Time to go check on the Fool. I went to the window and looked out. I felt as if it should be late afternoon bordering on evening. Too much had happened already today. Kettricken was Witted. She was interested in Bee. Web wanted me to adopt a crow. I was to be a grandfather, possibly the grandfather of a Narcheska. And Riddle believed I was a failure as a father and wished to take my child from me. As I turned to head toward the stairs, Nettle tugged on my thoughts.
Riddle told me. No point in pretending I did not know. She would feel the current of concern in my thoughts.
I knew he would, though I wish he had left it to me. Something about manly honor. Did you shout at him? Tell him he had shamed me and therefore you?
Of course not! Her prickly sarcasm stung me. Need I remind you that I am a bastard and know what it is to be seen as my father’s shame?
Which is why you have always denied me entirely.
I … what? I never denied you. Had I? Uncertainty flavored my thoughts. Memories flooded in. I had. Oh, yes, I had. Only to protect you, I amended. Times were harsher then. To be not just the Bastard’s daughter, but the child of the Witted Bastard, possibly possessing that dirty magic … some folk would have seen fit to kill you.
So you let Burrich claim me.
He kept you safe.
He did. Her words were relentless. And it kept you safe, when you chose to pretend you were dead. It kept the Farseer reputation safe, too. No inconvenient bastards to muddle the line of succession. Safe. As if “safe” were more important than anything else.
I hemmed my thoughts tightly from her. I was not sure what she was trying to tell me, but I was certain of one thing. I didn’t want to hear it.
Well, my child will know who her parents are! And she will know who her grandparents were! I will see to that, I will give her that, and no one will ever be able to take it away from her!
Nettle, I— But she was gone. I didn’t reach after her. There was another daughter I had failed. I’d let her grow up believing she was the daughter of another man. I’d let her mother and Burrich believe I was dead. I’d told myself, all those years, that I was keeping her safe. But she had felt denied. And abandoned.
I thought of my own father, as I seldom did. I’d never even looked in his eyes. What had I felt, that he had abandoned me in Buckkeep to the care of his stablemaster? I stared at nothing. Why had I done the same to my elder daughter?
Bee. It wasn’t too late for me to be a good father to her. I knew where I should be right now, and if I used the Skill-pillar, I could be there before nightfall. It was a little dangerous, but hadn’t I risked more than that bringing the Fool through? It would be days before I dared risk any more healing on him. I should go home, gather Bee, and bring her back to Buckkeep. Not to give her up to Nettle, not for us to stay here, but to have her by me while I had to be here to tend the Fool. It made sense. It was what I should do.
The upper chamber was dark save for the reddish light from the fire. The Fool sat in the chair in front of it. I bit my tongue before I could ask him why he was sitting in the dark. He turned his face toward me as I approached. “There’s a message for you. On the table.”
“Thank you.”
“A young man brought it. I’m afraid that when he walked in, I was half-asleep. I screamed. I don’t know which of us was more terrified.” His voice reached for a note of mockery, and failed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to rein in my wayward thoughts. There was no sense in sharing my anguish with him. There was nothing he could do to help me, except feel ashamed that he had pulled me away from my child.
I made myself focus on his string of anxious words.
“And now I’m afraid to go back to sleep. I didn’t think of other people coming and going from here. I don’t know how it could have escaped me. I know they must. But I can’t stop thinking about them. What if they talk to others? People will know I’m hiding here. It won’t be safe.”
“I’m going to light some candles,” I told him. I did not say that I needed to see his face because I could not tell how serious he was. As I kindled the first one, I asked him, “How are you feeling? Better than yesterday?”
“I can’t tell, Fitz. I can’t tell yesterday from early this morning. I can’t tell early this morning from midnight. It’s all the same for me, here in the dark. You come and you go. I have food, I shit, I sleep. And I’m frightened. I suppose that means that I’m better. I remember when all I could think about was how badly every part of my body hurt. Now the pain has subsided to where I can think about how scared I am.”