I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. I tried again. “Fool. I think they belong in the Rooster Crown.”
“Doubtless, you are correct,” he replied levelly, without interest. He sat down before the fire and stretched his legs out toward it. After a moment, he crossed his arms on his chest and sank his chin down. He stared into the flames.
A flash of anger, cleansing as flame, washed through me. For an instant I wanted to seize him and shake him, to demand that he be the Fool again for me. Then the fury was gone and in its wake I stood trembling and sick. I felt then that I’d killed the Fool somehow, that I had destroyed him when I had demanded answers to the questions that had always floated unasked between us. I should have known that I could never understand him as I understood other people. Explanations had seldom worked between us. Trust had. But I had broken that, like a child who takes something apart to see how it works and ends up with a handful of pieces. Perhaps he could not be the Fool again, any more than I could go back to being Burrich’s stable boy. Perhaps our relationship had changed too profoundly for us to relate as Fitz and the Fool. Perhaps Tom Badgerlock and Lord Golden were all that was left to us.
I felt suddenly weary and weak again. Without a word, I rolled the feathers up in the cloth again. Carrying them in my fist, I went back into my chamber and shut the door behind me. I opened the secret door, closed it behind me, and began the long climb back up to my workroom.
I was shaking with weariness by the time I reached my bed. Without undressing, I crawled back under the covers. After a time, I fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke hours later, I was hungry and the fire had burned almost out. Waking up, eating, and feeding the fire: none of it seemed worth the effort. I shouldered deeper into the bed and fled back into unconsciousness.
The next time I awoke, it was because someone was bending over me. I came awake with a yell of alarm and had seized the Prince by the throat before I knew it was he. An instant later, I was sitting back on my bed, panting as my panic subsided. “Sorry, sorry,” I managed.
The Prince stood well away from the bed, rubbing his throat and staring at me. “What is the matter with you?” he croaked, caught between anger and alarm.
I gulped air in a dry throat, feeling sweaty and shaky. My eyes and mouth were sticky. “Sorry,” I managed again. “You woke me too suddenly. I was startled.” I struggled free of my blankets and staggered out of bed. I couldn’t catch my breath. My alarm seemed a continuation of a nightmare I could not recall. I felt bleary and disoriented as I looked about my chamber. Thick was sitting in Chade’s chair, his shoes stretched out toward the fire. His tunic and trousers were servant blue, but they looked new and as if they had been cut to fit him. How long ago had I intended to get him shoes and better clothing? Chade must have done it. The fire burned merrily on the hearth and there was a tray of food on the table.
“Did you do this? Thank you.” I made my way to the table and poured wine into a glass.
The Prince shook his head in confusion. “Do what?”
I lowered the glass I had drained. My mouth still felt dry. I poured another glass of wine and drank it down, then drew a breath. “The food and the fire,” I explained. “The wine.”
“No. That was there when we came in.”
My senses were gradually coming back to me and my heart was resuming its normal rhythm. Chade must have come and gone while I was asleep. Then, as it dawned on me, “How did you get here?” I demanded of the Prince.
“Thick brought me.”
At his name, the simpleton turned his head. He and the Prince exchanged conspiratorial grins. I sensed something pass between them, too swift and controlled for me to follow. Thick chuckled and turned back to the fire with a sigh.
“You are not supposed to be here,” I said heavily. I sat down at the table and poured more wine. I put my hand on the covered pot of soup on the tray. It was barely warm. Eating it seemed like too much trouble anyway. I drank the wine.
“Why shouldn’t I be here? Why shouldn’t I know the secrets of the castle where I shall someday be King? Am I considered too young, too stupid, or too untrustworthy?”
That was a sorer point than I had expected to touch. I suddenly realized I had no good answer to his query. I said mildly, “I thought Chade didn’t want you up here.”
“He probably doesn’t.” He came to sit down beside me at the table as I poured more wine. “There are probably a lot more things that Chade would just as soon keep to himself. That man loves secrets. He has stuffed Buckkeep full of secrets like a magpie collecting shiny pebbles. And for the same reason, solely that he loves to have them.” He regarded me critically. “The scars are back. Did the Skill healing wear off, then?”
