Fool's Quest (The Fitz and The Fool Trilogy #2)

“Don’t I know it. My only hope of mercy is to have her small sister with me.”

The smiles we exchanged were tense. We might jest about it but we both knew that Nettle’s anger was going to be a very real storm we’d have to weather. In some dim corner of my mind, I suspected her anger would be justified. I knew that my charging off to save Bee could be seen as foolhardy; what could one man do against a band of mercenaries? I was not directly disobeying my king, I excused myself. I’d stopped arguing before Dutiful felt he had to absolutely command me to follow his plan. I could not trust a band of guardsmen to rescue my child. I could not stand idly and wait for her to be restored to me.

And so I’d defied my king. But now I had three followers, two of them noblemen, and somehow that seemed very different to me. As it well might to King Dutiful. A lone kinsman disobeying his king is one thing; this appeared closer to a mutiny. I cast a sidelong glance at Riddle. In the set line of his jaw and pinched lips, I read much the same sentiments. He spoke without looking at me. “Not far past that ferry, there’s a cart track that goes up toward summer pasturage. If we leave the road there and follow the track, we can probably overnight in the shepherds’ huts in the hills before we push on toward Salter’s Deep.”

“Or not spend the night. Just push on,” I suggested.

“Leave the road?” Lant asked in dismay.

Riddle has always had a talent for sharing a glance without being obvious. He spoke kindly to Lant. “I think you should turn back now. Take the boy with you. If you must, ride with Foxglove tomorrow. If we’re riding into direct conflict, then four of us are not enough to do battle with a mercenary troop. It’s more likely Fitz and I will be doing something more … covert. And in that situation, two of us are less visible than four of us with five horses.”

Lant said nothing. I wondered where his true inclination lay. He had to be in moderate pain still. Which hurt worse, his injured pride that he had done nothing when Bee and Shine were taken, or the wound to his body? And how much did he dread encountering Shine not as her suitor but as her brother? I think he was on the point of turning back when Perseverance spoke.

“You can go back if you need to, Scribe Lant. No one would blame you. But I can’t go with you. When we find Bee, she will want her horse. And as she was in my care when I lost her, I have to be the one to bring her back.” He looked at me and perhaps realized he had been less than tactful. “Or at least, I have to be one of the ones who is there,” he added lamely.

The ferryman spoke. “You want to cross or not?”

“I do,” I said. I dismounted. He held out his hand and I dropped my fare into it. I led Fleeter. Her hooves thudded on the timbers of the landing. She eyed the gap between it and the ferry, but when I stepped across, she followed me. The ferry bobbed slightly at our weight and I led her to the center of the flat vessel. I didn’t look back at any of them. I hoped they would all turn back.

But then I heard Riddle speaking to his mount and felt the mild lurch as they boarded. Perseverance led both of his horses. Priss was unhappy and jigged a bit, but he spoke to her and his own mount boarded calmly. “I’m with them,” he said to the ferryman, and he let him pass without paying. I allowed myself one glance back.

Lant was shaking his head. Then he sighed. “I’m coming,” he said, and gave the ferryman his coins. He boarded with his horse, and the ship’s lad cast off the lines.

I watched the water and the far shore. The current pushed and surged against the vessel, but the ferryman and his boys moved us steadily across the river. Fleeter stood steady but Priss was white-eyed, tugging on her reins.

Riddle led his horse to stand beside me.

As the ferry approached the far bank, Riddle spoke to Lant. “Our horses are swifter and we can’t wait for you and the lad,” he said bluntly. “You can follow, or you can go back to Buckkeep. But we can’t wait. Ready, Fitz?”

I was already swinging back up into Fleeter’s saddle. “I’m ready,” I replied.

“Wait!” Perseverance cried out, and I felt disloyal as I shook my head. Lant said something that I didn’t catch but I heard Riddle say to him, “Follow as you can, then,” and we were off, our horses lunging up from ferry to landing, and off we went through the tiny settlement, hooves clattering on icy cobbles. Beyond the little cluster of houses, a cart track diverged from the main road. Fleeter did not wait for me to guide her. She diverted, stretching into first a lope and then a gallop. The roan had been waiting for this all afternoon, and having the nose of Riddle’s horse at my stirrup only urged her on. The packed snow of the wagon tracks gave both horses good purchase and my cheeks began to burn from the wind.