Once out in the light, I was not pleased to find the leggings were a dark green and the shirt a buttery yellow. It was no more garish than what I had seen folk wearing earlier, though I could scarcely blend with the guests at this Scarlet Ball. I resolutely set the worry aside and struck off down the hall, walking casually yet purposefully to seek for a door that was larger and more ornate than the others.
I boldly tried the first one I came to, and found it unlocked. I entered, only to find myself in a room with an immense harp and several other musical instruments set out as if awaiting minstrels.
A variety of cushioned chairs and couches filled the rest of the room. The paintings were all of songbirds. I shook my head, baffled at the endless riches of this one house. I continued my search.
My nervousness made the hall stretch out endlessly before me. I forced myself to walk in an unhurried and confident manner. I passed door after door, cautiously sampling a few. Those on my left seemed to be bedchambers, while those on my right were larger rooms, libraries and dining rooms and the like. Instead of wall sconces, the hall was lit with shielded candles. The wall hangings were richly colored, and at intervals niches held vases of flowers or small statuary. I could not help but contrast it to the stark stone walls of Buckkeep. I wondered how many warships would have been built and manned with the coin that instead went to ornament this finely feathered nest. My anger fed my competence. I would find Regal’s chamber.
I passed three more doors, then came to one that looked promising. It was a double door, of golden oak, and the oak tree that was the symbol of Farrow was inlaid upon it. I set my ear briefly to the door and heard nothing. Cautiously I tried the burnished handle; the door was latched. My sheath knife was a crude tool for this type of work. Sweat soaked the yellow shirt to my back before the catch yielded to my efforts. I eased the door open and slipped inside, quickly locking it behind me.
This was certainly Regal’s chamber. Not his bedchamber, no, but his nonetheless. I went through it swiftly. There were no less than four tall wardrobes, two on each side wall with a tall looking glass between each set. The ornately carved door of one wardrobe was ajar; or possibly the press of the clothing from within would not allow it to be fully closed. Other garments hung on hooks and racks about the room or were draped on chairs. A set of locked drawers in a small chest probably held jewelry. The looking glass between the wardrobes was framed by two branches of candles, now burned low in their holders. Two small censers for Smoke were set to either side of one chair that faced yet another mirror. Behind and to one side of the chair, a table held brushes, combs, pots of pomade, and vials of perfume. A narrow twining of gray fumes still rose from one of the censers. I wrinkled my nose against the sweet odor of it, and went to work.
Fitz. What do you do? The faintest query from Verity.
Justice. I put no more than a breath of Skill onto the thought. I was not sure if it was my own or Verity’s apprehension that I suddenly felt. I brushed it aside and turned to my task.
It was frustrating. There was little here that was a sure vehicle for my poisons. I could treat the pomade, but I was more likely to kill whoever dressed his hair for him than Regal. The censers held mostly ash. Anything I placed there would probably be dumped with the ash. The corner hearth was swept clean for the summer and there was no supply of wood. Patience, I told myself. His bedchamber could not be far, and opportunities would be better there. For now, I treated the bristles of his hairbrush with one of my more potent concoctions and used what was left to dip as many of his earrings as I could. The last drops I added to his vials of scent but with small hope that be would apply enough to kill himself. For the scented handkerchiefs folded in his drawer, I had the white spore of the death angel mushroom to beguile his hours until death with hallucinations. I took greater pleasure in dusting the insides of four sets of gloves with deadroot powder. This was the poison Regal had used on me in the Mountains, and the most likely source of the seizures that had plagued me intermittently since then. I hoped he would find his own falling fits as amusing as he had mine. I selected three of his shirts that I thought he would favor, and treated their collars and cuffs as well. There was no wood in the hearth, but I had a poison that blended well with the traces of ash and soot left on the brick. I sprinkled it generously and hoped that when they set a fire upon it, the burning fumes might reach Regal’s nose. I had just returned my poison to my pouch when I heard a key turn the door latch.
I stepped silently around the corner of a wardrobe and stood there. My knife was already in my hand, waiting. A deadly calm had settled on me. I breathed silently, waiting, hoping fortune had brought Regal to me. Instead, it was another guardsman in Regal’s colors. The man pushed into the room and cast a quick glance about. His irritation showed in his face as he impatiently said, “It was locked. There’s no one in here.” I waited for his partner to reply, but he was alone. He stood still a moment, then sighed and walked over to the open wardrobe. “Foolishness. I’m wasting time up here while he’s going to get away,” he muttered to himself, but he drew his sword and carefully prodded about the interior behind the clothes.
As he leaned to reach deeper into the wardrobe’s interior, I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror opposite me. My guts turned to water, and then hatred blazed up in me. I had no name for this one, but his mocking face had been forever etched into my memory. He had been part of Regal’s personal guard, and had stood by to witness my death.
I think he saw my reflection at the same time I saw his. I did not give him time to react, but sprang on him from behind. The blade of his sword was still tangled inside Regal’s wardrobe when my knife punched low into his belly. I clamped my forearm across his throat to give me leverage as I dragged up on the knife, gutting him like a fish. His mouth gaped open to scream, and I let go my knife to slap my hand over his mouth. I held him a moment as his entrails bulged out of the gash I’d made. When I let him go, he went down, his unvoiced bellow turned to a groan. He’d not let go of his sword, so I stamped on his hand, breaking his fingers around its hilt. He rolled slightly to one side, to stare up at me in agony and shock. I went down on one knee beside him, put my face close to his.
“FitzChivalry,” I said quietly, meeting his eyes, making sure he knew. “FitzChivalry.” For the second time that night, I cut a throat. It scarcely needed doing. I wiped my knife on his sleeve as he died. As I stood, I felt two things. Disappointment that he had died so swiftly. And a sensation as if a harp string had been plucked, letting out a sound I felt rather than heard.
In the next instant, I felt a wave of Skill inundate me. It was laden with terror, but this time I recognized it for what it was and knew its source. I stood firm before it, my defenses strong. I almost felt it part and go around me. Yet I sensed that even that act was read by someone, somewhere. I did not wonder who. Will felt the shape of my resistance. I felt the echo of his surge of triumph. For a moment it froze me with panic. Then I was moving, sheathing my knife, rising to slip out the door and into the still-empty hallway. I had but a short time to find a new hiding place. Will had been riding with the guardsman’s mind, had seen that chamber and me just as clearly as the dying man had. Like the sounding of horns, I could sense him Skilling out, setting the guards in motion as if he were setting dogs to a fox’s trail.
As I fled, a part of me knew with undeniable certainty that I was dead. I might be able to hide myself for a time, but Will knew I was within the mansion. All he had to do was block off every exit and begin a systematic search. I raced down a hall, turned a corner, and went up a staircase there. I held my Skill walls firm and clutched my tiny plan to myself as if it were a precious gem. I would find Regal’s chambers and poison everything there. Then I would go seeking Regal himself. If the guards discovered me first, well, I’d lead them a merry chase. They couldn’t kill me. Not with all the poison I was carrying. I’d take my own life first. It wasn’t much of a plan, but the only alternative was surrendering.