Yet I dared not hope that left the decision in my hands. I could refuse, I could flee, but even without me, Chade would pursue the magic. His will was strong, as was his desire for the Skill. He would try to teach, not only himself, but also Dutiful and Thick. And Nettle, I realized. Because Chade saw the Skill, not as dangerous, but as desirable. He felt he was entitled to it. He was a Farseer, and the Farseer magic was rightfully his, but his birthright had been denied him, because he was a bastard Farseer. Just as my daughter was.
I suddenly put my finger on a sore that had festered in me for years. The Farseer magic. That was what the Skill was. Supposedly, the Farseers had a “right” to this magic. And with that assumption went the notions that a Farseer had the wisdom to deploy such a magic within the world. Chade, born on the wrong side of the sheets, had been judged unworthy and callously denied any education in the Skill. Perhaps he had never had any talent for it; perhaps it had withered away, unnourished. But the unfairness of being denied the opportunity still ate at the old man, after all these years. I was certain that his thwarted ambition was behind his consuming desire to restore the Skill to use. Did he see me as depriving Nettle in the same way he had been denied? I looked at him. Had not Verity and Chade and Patience intervened for me, I might be as he was.
“You’re very quiet,” Chade said softly.
“I’m thinking,” I replied.
He frowned. “Fitz. It is the Queen’s command. Not a request to think about. An order to obey.”
Not a request to think about. In my youth, there had been so many things that I hadn’t thought about. I’d simply done my duty. But I had been a boy then. Now I was a man. And I teetered, not between duty and not duty, but between right and wrong. I took a step back from the question. Was it right to teach another generation the Skill and preserve it in our world? Was it right to let that knowledge fail and pass beyond humanity’s reach? If there would always be some who could not have it, was it more righteous to deny it to all? Was the guarded possession of magic like the hoarding of wealth, or was it simply a talent one did or did not have, like the ability to shoot a bow well or sing each note of a song perfectly?
I felt besieged by the questions whirling in my head. In my heart, another question clamored at me. Was there no way to preserve Nettle from this? For I could not bear it. I could not bear to see all that I had sacrificed made useless as the secrets of her birth and of my survival were suddenly revealed to those most vulnerable to them. I could refuse to teach the Skill, but that would not preserve her peace. I could steal her from her home and flee, but then I would have been every bit as destructive as what I feared.
When Kettle had taught me the Stone game, I had had a sudden shift in perception one day. The wolf had been with me then. I had seen the little stones set in their places on the crossing lines of the game cloth not as a fixed situation but as only one point in a spreading flow of possibilities. I could not win Chade’s game by saying no. But what if I said yes?