“Yes. I tried to get through to him any number of times. I've even tried to borrow Skill strength from him, that time in the mountains. Nothing. He's opaque. Even Nettle has tried to get into his dreams, and she cannot. Whatever Chivalry did to Burrich, he did thoroughly.”
“Interesting. We should try to rediscover how Chivalry sealed him. If ever we need to eliminate Thick's Skill as a threat, that might be one way to do it. Seal him.” Chade spoke the words in his considering way, with no thought that anyone might find them offensive.
“Enough!” the Prince snapped at him, and we both flinched, surprised at his intensity. He crossed his arms on his chest and shook his head. “You two sit here like puppeteers and consider from afar other peoples' lives and how you will manipulate them.” He swung his gaze slowly from Chade to me, forcing both of us to meet his eyes. He was young and vulnerable, and suddenly wise as prey in facing us. “Do you know how frightening you are sometimes? How can I sit here and look at how you have shaped Nettle's life, and not wonder what kinks you have knowingly put in mine? You, Chade, speak so calmly of sealing Thick to the Skill. Must not I wonder, would they join their strengths and do that to me, if I somehow became a threat to their plans?”
I was shocked that he grouped us together so, and yet, chilling as his words were, I could not deny them. Here he was, on his way to a quest he did not desire to win a bride he had not chosen. I dared not look at Chade, for how would the Prince interpret our exchanging a private glance just then? I looked at my brandy glass instead and, lifting it between two fingers, rocked the liquid, and then swirled it, as so often I had seen Verity doing when he pondered something. Whatever answers he might have glimpsed in the dancing liquor, they eluded me.
I heard the slow scrape of Chade's chair as he pushed it back from the table, and ventured a glance that way. He stood, older than he had been ten minutes ago, and slowly walked around the table. As the Prince twisted in his chair to look up at him, puzzled, the old assassin went ponderously down on one knee, and then two, before him. He bowed his head and spoke to the floor.
“My prince,” he said brokenly. And then, “My king you will be. That is my only plan. Never would I lift a hand to harm you, no, nor cause others to do so. Take from me now, if you will, the oath of fealty that others will only formally swear to you when you are fully crowned. For you have had it from me since the moment you were birthed. Nay, from the instant you were conceived.”
Tears stung my eyes.
Dutiful put his hands on his hips and leaned forward. He spoke to the back of Chade's head. “And you lied to me. ‘I know nothing of this Nettle and dragon.' ” His mimicry of Chade's innocence was excellent. “Isn't that what you said?”
A long silence ensued. I pitied the old man's knees on the floor. Chade drew a deep breath and spoke grudgingly. “I don't think it's fair to count it as a lie when we both know I'm lying. A man in my position is sometimes supposed to lie to his lord. So that his lord can speak truthfully when asked what he was told about a subject.”
“Oh, get up.” There was both disgust and weary amusement in the Prince's voice. “You convolute the facts until neither of us knows what you are talking about. You could swear fealty a thousand times to me, but if tomorrow you thought a good purging would aid me in some way, you'd slip me an emetic.” He stood up and held out a hand. Chade took it and Dutiful drew him to his feet. The old assassin straightened his back with a groan, and then came around the table to take his seat again. He seemed unchastened by either the Prince's blunt words or the failure of his own dramatics.
I was left wondering what I had just witnessed. Not for the first time, I realized how different the relationship was between the old assassin and this boy and what it had been like between us when I was growing up. And that, I thought, was the answer in a nutshell. When Chade and I sat and talked, we sat and talked as tradesmen do, unabashed by the dirty secrets of our business. We should not speak like that before the Prince, I decided. He was not an assassin, and should not be included in our more nefarious enterprises. We should not lie about them to him, but perhaps we should refrain from rubbing his nose in them.
Perhaps that was what he had been reminding us about. I shook my head in quiet admiration. Kingliness was blossoming in him, as naturally as a hound pup exploring a trail. Already, he knew how to move us and use us. I did not feel demeaned by that, but reassured.
Almost immediately, he took that comfort from me. “FitzChivalry, I expect you to speak to Nettle tonight when she dreams. Tell her it is my command that she go to Buckkeep Castle and seek asylum with my mother. That should convince her I am who I say I am. Will you do that?”