“Good-bye, bastard,” he said calmly. “Pardon my haste, but you have quite delayed me. And I must rush to dress myself. Or I shall be late for the wedding.”
And he tumbled me in.
The pool was deeper than I was tall, designed to be neck-high on a tall Chyurda. It was painfully hot to my unprepared body. It drove the air from my lungs and I sank. I pushed feebly off the bottom and managed to get my face above water. “Burrich!” I wasted my breath on a shout to someone who could not aid me. The water closed on me again. My arms and legs would not work together. I blundered into a wall and pushed myself under before I could once again surface and gasp in some air. The hot water was loosening my already flaccid muscles. I think I would still have been drowning even if the water had been only knee-deep.
I lost count of how many times I floundered to the surface, to gasp a breath. The smooth-worked stone of the walls eluded my palsied grip, and my ribs stabbed me with pain each time I tried for a deep breath. My strength was flowing out of me, lassitude flowing in. So warm, so deep. Drowned like a puppy, I thought to myself as I felt the darkness closing. Boy? someone queried, but all was black.
So much water, so hot and so deep. I could not find a bottom anymore, let alone a side. I struggled feebly against the water, but there was no resistance. No up, no down. No use fighting to stay alive inside my body. Nothing left to protect, so drop the walls, and see if there is one last service you can render your king. The walls of my world fell away from me, and I sped forth like an arrow finally released. Galen had been right. There was no distance in Skilling, no distance at all. Buckkeep was right here, and Shrewd, I shrieked in desperation. But my king was intent upon other things. He was closed and walled to me, no matter how I stormed around him. No help there.
Strength was going from me. Somewhere, I was drowning. My body was failing, my thread to it was tenuous. One last chance. Verity, Verity, I cried. I found him, flailed at him, but could find no purchase, no grip. He was elsewhere, open to someone else, closed to me. Verity! I wailed, drowning in despair. And suddenly it was as if strong hands gripped mine as I scrabbled up a slippery cliff. Gripped and held tight and drew me in when I would have slipped away.
Chivalry! No, it can’t be, it’s the boy! Fitz?
You imagine things, my prince. There is no one there. Attend to what we do now. Galen, calm and insidious as poison as he pushed me aside. I could not withstand him, he was too strong.
Fitz? Verity, unsure now as I grew weaker.
From I knew not where, I found strength. Something gave way before me, and I was strong. I clung to Verity like a hawk on his wrist. I was there with him. I saw with Verity’s eyes: the freshly decked throne room, the Book of Events on the great table before him, laid open to receive the recording of Verity’s marriage. Around him, in their best finery and most costly jewels, the few honored ones who had been invited to witness Verity witnessing his bride’s pledge through August’s eyes. And Galen, who was supposed to be offering his strength as a king’s man, was poised beside and slightly behind Verity, waiting to drain him dry. And Shrewd, in crown and robe upon his throne, was all unknowing, his Skill burned and dulled away years ago by misuse, and him too proud to admit it.
Like an echo, I saw through August’s eyes as Kettricken stood pale as a wax candle on a dais before all her people. She was telling them, simply and kindly, that last night Rurisk had finally succumbed to the arrow wound he had taken on the Ice Fields. She hoped to please his memory by pledging herself as he had helped arrange, to the King-in-Waiting of the Six Duchies. She turned to face Regal.
In Buckkeep, Galen’s claw of a hand settled on Verity’s shoulder.
I broke into his link with Verity, pushed him aside. Beware Galen, Verity. Beware a traitor, come to drain you dry. Touch him not.
Galen’s hand tightened on Verity’s shoulder. Suddenly all was a sucking vortex, draining, trying to pull everything out of Verity. And there was not much left to take. His Skill was so strong because he let it take so much from him so fast. Self-preservation would have made another man hold back some of his strength. But Verity had been spending his recklessly, every day, to keep the Red-Ships from his shores. So little left now for this ceremony, and Galen was absorbing it. And growing stronger as he did so. I clung to Verity, fighting desperately to reduce the loss. Verity! I cried to him. My prince. I sensed a brief rallying in him, but all was growing dim before his eyes. I heard a stirring of alarm as he sagged and caught at the table. Faithless Galen kept his grip on him, bent over him as he went to one knee, murmuring solicitously, “My prince? Are you quite all right?”