf and I. Nighteyes lay beside me and I could not separate where his pain ended and mine began. I did not care. Even if pain had been all we could share anymore, I would have taken it gladly. We still had one another.
The Prince was not so fortunate. I rolled my head to look at him, but he slept on, his breath sighing in and out as if even in his dreams, he grieved.
I felt myself wavering in and out of awareness. The wolf's heavy sleep tugged at me, a pleasant lure. Sleep is thegreat healer, Burrich had always told me. I prayed he had been right. As if they were the notes of faroff music, I sensed Nighteyes' dreams of hunting, but I could not yet give in to my longing to share them. The Fool might be confident of Laurel and Deerkin and their fellows, but I was not. I would keep watch, I promised myself. I would keep watch.
In my seeming sleep, I shifted to observe them. I idly marked that though Laurel sat between Lord Golden and Deerkin, she sat closer to the noble than she did to her own cousin. The talk had moved closer to negotiation than explanation. I listened keenly to Lord Golden 's measured and reasonable words.
“I fear you do not completely understand Queen Kettricken's position. I cannot, of course, presume to speak for her. I am but a guest at the Farseer court, a newcomer and a foreigner at that. Yet perhaps these very limitations let me see more clearly what familiarity blinds you to. The crown and the Farseer name will not shield Prince Dutiful from persecution as a Witted one. Rather they will be as oil thrown on a fire; it will immolate him. You admit Queen Kettricken has done far more than any of her predecessors to outlaw persecution of your people. But if she reveals that her son is Witted, not only may both he and she be thrown down from power, but her very efforts to shelter your folk will be seen as a suspicious attempt to shield her own blood.”
“Queen Kettricken has outlawed putting us to death simply for being 'Witted,' that is true,” Deerkin replied. “But it does not mean we have stopped dying. The reality is obvious. Those who seek to kill us all fabricate injuries and invent supposed wrongs we have done to them. One man lies, another swears to it, and an Old Blood father or sister is hanged and quartered and burnt. Perhaps if the Queen sees the same threat to her son that my father sees to his, she will take greater action on our behalf.”
Behind Deerkin, a man gave a slow nod.
Lord Golden spread his hands gracefully. “I will do what I can, I assure you. The Queen will hear a full accounting of all you did to save her son. Laurel too is more than a simple Huntswoman to Queen Kettricken. She is friend and confidante, as well. She will tell the Queen all you did to recover her son. More, I cannot do. I cannot make promises for Queen Kettricken.”
The man who had nodded behind Deerkin leaned forward. He touched him on the shoulder, a “go on” nudge.
Then he leaned back and waited. Deerkin looked uncomfortable for a moment. Then he cleared his voice andspoke. “We will be watching the Queen and listening forwhat she will say to her nobles. We know better thanany the threat that Prince Dutiful would face, were itknown that he has Old Blood in his veins. They are thedangers that our brothers and sisters face every day. Wewould that our own were not at jeopardy. If the Queen seesfit to stretch forth her hand and shield our folk from persecution, then Old Blood will shield her son's secret. But ifshe ignores our situation, if a blind eye is turned to thebloodshed . . . well ...”
