I had never heard Verity speak like this, his voice so even but so fraught with emotion. I kept silent.
"You think I should punish him. I could. I need not prove his wrongdoing to make life unpleasant for him. I could send him as emissary to Cold Bay, on some contrived errand, and keep him there, in uncomfortable conditions, far from court. I could all but banish him. Or I could keep him here at court, but so load him with unpleasant duties that he has no time for that which amuses him. He would understand he was being punished. So would every noble with half a wit. Those who sympathize with him would rally to his defense. The Inland Duchies could contrive some emergency in his mother's land that demanded the presence of her son. Once there, he could build further support for himself. He might very well be able to foment the civil unrest he sought before, and found an inland kingdom loyal only to him. Even if he did not achieve that end, he could cause enough unrest to steal the unity I must have if I am to defend our kingdom."
He stopped speaking. He lifted his eyes and glanced around the room. I followed his gaze. The walls were hung with his maps. There was Bearns, there was Shoaks, and here was Rippon. On the opposite wall, Buck, Farrow, and Tilth. All done in Verity's precise hand, every river blue-inked, every town named. Here were his Six Duchies. He knew them as Regal never would. He had ridden those roads, helped set the markers of those boundaries. Following Chivalry, he had treated with the folk who bordered our lands. He had swung a sword in defense of it, and known when to set down that sword and negotiate a peace. Who was I to be telling him how to rule at home?
"What will you do?" I asked quietly.
"Keep him. He is my brother. And my father's son." He poured himself more wine. "My father's most cherished; youngest son. I have gone to my father, the King, and suggested that Regal might be more content with his lot if he had more to do with the running of the kingdom. King Shrewd has consented to this. I expect to be much occupied with defending our land from the Red-Ships. So to Regal will fall the task of raising the revenues we shall need, and he will also be dealing with any other internal crises that may arise. With a circle of nobles to assist him, of course. He is full welcome to deal with their bickering and dissensions."
"And Regal is content with this?"
Verity smiled a thin smile. "He cannot say he is not. Not if he wishes to keep the image of a young man adept at ruling and but waiting for opportunity to prove himself." He lifted his wineglass and turned to stare into the fire. The only sound in the room was the snapping of the flames as they consumed the wood. "When you come to me tomorrow," he began.
"Tomorrow I must have for myself," I told him.
He set down his wineglass and turned to look at me. "Must you?" he asked in an odd tone.
I looked up and met his eyes. I swallowed. I brought myself to my feet. "My prince," I began formally. "I would ask your kind permission to be excused from duties tomorrow, that I might… pursue errands of my own."
He let me stand for a moment. Then: "Oh, sit down, Fitz. Petty. I suppose that was petty of me. Thinking of Regal puts me in such a frame of mind. Certainly you can have the day, boy. If anyone asks, you are on my business. Might I ask what this urgent errand is?"
I looked into the fire at the leaping flames. "My friend was living in Siltbay. I need to find out—"
"Oh, Fitz." There was more sympathy in Verity's voice than I could withstand.
A sudden wave of weariness washed over me. I was glad to sit again. My hands began to tremble. I put them below the table and clasped them to still them. I still felt the tremors, but at least no one could see my weakness now.
He cleared his throat. "Go to your room and rest," he said kindly. "Do you want a man to ride with you to Siltbay tomorrow?"
I shook my head dumbly, suddenly and miserably certain of what I would discover. The thought made me sick. Another shudder went through me. I tried to breathe slowly, to calm myself and edge back from the fit that threatened. I could not abide the thought of shaming myself that way before Verity.
"Shame to me, not you, to have ignored how ill you have been." He had arisen silently. He set his glass of wine before me. "The damage you took was taken for me. I am appalled by what I allowed to befall you."
I forced myself to meet Verity's eyes. He knew all that I tried to conceal. Knew it, and was miserable with guilt.
"It is not often this bad," I offered him.
He smiled at me, but his eyes did not change. "You are an excellent liar, Fitz. Do not think your training has gone awry. But you cannot lie to a man who has been with you as much as I have, not just these last few days, but often during your illness. If any other man says to you, `I know just how you feel,' you may regard it as a politeness. But from me accept it as truth. And I know that with you it is as it is with Burrich. I shall not offer you the pick of the colts a few months hence. I do offer you my arm, if you wish it, to get back to your room."
"I can manage," I said stiffly. I was aware of how he honored me, but also of how plainly he saw my weakness. I wanted to be alone, to hide myself.
He nodded, understanding. "Would that you had mastered the Skill. I could offer you strength, just as I have too often taken it from you."
"I could not," I muttered, unable to mask how distasteful I would find the drawing off of another man's strength to replace my own. I instantly regretted the moment of shame I saw in my prince's eyes.
"I, too, could once speak with such pride," he said quietly. "Go get some rest, boy." He turned slowly aside from me. He busied himself setting out his inks and his vellum once more. I left quietly.
We had been closeted for the whole day. Outside, it was full dark. The castle had the settled air of a winter's evening. The tables cleared, the folk would be gathered about the hearths in the Great Hall. Minstrels might be singing, or a puppeteer moving his gangly charges through a story. Some folk would watch while fletching arrows, some would be plying needles, children would be spinning tops or matching markers or drowsing against their parents' knees or shoulders. All was secure. Outside, the winter storms blew and kept us safe.
I walked with a drunkard's caution, avoiding the common areas where folk had gathered for the evening. I folded my arms and hunched my shoulders as if chilled, and so stilled the trembling in my arms. I climbed the first flight of stairs slowly, as if lost in thought. On the landing I permitted myself to pause for a count of ten, then forced myself to begin the next flight.
But as I set my foot to the first step, Lacey came bounding down. A plump woman more than a score of years older than myself, she still moved down the steps with a child's skipping gait. As she reached the bottom she seized me with a cry of "There you are!" as if I were a pair of shears she'd misplaced from her sewing basket. She clutched my arm firmly and turned me toward the hall. "I've been up and down those stairs a dozen times today if I've been once. My, you've gotten taller. Lady Patience has not been at all herself and it's your fault. At first she expected you to tap on the door any moment. She was so pleased you were finally home." She paused to look up at me with her bright bird eyes. "That was this morning," she confided. Then: "You have been ill! Such circles under your eyes."