“As far as you could nudge them,” I said flatly. Alone and cold and dying. He’d “nudged” them.
“The Queen wanted to do more. She wanted to simply march her own guard down there and remove you from the cell. I couldn’t allow it, Fitz. For, yes, there were other Piebalds. The day after you killed Laudwine, there were scrolls posted in several places, saying that Laudwine and Padget were Witted, and that agents of the Queen had killed both them and their Wit-beasts. And it mocked her avowed intent to end unjust persecution of the Witted. It warned any of Old Blood not to be stupid enough to trust her and come to her Old Blood convocation. And it ended by saying that she and her minions would kill anyone who tried to speak the truth: that her own son was Witted.” He paused a moment. “So you see now. I had to leave you there. I didn’t want to, Fitz. And I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
I put my face down in my hands. Yes. I should have heeded Chade. I had precipitated this. “I suppose I should have let them kill Civil. And then run and reported the murder.”
“That would have been one way,” Chade agreed. “But I think it would have damaged your relationship with Dutiful, even if you had concealed that you could have prevented his friend’s death. And now, I think that is enough for today. Back to bed with you.”
“No. Finish this, at least. What did you do about the scrolls accusing Dutiful?”
“Do? Nothing, of course. We ignored them as ridiculous. And we took great care that there was no royal interest in Lord Golden’s serving man confined in a cell. The City Guard had their murderer. Let justice take its course. The posted accusations were ridiculous, a wild attempt by someone to smear the Prince’s good name. It was doubly ridiculous, in that the Prince still bore the deep scratches from his good friend’s hunting cat. Surely a coursing beast would not attack a Witted one. All know the power Witted have over animals. And so on. In time, it was shown that the dead men were no better than common thieves. There was nothing of the Wit in what had happened, and certainly no royal interference. Thieves had been killed by a good servant protecting his master’s property.”
“So. The Wit accusation was why you had to leave me there to rot.” I tried to put acceptance into my words. Part of me understood. Part of me hated him.
He winced at my choice of words, but nodded. “I’m sorry, Fitz. We had no choice.”
“I know. And my own actions had brought it upon me.” I tried to keep bitterness out of my voice and nearly succeeded. I was suddenly horribly tired, but there was more I needed to know. “And Civil?”
“Once I discovered who was dead, I knew I had to question him. I squeezed it all out of him. And what had triggered his action also. His mother killed herself, Fitz. She had sent the lad a message, begging his forgiveness, but saying she could not go on as things were. That she could not live with what he must be doing to buy her safety, even when it was a false sanctuary where men assaulted her at will.”
The ugliness of what he implied sickened me. “Then Civil had meant to let them kill him.”
“His mother was dead. I think he meant to kill them, not caring if he died in the attempt, but he didn’t even know how to begin. He was full of lofty ideals of duels and fair challenges. Laudwine never even gave him a chance to demand his right of combat.”
“What now for Civil?”
Chade took a breath. “It’s complicated. Dutiful insisted on being with him while I questioned him. Civil is Dutiful’s man now, heart and soul. His prince defended him to me. If he must have a Witted one serving him, we have at least pulled that one’s teeth. The Prince is fully convinced, and I almost am, that the Bresingas acted under duress. If the Piebalds ever held any of Civil’s loyalty, his mother’s suicide and their previous treatment of her have purged it from him. He hates them more than we ever could. Lady Bresinga was pressured into presenting the cat to the Prince, under threat that the Piebalds would betray her son and herself as Witted. But once she had done so, she was completely within their power. She was not only Witted; she had committed a treasonous act against the Prince. The Piebalds separated them, mother from son. Civil was sent to Buckkeep. They ordered him to maintain his friendship with the Prince, to draw him deeper into the Wit, and to spy for them. If he did so, they promised his mother would be safe. His mother’s home, Galekeep, became her prison. The Piebalds became greedy swiftly. First, it was her home, her wine cellar, and her wealth. If she did not accommodate them, then they threatened her son. Eventually, some of the men evidently availed themselves of the Lady herself. She could not live with that. I think they misjudged her strength of will, and that of her son.” It was an ugly, sobering story. But I did not let my mind dwell on it. I had more immediate concerns.
