We entered the Queen’s private chambers as we had before. Chade paused to peek and listen to be sure there were no witnesses, then admitted us to a privy chamber, and from there to the Queen’s sitting room, where Kettricken awaited us. She looked up with a weary smile as we entered. She was alone.
We both bowed formally. “Good morning, my queen,” Chade greeted her for us, and she held out her hands in welcome, gesturing us in. The last time I had been here, an anxious Kettricken had awaited us in an austere chamber, her thoughts centered solely on her missing son. This time, the room displayed her handiwork. In the center of a small table, six golden leaves had been arranged on a tray of gleaming river pebbles. Three tall candles burning there gave off the scent of violets. Several rugs of wool eased the floor against winter’s oncoming chill, and the chairs were softened with sheepskins. A day fire burned in the hearth, and a kettle puffed steam above it. It reminded me of her home in the Mountains. She had also arranged a small table of food. Hot tea exhaled from a fat pot. I noticed there were only two cups as Kettricken said, “Thank you for bringing FitzChivalry here, Lord Chade.”
It was a dismissal, smoothly done. Chade bowed again, perhaps a bit more stiffly than he had the first time, and retreated by way of the privy chamber. I was left standing alone before my queen, wondering what all this was about. When the door closed behind Chade, she gave a sudden great sigh. She sat down at the table and gestured at the other chair. “Please, Fitz,” and her words were an invitation to drop all formality as well as to be seated.
As I took my place opposite her, I studied her. We were nearly of an age, but her years rode her far more graciously than mine did me. Where the passage of time had scarred me, it had brushed her, leaving a tracery of lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She wore a green gown today, and it set off the gold of her hair and awakened jade gleams in her eyes. Her dress was simple, as was the plaiting of her hair; she wore no jewelry or cosmetics.
And she did not indulge in any kind of ceremony as she poured tea for me and set my cup before me. “There are cakes, too, if you wish,” she said, and I did, for I had not yet broken my fast that day. Yet something in her voice, an edge of hoarseness, made me set down the cup I’d started to lift. She was looking aside from me, avoiding my eyes. I saw the frantic fluttering of her eyelashes, and then a tear brimmed over and splashed down her cheek.
“Kettricken?” I asked in alarm. What had gone awry that I did not know about? Had she discovered the Narcheska’s reluctance to wed her son? Had there been another Wit threat?
She caught her breath raggedly and suddenly looked me full in the face. “Oh, Fitz, I did not call you here for this. I meant to keep this to myself. But . . . I am so sorry. For all of us. When first I heard, I already knew. I woke that dawn, feeling as if something had broken, something important.” She tried to clear her throat and could not. She croaked out her words, tears coursing down her face. “I could not put my finger on the loss, but when Chade brought your tidings to me, I knew instantly. I felt him go, Fitz. I felt Nighteyes leave us.” And then a sob wracked her, and she dropped her face into her hands and wept like a devastated child.
I wanted to flee. I had almost succeeded in mastering my grief, and now she tore the wound afresh. For a time I sat woodenly, numbed by pain. Why couldn’t she just leave it alone?
But she seemed not to notice my coldness. “The years pass, but you never forget a friend like him.” She was speaking to herself, her head bowed into her hands. Her words came muffled and thick with tears. She rocked a little in her chair. “I’d never felt so close to an animal, before we traveled together. But in the long hours of walking, he was always there, ranging ahead and coming back and then checking behind us. He was like a shield for me, for when he came trotting back, I always knew that he had gone before us and was satisfied no danger awaited us. Without his assurance, I am sure my own poor courage would have failed a hundred times. When we began our journey, he seemed just a part of you. But then I got to know him for himself. His bravery and tenacity, even his humor. There were times, especially there at the quarry, when we went off to hunt and he alone seemed to understand my feelings. It was not just that I could hold tight to him and cry into his fur and know he would never betray my weakness. It was that he rejoiced in my strengths, too. When we hunted together and I made a kill, I could feel his approval like . . . like a fierceness that said I deserved to survive, that I had earned my place in this world.” She drew breath raggedly. “I think I will always miss him. And I didn’t even get to see him again before . . .”