“Sometimes children are found to have the Skill, with no apparent link to the Farseer bloodline. She might have received it from Molly or Burrich.”
“Yet none of her brothers have it,” I pointed out.
Chade slapped the table in frustration. “I have said it before. You are too cautious, Fitz. ‘What if this, what if that?’ You hide from trouble that may never knock at our door. What if Nettle did discover that a Farseer had fathered her? Would that be so terrible?”
“If she came to court, and found herself not only a bastard, but the bastard of a Witted Farseer? Yes. What of her fine husband and genteel future then? What does it do to her brothers and to Molly and Burrich, to have to face that past? Nor can you have Nettle here without Burrich coming to see her, to be sure she is well. I know I have changed, but my scars are no disguise to Burrich, nor are my years. If he saw me, he’d know me, and it would destroy him. Or would you try to keep secrets from him, tell Nettle that she must never tell her mother and father that she is taught the Skill, let alone that a man with a broken nose and a scar down his face teaches her? No, Chade. Better she stays where she is, weds a young farmer she loves, and lives a settled life.”
“That sounds very bucolic for her,” Chade observed heavily. “I’m sure that any daughter of yours would be delighted with such a sedate and settled life.” Sarcasm dripped from his words until he demanded, “But what of her duty to her prince? What of Dutiful’s need for a coterie?”
“I’ll find you someone else,” I promised recklessly. “Someone just as strong as she is, but not related to me. Not tarnished with any complications.”
“Somehow I doubt that such candidates will be easy to find.” He scowled suddenly. “Or have you encountered such others, and not seen fit to tell me of them?”
I noticed he did not offer himself. I let that sleeping dog lie. “Chade, I swear to you, I know of no other Skill candidates. Only Thick.”
“Ah. Then he is the one you will train?”
Chade’s question was flippant, an attempt to make me admit there were no other real candidates. I knew Chade expected a flat refusal from me. Thick hated and feared me, and was dim-witted besides. A less desirable Skill student I could not imagine. Except for Nettle. And perhaps one other. Desperation forced the next words from my tongue. “There might be one other.”
“And you haven’t told me?” He trembled at the edge of rage.
“I wasn’t sure. I’m still not sure. I’ve only recently begun to wonder about him myself. I met him years ago. And he may be as dangerous to train as Thick, or even more so. For not only has he strong opinions of his own, but he is Witted.”
“His name?” It was a demand, not a request.
I took a breath and stepped off the precipice. “Black Rolf.”
Chade scowled. He squinted, rummaging through the attics of his mind. “The man who offered to teach you the Wit? You encountered him on the way to the Mountains?”
“Yes. That’s the one.” Chade had been present when I had offered Kettricken my painfully complete account of my travels across the Six Duchies to find her. “He used the Wit in ways I’d never seen it used. He alone seemed to almost know what Nighteyes and I said privately to one another. No other Witted one has shown me that ability. Some could tell when we used the Wit, if we were not extremely careful, but did not seem to understand what we said to one another. Rolf did. Even at the times when we tried to keep it secret from him, I always suspected that he knew more than he let on. He could have been using the Wit to find us, and the Skill to listen to my thoughts.”
“Wouldn’t you have felt it?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t. So perhaps I am mistaken. Nor am I eager to seek out Rolf to discover the truth of it.”
“In any case, you could not. I’m sorry to tell you that he died three years ago. He took a fever, and his end was swift.”
I stood still, stunned as much by the news as by the fact that Chade knew it. I found my way to a chair and sat down. Grief did not flood me. My relationship with Black Rolf had always been a fractious one. But there was regret. He was gone. I wondered how Holly managed without him, and how Hilda his bear had endured his passing. For a time I stared at the wall, seeing a small house far away. “How did you know?” I managed at last.
“Oh, come, Fitz. You reported about him to the Queen. And I’d heard his name from you before, when you were delirious and raving with fever from the infection in your back. I knew he was significant. I keep track of significant people.”
