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

I couldn’t. Not right now.

He was slow to quiet and even when his sobs ceased, the breath shuddered in and out of him. After a time, he patted my wrist tentatively and said, “I think I’m all right now.”

“You aren’t. But you will be.”

“Oh, Fitz,” he said. He pulled away from me and sat up as straight as he could. He coughed and cleared his throat. “What of your message? The lad said it was important.”

“Oh, it is and it isn’t. The queen wishes us to be dressed in our finest for the last night of Winterfest revelry, and that means I must make a trip down to Buckkeep Town to secure some clothing.” I scowled to myself as I reflected I would have to go as Lord Feldspar in his awful garb. But not in those shoes. Oh, no. I wasn’t walking on icy cobbles in those shoes.

“Well. You’d best be on your way, then.”

“I should,” I agreed reluctantly. I didn’t want to leave him alone in his darkness. Yet I didn’t want to stay where his despondency could infect me. I had come up the stairs thinking that I could safely confide Nettle’s news to him. For a moment, I had seen him as the friend and counselor he was in our youth. Now the news was ash on my tongue. Here was another Farseer he had not foreseen. His talk of deformed babies had chilled me; how could I tell him my first grandchild was expected? It might plunge him into yet another dark spiral. Worse would be to tell him I had to be gone for six to eight days. I could not leave him to fetch Bee. But I could agree to having her brought here. I would talk to Kettricken about it tomorrow. Together we would arrange it.

You do your duty to your friends. How often had Nighteyes sat beside me when I sought to lose myself in futile Skilling attempts? How often had Hap staggered me back to the cabin and deliberately given me less than the amount of stunning drugs I’d commanded him to fetch? I did not even want to think of the weeks, and then months, Burrich had spent trying to help me make the transition back from wolf to human. My friends had not abandoned me, and I would not abandon the Fool.

But he could still abandon me. And he did. He levered himself up from the table. “You should go and do your errand, Fitz,” he said. He turned and almost as if he were sighted walked back to the bed.

As he clambered into it and drew up the blankets I asked him, “Are you certain you want to be alone now?”

He did not reply. And after a time I realized he wasn’t going to. I felt unreasonably hurt at this. A dozen scathing comments went unsaid by me. He had no idea of what I had given up for him. Then the moment of anger passed and I was grateful I had not spoken. I never wanted him to know what I had sacrificed for him.

And there was nothing left for me to do but my duty. I went down the stairs, freshened my appearance as Feldspar, and defiantly put my own boots back on.

Winterfest might celebrate the lengthening of the days but it did not mean that we were on the road to spring. Yesterday’s clouds had snowed themselves to nothing. The sky overhead was as deep and pure a blue as a Buck lady’s skirts, but more clouds clustered on the horizon. Frost coated the festive garlands that festooned the shopfronts. The packed snow on the street squeaked under my boots. The cold had subdued the holiday spirit, but scattered vendors of winter sweets and toys still shouted their wares to hasty passersby. I passed a miserable donkey with icy whiskers, and a hot-chestnut vendor who could barely keep his brazier lit. He warmed his hands over his wares, and I bought a dozen just to carry them in my chilled fingers. Overhead, the gulls wheeled and screamed as they always did. Crows were noisily mobbing a tardy owl they had found. By the time I reached the street of the tailors, my drunkard’s nose was as red from the cold as Chade could ever have wished. My cheeks were stiff and my lashes clung together briefly each time I blinked. I gathered my cloak more closely around myself and hoped that the new clothing that awaited me was not as foolish as what I was wearing.

I had just located the correct shop when I heard a voice call, “Tom! Tom! Tom!”

I remembered in time that I was Lord Feldspar. So I did not turn, but a boy on the street shouted to his friends, “Look, it’s a talking crow! He said ‘Tom.’ ”

That gave me the excuse to turn and look where the lad was pointing. Perched on a signboard across the street was a bedraggled crow. It looked at me and screamed shrilly, “Tom, Tom!”

Before I could react, another crow dived on it, pecking and flapping and cawing. In response to that attack, a dozen more birds appeared as if from nowhere to join in the mobbing. As the beleaguered bird took flight, I caught a glimpse of white pinions among her black ones. To my horror, one of the other crows struck her in midair. She tumbled in her flight and then in her desperation took refuge under the eaves of a nearby shop. Two of her attackers made passes but could not reach her. The others settled down on nearby rooftops to wait. With the instincts of all bullies, they knew that eventually she would have to emerge.