He shook his head wildly. His pale hair had grown a bit longer but did not have enough substance to lie down, and the slight motion made it wave about. “No. I can’t. Fitz, I can’t.” He took a deep breath. He stared at me, misery written on his face. Reluctantly he added, “And so I must. I know I must begin. Soon.”
I replied slowly, “Indeed, you must.” I waited calmly.
“Tomorrow,” he said at last. “Tomorrow we will go together to visit Chade.” He took a deep breath. “And now I am off to bed.”
“No,” I said pleasantly. “It isn’t night and as I’ve nothing to do right now, I’m determined that you will stay awake and talk with me.” I walked over to the curtained and shuttered windows. I drew back the drapery and then opened wide the old-fashioned internal shutters. Winter daylight streamed in through the thick, whorled glass. “It’s a wild day out there. Storm over the water is blowing the spray and every wave is tipped with white.”
He rose and took slow, careful steps, his hand groping the air before him. He felt for me, then linked his arm through mine and stared out sightlessly. “I can see light. And I feel the chill off the glass. I remember this view.” He suddenly smiled. “The wall is sheer below this window, is it not?”
“It is. Unclimbable.” I stood there until he suddenly sighed and I felt some of the tension leave him. An idea came to me. “Do you remember my foster son, Hap?”
“I never knew him well, but I recall him.”
“He has come to Buckkeep. To mourn Bee. I have not had much time with him, indeed I’ve scarcely spoken to him. I’ve a mind to ask him to sing for me tonight. Some of the old songs and some of Bee’s favorites.”
“Music can be very easing to pain.”
“I’m going to ask him to come here.”
His arm tightened on mine. After a moment, he said faintly, “Very well.”
“And perhaps Kettricken would join us.”
He inhaled unevenly. “I suppose that might be pleasant.” His hand gripped a fold of my sleeve and held it tight.
“I am sure it will be.”
And the lift of heart I felt surprised me. Patience had once counseled me that the best way to stop pitying myself was to do something for someone else. Perhaps I had accidentally discovered what I would do with my life for at least a short time: bring the Fool out of his terror-stricken state and back to a life in which he had some small pleasures. If I could accomplish that, it might ease my conscience a bit when it came time for me to go. So I spent an hour with him planning for the evening’s gathering. Ash was happy to be sent off to the kitchen to request refreshments, and then to seek out Hap and convey my request. An additional errand sent him down to the old stables to find Perseverance and bring the crow up to the Fool’s rooms. When I finally left the Fool’s room, I encountered the two boys coming up the stairs, the crow riding on Per’s arm as if she were a hawk, and the lads deep in conversation. I decided that introducing Per into Ash’s small circle of friends would do all of them good.
I moved slowly down the corridor toward my new room. Hap would meet me there. I felt a sharp stab of remorse. What was wrong with me? Arranging a party in the Fool’s room just days after Bee was lost. My mourning came back like the rising wind that comes before a squall and swept through me, freezing my heart. I mourned but it was the uncertain mourning of one with no proof of death. She had been gone since Winterfest. Lost to me for much longer than a few days.
I searched my heart. Did I truly believe she was dead? She was gone, as Verity was gone from Kettricken. Unreachable and unseen. Somewhere out in the Skill-current that I could no longer navigate, threads of her might linger. I wondered if she would connect somehow with Verity; if her grandfather King Shrewd would know those threads as kin.
A pretty fancy, I chided myself. A childish comfort to offer myself. It had been so hard to believe in Molly’s death. Time would erase my doubts. Bee was gone. The rest of the day passed in drops of time. Hap came to me, and wept into his hands, and showed me the gift he’d been carrying for Bee since the end of summer. It was a doll with a wrinkled apple head and twiggy little hands. I thought it both grotesque and oddly charming with its crooked smile and seashell eyes. He gave it to me and I set it on the stand by my bed. I wondered if I could sleep with it watching me.
That night, in the Fool’s room, he sang the songs Bee had loved best, the old songs, the counting songs, the silly songs that had made her laugh with delight. The crow bobbed her head in time and once shouted, “Again, again!” Kettricken sat beside the Fool and held his bony hand. We had ginger cakes and elderberry wine. A bit too much wine perhaps. Hap congratulated me on becoming a prince instead of a Witted Bastard, and I congratulated him on being a famous minstrel instead of an odd-eyed Red-Ship bastard. At the time it seemed terribly funny to us two, but Ash stared at us in horror and Perseverance, who had somehow been invited, looked insulted on my behalf.
