And dark Oerttre, mother to them all, lifted her eyes and shook her head. "It cannot be," she said with grave resolve. "We are not bound by what mere men have said. My eldest must remain here, to reign after me. Woman to woman is our power passed. You would take our Narcheska to be your Queen? Of all our treasure, she would be the last That we would forfeit, no matter what your deed. Show me in fact how you have fulfilled The letter of your promise. In blood you wrote your vow that you'd do as she had willed. O Farseer Prince, recall now the boast that you did say: On these hearthstones of our mothershouse, Icefyre's head you'd lay."
We followed my marks backward through the Elderling maze, and emerged eventually from the crack in the icy wall into a bright day. The wind was brisk and blowing ice crystals filled the air, peppering our skins and making the steep path treacherous underfoot. The clear light of true day made my eyes tear. The Fool went before me down the steep path. Here, exposed to the wind and cold, his weakness showed plain, and I muttered at my own stupidity. This had overtaxed him. The second time he slipped, I took a firm grip on the back of his collar and kept him upright on his feet until we reached the Black Man's door. "Knock!" I told him, but when he only stared back at me, bleary-eyed with exhaustion, I reached past him to thud my fist against the wood. The door was opened so swiftly that I had to believe that he had been waiting for us. Even then, the Fool stood frozen, staring at the smiling Black Man who confronted us. "He's cold, and very weary," I excused him, and then thrust him into the room in front of me. Once inside I pushed the door firmly shut behind us and then turned back gratefully to the cozy room. I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness after the brightness of full daylight. I saw the small hearth fire first, and then I found the Black Man staring at the Fool in mutual incredulity.
"He was dead," the Black Man told me firmly. "He died." His eyes were very wide. "Yes. He was." I confirmed it for him. "But I am the Catalyst. I change things."
And then Thick sprang up from the hearth and grasped me in a short-limbed hug. He danced like a little bear as he shouted, "You're back! You're back! I thought you would never come back. Chade said, 'The ship is coming,' and I said, 'But he's not here and I won't get on a ship.' Then he said, 'It's coming anyway.' And it did, but no one was there and it went back, because I said, 'No, I am not walking back all alone, all alone, and I don't want to get on a ship anyway!' " He halted his dance and then told me with a satisfied grin, "Either you are dead or Chade is so mad at you that you'll wish you were. That was what he said. Dutiful. Oh, and the dragon head, I forgot to tell the dragon head part. Nettle did it! She sent the dragon head to the mothershouse and it was a big surprise for everyone. Except me. She told me she could do it, could talk to Tintaglia and make her sorry if she didn't. So she did. And everything is good again now."
The last he said so confidently that it was difficult to look down into the cheerful round-eyed face and say, "I don't think I understood half of what you just told me. And I think I have been away longer than I thought. But I'm glad to be back." I extricated myself from his hug. A strange silence had fallen in the other half of the room. The Black Man and the Fool regarded one another, not with animosity, but disbelief. Looking at the two of them together, I could see a kinship, but it was one of ancient lineage rather than a close family resemblance. The Black Man was the first to speak. "Welcome," he said faintly.
"I never saw you," the Fool said wonderingly. "In all the futures I glimpsed, in all that might be, I never saw you." He abruptly began to tremble and I knew he was at the end of his strength. The Black Man seemed to sense this also, for he pushed a cushion closer to the fire and motioned hastily that the Fool should be seated. The Fool more collapsed than sat down. I took my cloak from around him, telling him, "The warmth will reach you faster if you let it in."
"I don't think I'm that cold," he said faintly. "I'm just… I'm outside of my time, Fitz. I'm a fish in the air or a bird beneath the sea. I'm past my life and I grope forward through each day, wondering what I am meant to do with myself. It's hard. It's very hard for me." His voice dwindled as he said the words. He looked up at the Black Man as if begging for help. His head wavered on his neck.
I did not know what to say to him. Did he resent that I had sought more life for him? It hurt to think so, but I held my tongue. I watched the Black Man grope for words. "This, I can teach…" The Black Man's voice slowly faded away. A smile slow as sunrise came to his face. He cocked his head at the Fool and said something in another tongue.
The Fool opened to him as a flower turns to light. A tremulous smile lit his face and he replied hesitantly in the same language. The Black Man whooped aloud in delight to hear him. He gestured at himself and said something rapidly, and then, as if remembering his manners, took up the kettle and a cup and with a graceful flourish, poured tea for the Fool and set it before him. The Fool thanked him extravagantly. Their language seemed to take many words to say simple things. Not one syllable of it resembled any tongue I'd ever heard before. The Fool's voice grew fainter. He took a breath and then finished what he was saying. I felt an adolescent pang of exclusion. Almost as if the Fool sensed it, he turned slowly to me. He pushed his hair back from his face with fingers that shook. "I have not heard the language of my childhood since, well, since I left home. It is like balm to hear it again."
Chade and Dutiful must have known through Thick that I had returned, for I felt then such a battering against my Skill-walls as might have been a siege. I decided reluctantly that it was time to let them in. I took the cup of tea the Black Man had just poured for me and sat down by his fire and then, seeing the Fool well occupied with our host, I surrendered and lowered my Skill-walls.
Chade's blast of fury, fear, and frustration preceded all thought, shaking and cuffing me as if I were an errant serving boy. When he was finished, I think it annoyed him even more that I laughed at his onslaught, even as my reaction cheered Dutiful.
Not much can be wrong with you if you can laugh like that! I've never felt such a carelessness of spirit from you. I caught the boy's sense of amazement and wonder.
An instant later, Chade echoed it. What has come over you? Are you drunk?
No. I am whole and well healed. And so is the Fool. But my tale will keep. Does all go well with you? Has our prince well and truly won his bride? Thick has told me a wild bit of tale about a dragon's head on the mothershouse hearth. Is it true? Who killed Icefyre?
No one killed the dragon. It was just his head he placed there. But, yes, it seems to be done and settled, Chade replied with grim satisfaction. Now that we know you are safe, we can sail tomorrow. That is, if Dutiful can find the courage to tell his bride she must come home with him.
I but allow her time to be sure it is her will that she follows in this, Dutiful replied sternly. I do not understand. Would someone start at the beginning and tell the tale?
And then it was that I heard in full, from both Chade and Dutiful, with excited asides from Thick, of how Nettle had bedeviled and nagged Tintaglia, troubling her dreams and her waking hours, importuning her to pay back the puny humans who had suffered so much so that Icefyre could fly free. Tintaglia in her turn had driven Icefyre much as a pigeon drives his mate to the nest, back to Zylig, where the dragons presented themselves to the Hetgurd still convened there, and then on to Mayle Island and Wuislington.
There the dragons had landed before Elliania's mothershouse. I gathered that there had been some structural damage in the process, but nonetheless the immense Icefyre had forced his way into the mothershouse, where he ungraciously placed his head, very briefly, upon the hearthstones, so that Dutiful's promise to Elliania might be completely carried out.
I thought that Elliania had professed herself satisfied that Dutiful had fulfilled his promise and proven himself worthy of her when he aided in the rescue of her mother and sister. I was a bit confused as to why all this had been necessary.
Oh, she has shown herself well satisfied, for some days now, Chade replied acidly, and I suspected that perhaps Dutiful's virtue had not been proof against the girl's importuning. It is her mother who has proven difficult, much to Peottre's woe. Oerttre told us, before we were even docked in Zylig, that she did not regard any agreement that men had brokered concerning her daughter as binding. She finds it unthinkable that Elliania would leave her home, even to be Queen of all the Six Duchies. She has raised a thousand faults with the arrangement, saying that as she herself was still alive and therefore the true narcheska, all of this was agreed to without the proper consent. She objects to the idea of Lestra inheriting the title of narcheska; she finds the girl unfit to rule after her. And she is horrified at the thought that Elliania and Dutiful's children would remain in the Six Duchies.
Except for our sons, Dutiful interjected.
True, Chade conceded. She had been more than willing to allow Dutiful and Elliania to, that is, to become, to have— He could not find a delicate way to verbalize the thought.
Dutiful was more prosaic. Her mother was willing to allow me to share Elliania's bed. She seemed affronted that anyone might think to thwart her daughter in who she wishes to bed. And the Narcheska Oerttre had offered that any male children so conceived would be given to the Six Duchies. At the age of seven. There was a mutual silence as they allowed me to digest that idea. It was untenable. None of his dukes would accept an heir thus created.
And now? Now that Icefyre has fulfilled completely Elliania's challenge to Dutiful?
Narcheska Oerttre was impressed. It is hard not to be impressed when a creature of that size lumbers through your home and places his head on your hearthstones. Especially when some of the framework of your door is still around his neck. I could easily excuse Dutiful's youthful satisfaction at this vindication. I think her objections are at an end. And even if she still has reservations, there were enough members of the Hetgurd here to witness it that they will not stand. They now see it as an honor that Elliania will come to my hearth. To "found a new mothershouse" is how they phrase it.
As if she were conquering all the Six Duchies by becoming Dutiful's queen, Chade complained. Yet I could hear the relief in his voice. I foresaw there would be difficulties in future days, as the customs of her land clashed with ours. If she bore a son first, would her relatives be scandalized to see him inherit before her daughters? I set the thought from my mind. There would be enough time to worry about that when it happened. And how was that brought about?
Ask Thick. He and Nettle seem to have concocted that.
The smile faded from my face. I had to know. Does Nettle know about Burrich's death? Yes. Chade's reply was short and grim.
I would not wish such news to be withheld from me, Dutiful pointed out severely. I knew he was justifying his action to Chade as much as to me. And so I did as I thought best. Besides, my mother deserved that news, as well, that she can see to the needs of the family of the man who served us so well and so long. Besides. When I stand before my cousin in the flesh, I do not wish to do so with a bag of dirty secrets behind my back. That seemed harsh and I sensed that I trod on the edges of a quarrel between Dutiful and Chade. It did not seem a good time to advance my own opinion. Moreover, it was too late to change what had been done. So I tried to change the subject instead. So. The wedding will now proceed with no further objections.
Now it can. Dutiful had insisted we remain here until we heard from you. Or until we decided you were dead, and sent a rescue party back for Thick. Not that he was fond of the idea of being rescued and brought home. But now that you are there, we shall send a boat for both of you immediately. As soon as you arrive here, we can proceed home. No boats! Thick insisted.
The Prince ignored him. Our wait for Fitz has not been wasted time, Dutiful contradicted Chade. It would not have been appropriate to immediately snatch the Narcheska from her family. Elliania has been too long separated from her mother and sister. I have enjoyed seeing them together. And when she looks from her sister to me… Fitz, she thinks I am a hero. The Outislander bards are making songs of this. Very long songs, Chade added. We've had to listen to them, smiling, nearly every night.
We simmered into satisfied silence. My prince had won his bride. There would be peace between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands. Then Dutiful added solemnly, And I was glad that you were allowed some time to deal with your loss. I am sorry, Fitz.
Chade asked quietly, You were able to recover the Fool's body? It was my moment for triumph. I recovered the Fool. I thought he was dead! Dutiful's gravity dissolved in amazement.
So did I, I replied, and abruptly decided to leave that as my full explanation. It was easy enough to divert them from any more questions regarding the Fool. I simply added, I am sorry to have missed the ship you sent for us. But you need not bother with another. Thick and I have an easier way back to Buckkeep. One that does not require him to set foot on a deck again.
Their astonishment at my revelation of the working Skill-pillar could not match Thick's delight at the news he could go home without sailing. He suddenly clutched me about the middle, tugged me to my feet, and capered so wildly about me that I could not hold the focus necessary to Skill. I seized him by his shoulders and braced my feet to stop our dance, and then looked up to find the Black Man regarding us with alarmed amusement. The Fool looked too tired to show any surprise.
"He just realized that we could go home through the Skill-pillars," I explained to them. "Thick hates boats. And he is delighted to know that our journey may be a matter of moments instead of days."
The Black Man looked at me without comprehension. Then the Fool said something to him in his own tongue, and the man made a long "aaaah" of understanding and nodded sagely. The Fool's explanation seemed to bring to his mind some other incident, for the Black Man launched into a long monologue intended for the Fool. Thick skidded to a sudden halt and cocked his head as if listening. "Skill scrolls, Chade says, bring the Skill scrolls." He paused, frowning as he paid attention to Chade's Skilling. "But not yet! Don't go home yet, not until he has a good way to explain it. But soon. Nettle is getting tired of all the messages. You could do it better."
I had given Chade much to think about, and to my relief, he excused himself from our Skilling to do just that. Dutiful attempted to explain to me how Nettle had persuaded Icefyre to present his head to the Narcheska, but Thick was too excited to permit our conversation. And I sensed restlessness from the Prince that told me he had better ways to pass his time than lingering with me. I sent him off with a stern warning to be circumspect, which I am sure he ignored.
I came back to full awareness to find the Fool nodding wearily to the Black Man's long explanation of something. It was the most foreign babbling I had ever heard, with not a single word that I recognized. Thick insisted on reporting how he had spent his time with the Black Man, with many descriptions of food, of Chade being angry and upset, and of a wonderful sliding place he had discovered not far away. I looked at his round face, beaming with contentment. He was a wonderful man. He accepted, with equanimity, that I had returned, that the Fool was no longer dead, and that soon we would be back home without going on a boat. His joy at sliding on snow was equal to his joy at my return. I envied his easy acquiescence to change and the future. As he prattled, I tried to decipher what the future held for me. We would go back to Buckkeep and I'd have the task of transporting the Skill library there. Already I dreaded how many trips through the pillars that would entail. Yet that task became simple when I thought of what would follow. I had to introduce myself to Nettle. And reveal to Molly that I lived. Such a wave of longing swept through me at that thought that it near took my breath away. In restoring the full range of memories of her, the Fool had swept my heart back in time to that moment when I first knew I had lost her. The anguish was as fresh, and my love for her as strong. I dreaded the thought of our first meeting, and all the explaining I must do. I dreaded facing her grief for her husband, but I knew I must. Burrich had cared for my daughter when I had "died." Could I do less for his little sons? And yet, it was not going to be easy. None of it was going to be easy. Yet, with an odd sideways tilt of my heart, I realized I was anticipating it, that I believed that beyond the sorrow we would share at Burrich's death, there might eventually be something else. I felt shallow and greedy even as I thought of it, but nonetheless, it was there. It seemed years since I had looked ahead and seen opportunities and possibilities. I suddenly knew that I wanted change and life and the dangers of attempting to win Molly's love again. Thick shook me by the shoulder. "So?" he asked me delightedly. "So, you want to go now?"
"Yes," I found myself saying, and then discovered that I had been smiling and nodding to his descriptions of sliding on the snow. I'd volunteered to go sliding with him. His delight was too great for me to crush it, and it suddenly came to me that I truly had nothing better to do at the moment. The Fool could do with rest and he seemed to be enjoying his talk with the Black Man. So we bundled up and went outside again. I had planned to slide with him once or twice, just enough to content him, but the slope he had found was as long and sweeping as an otter slide and just as inviting. Thick's use of it over the last few days had polished it smooth. We slid on our bellies and then together, on top of my cloak, whooping like children, heedless of how wet and cold we got. It was play, pure and simple. Play that I'd had no time for, that I had dismissed as unnecessary and an interruption to all the practical tasks of a well-ordered life. When had I lost sight of taking simple pleasure for the sake of pleasure? I forgot myself in it and came back to the world with a start when I heard my name being called. I had just come to the end of the slide, and as I turned to the Fool's voice, Thick crashed into me from behind. I went flying and landed, mostly unhurt, with Thick on top of me. We floundered to our feet to find the Fool watching us with amusement and fondness that was hard to look upon. Regret and wistfulness were there also. "You should try it," I told him, half-embarrassed to be caught cavorting like a boy in the first snow of the year. I stood and helped Thick to his feet. He was grinning despite his tumble.
"My back," the Fool said quietly, and I nodded, feeling suddenly subdued. I knew it was more than his newly healed back, more than the stiffness of half-healed hurts. His experience had scarred and stiffened more than his body. I wondered how long it would be before his spirit regained its flexibility.
"You'll heal," I assured us both as I walked up to him. I wished I had been more certain.
"Prilkop has made food for us," he told me. "I've come to tell you it's ready. We shouted from the door, but you didn't hear us." He paused. "The walk down looked easy. It wasn't. Now I dread the walk up again."
"It's steep," I agreed as we started back. At the mention of food, Thick had broken into a trot and preceded us.
"Prilkop?"
"The Black Man's name." The Fool trudged along beside me as we headed back to the steep cliffside trail. He was breathless. "It took him a moment or two to recall it. It has been long since he had anyone to speak with, and longer still since he has spoken our native tongue."
"You both seemed to be enjoying it," I said, and hoped I did not sound jealous.
"Yes," he agreed. He almost smiled. "It has been so long since he was home that when I told him my childhood memories, he could only marvel at how many things had changed. We both wonder what things are like there now."
"Well, I suppose he could go home now if he wished. I mean, he has no vision to keep him here anymore. Does he?"
"No." We walked a bit in silence and then the Fool said quietly, "Fitz, home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see is what is not there anymore." He set his hand on my arm and I halted. "Let me breathe," he begged, and then defeated our pause by speaking. "You are the one who should go home," he told me earnestly. "While you still can. While there are people there who will know you and rejoice in your return. Not just Buckkeep. Molly. And Patience."
"I know. I intend to." I looked at him puzzled, surprised that he had thought I would not.
His face went almost blank with astonishment. "You will? You are?"
"Of course."
"You mean it, don't you?" His eyes searched my face. Almost, I saw a shadow of disappointment there. But then he seized one of my hands in both of his and said, "I am glad for you, Fitz. Truly glad. You had said you would, but you seemed hesitant. I thought perhaps you would change your mind."
"What else would I do?"
He hesitated a moment, as if he would say something. Then he seemed to change his mind. He gave a small snort. "Go find a cave to live in alone for the next decade or so."
"Why would I do that? Retreat from life, and there is no opportunity for anything to get better… Oh." And then I was rewarded by the slow spread of his old smile across his face. "Help me up the path," he said, and I was glad to do so. He leaned more heavily on my arm than I had expected him to. When we reached Prilkop's cavern, I made him sit down. "Spirits? Brandy?" I asked of Prilkop, and when the Fool had weakly translated my words, the Black Man shook his head. He came closer to the Fool and bent down to look into his face. He touched the Fool's forehead and then shook his head. "I will make a tea. For this, a helpful tea."
We ate together and passed the evening telling stories. The Fool and Prilkop seemed to have slaked some of their thirst for conversing in their own tongue. I made up a pallet for the Fool and insisted he lie down near the fire. I tried to tell Prilkop the full tale of how we had come to Aslevjal. He listened intently, nodding, his brow furrowed. From time to time, the Fool would offer a brief explanation to Prilkop of some part of our tale that he did not understand. Mostly he lay still, eyes closed, listening. When he did break into my telling, it was strange to hear how the Fool pieced out our life tale for him, for he made it seem as if always the goal had been to awaken and restore true dragons to the world. I suppose that for him, it had been that. But it was peculiar to see my own life in that light.
It became very late and Thick had dozed off long before Prilkop bade us good night. I knew an odd moment of awkwardness when I spread my blankets separately from the Fool's. There was plenty of bedding here; no need to share anymore. But I had slept beside him for so many nights that I wondered if he would want the comfort of me close by to guard him from his night terrors, but I could not find a way to ask him. Instead, I propped my head on my arm and watched him sleep. His face was slack with exhaustion, yet pain still furrowed his brow. I knew that after all he had been through, he would need time apart from me, time alone with himself to discover once again who he was. Yet, selfishly, I did not want him to grow apart from me again. Not only my love for Molly but my boyish fondness and closeness to the Fool had been rejuvenated, as well. To be the best of friends again, making nothing of one another's differences, to enjoy the days and face hardships optimistically; he represented all that to me, and I vowed I would not let that carelessly slip from my grip again. He and Molly would round out my life to what it should have been. And Patience, I thought with wonder. I would reclaim her too, and never heed the cost.
Perhaps it was that Thick slept close by me, or perhaps it was that for the first time since I'd ventured into the Pale Woman's realm, I slept deeply enough to dream my own dreams. In either case, Nettle found me. Or perhaps I found her. I found myself in an evening place. It was a place I almost remembered, yet it had changed so much that I was not certain of it. Banks of flowers glowed luminously in the dimness. Somewhere, a fountain played, a muted splashing. The evening fragrances of blossoms wafted and blended on the night breeze.
Nettle was sitting on a stone bench, alone. She leaned her head against the wall behind her and stared up at the night sky. I winced when I saw her. Her beautiful hair had been shorn down to her scalp. It was the oldest sign of mourning in the Six Duchies, and not often practiced among women. I came and sat on the paving stones in front of her in my wolf guise. She stirred and looked down at me. "You know that my father is dead?"
"Yes. I am sorry."
Her fingers toyed with a fold of her dark skirt. "Were you there?" she asked at last. "When he died, no. When he took the injury that would kill him, yes."
A little silence spun out between us. "Why do I feel so awkward asking this, as if it is improper for me to be curious? I know that the Prince thinks it more appropriate to speak all around it and say only that my father was a hero and fought well. But that is not enough for me. I want to know how he died… was hurt. I want… I need to know every detail. Because they dumped his body in the sea and I will never see him again, dead or alive. Do you know how that feels? Just to be told that your father is dead, and that is all?"
"I know exactly how it feels," I said. "So was it done to me, also."
"But, eventually, they told you?"
"They told me the lie that they told everyone. No. I was never told how he truly died."
"I am sorry," she said, and meant it. She turned her head and looked at me curiously. "You've changed, Shadow Wolf. You… ring. You… like a bell when it is struck. What is the word?"
"Resonate," I suggested, and she nodded.
"I feel you more clearly. Almost as if you were real."
"I am real."
"I mean, real, here."
I wished that I were. "How much of it do you want to know?" I asked her. She lifted her chin. "All. Everything. He was my father."
"That he was," I was forced to agree. I steeled myself. It was time. Then another thought came to me and I asked her, "Where are you now? When you are awake?"
She sighed. "As you see. In the Queen's Garden, at Buckkeep Castle," she said forlornly. "The Queen allowed me to go home for three days. She apologized to me and to my mother, but said it was as much time as she could spare me now for my mourning. Ever since I learned to dream true, not even my nights have belonged to me. Always I am at the call of the Farseer throne, expected to give my entire life to it." I phrased it carefully.
"In that, you are your father's child."
She blazed up at me suddenly, lighting the garden with her wrath. "He gave his life for them! And what did he get in return? Nothing. Well, some estate, now that he is dead, some Withywoods place I've never heard of. What do I care for land and a title? Lady Nettle, they call me now, as if I were a noble's daughter. And Lady Thornbush they call me, behind my back, simply because I speak my mind in honest words. I care nothing for what they think of me. As soon as I can, I will leave this court and go home. To my real home, the house my father built and its barns and pastures. They can take Withywoods and tear it stone from stone for all I care. I'd rather have my father."
"So would I. But all the same, you have more right to Withywoods than anyone else. Your father served Prince Chivalry, and that estate was one of his favorites. It is almost as if you are Chivalry's heir, that you receive it." And I was sure that was what Patience had intended. She could count the months and years on her fingers, and know that Molly's child was mine. The old woman had done her best to see something of her grandfather's lands passed on to Nettle. It warmed my heart that she had done so. I suddenly knew why Patience had waited until after Burrich's death to see the land go to Nettle. It was because she had respected his claim to Nettle's paternity and would do nothing to make anyone else question it. Now the lands would appear a thing that Burrich had earned for his family rather than an inheritance passed on to a grandchild. The subtleties of my eccentric stepmother would always delight me.
"I would still rather have my father." She sniffed, and turned her face from me. She spoke to the darkness, hoarsely. "Are you going to tell me what happened to him?"
"Yes. I am. But I am trying to decide where to begin that tale." I weighed caution against courage, and then suddenly realized my decision should not rest on my feelings at all. How much should a young woman, alone and in grief, suddenly be confronted with? Now was not the time to change her perception of who she was. She was facing enough changes. Let her grieve unfettered by questions such as my revelations could raise for her. "Your father took his death wound in service to the Farseer monarchy, it is true. But when by sheer will alone he dropped a dragon to his knees, it was not for his prince. It was because the stone dragon had threatened his beloved son."
She was incredulous. "Swift?"
"Of course. Swift was why he came here. To get his son and take him safely home. He did not think there would be a real dragon to face."
"There is so much I don't understand. You call the dragon that they faced a 'stone dragon.' What is that?" She deserved to know. And so I told her a hero's tale, full of the Pale Woman's dark magic and of a man who had come, half-blind and alone, to face down a dragon for the sake of his wayward son. I told her too of how Swift had stood before the dragon's charge, and sped the arrow that slew him. And then I spoke of Swift's loyalty to her father as he lay dying. I even explained the earring that Swift would be wearing when he returned home to them. She wept as I spoke, black tears that vanished as they fell. Her garden faded around us, and the icy glacier wind blew past us and I realized the strength of my telling was such that she saw it, much as I had. Only when my words had faded, did the garden ease back into existence around us. The fragrances were sharper, as if a recent rain had watered them. A moth fluttered by.
"But when will Swift come home?" she demanded anxiously. "It is hard enough for my mother to know her husband is dead. She should not have to worry whether her son will return safely. Why do they linger so long there when their task is done?"
"Swift serves his prince. He will come back when Dutiful returns," I assured her. "They are still negotiating the marriage that will bind our countries in friendship. These things take time."
"What is wrong with that girl?" Nettle demanded angrily. "Is she without a mind or has she no honor? She should live up to the word she gave. She got her dragon's head on the hearthstones. I saw to that!"
"So I have heard," I told her wryly.
"I was so angry with him," she told me confidentially. "It was the only thing I could think of to do."
"You were angry with Icefyre?"
"No! With Prince Dutiful. Dither, dither, dither. Does she like me, does she love me, I won't force her to keep a bargain made under duress, I am so, so very noble… Why does not he tell that fickle Outislander girl, 'I paid the toll and I'll cross the bridge.' I'm sure I would have!" Then her blaze of indignation suddenly dampened as she said, "You don't think I'm traitorous to speak so of him, do you? I mean no disrespect. I am as loyal a subject to our illustrious prince as anyone. It is just that, when you speak with someone mind to mind, it is hard to remember that he is a prince and far above me. There are times when he seems as thick-witted as one of my brothers, and I just want to shake him!" Despite her earlier protestation of loyalty to her monarch, she suddenly sounded like a girl very exasperated with foolish boys. "So. What did you do?"
"Well, at that time those Outislander people were making much fuss over his not having put the dragon's head on the hearthstones of her mothershouse. As if rescuing her mother and sister were not worth the weight of a bloody dead animal head stinking in front of your fireplace!" I could feel the effort it took her to restrain herself. "Mind you, I only know of these things as I relay them to the Queen. I am the one who must stand before her each morning and pass on such tidings as they send through me. Does he think that is pleasant? But it occurred to me one dawn, after leaving my queen solemn and heavy of heart because the marriage might not happen at all, that perhaps there was something I could do. Despite her bluster and threats, I know Tintaglia well. Perhaps because of those things, I know her well. So, as she had pestered me, disturbing my dreams whenever I slept, so I began to do to her. For in all her comings and goings from my sleep, she had worn a sort of path that I could follow back to her. If that makes sense to you."
"It does. But I still marvel that anyone would dare 'pester' such a creature."
"Oh, in the dream world, we are well matched, as I think you might remember. I doubt she would fly all the way here just to trample a mere human. And unlike me, she prefers to sleep heavily after she has eaten or mated. So, those were precisely the times I chose to bother her."
"And you asked her to ask Icefyre to return to Mayle Isle and put his head down on the Narcheska's hearth?"
"Asked her? No. I demanded it. And when she said she would not, I said it was because she could not, that despite all humans had done to rescue him, Icefyre was too petty to acknowledge the debt. And that she durst not make him do it, for though she claims to be a queen, she allowed him to master and drive her. I said that her mating must have addled her brains. That put her into a froth, I can tell you."
"But how did you know it would?"
"I didn't. I just got angry and said what first came to me." I felt her sigh. "It's a fault I have, one that has not made me popular in this court. I am too swift of tongue. But I think it is the best way to speak to a dragon. I told her that if she could not make Icefyre do what was right then she needn't flaunt about so high-and-mighty. I hate it when people lord over you when you know that, given a good scratch, they're no better than you are." She paused, then added, "Or dragons. In all the legends, they are wise, or incredibly powerful or—"
"They are incredibly powerful," I interrupted her. "I assure you of that!"
"Perhaps. But Tintaglia, in some ways, she's like… me. Sting her pride a bit and she has to prove she can do whatever you've told her she can't. She's a nag, or worse, a bully, when she thinks she can get away with it. And just because she lives so long and was born remembering so much, she acts as if we are moths or ants, with no lives worth honoring."
"It sounds as if you've had more than one conversation with her in this regard."
She paused a trifle. "Tintaglia is an interesting creature. I don't think I'd ever dare call her my friend. She thinks she is, or more accurately, I think she believes I owe her loyalty and duty or worship, simply because she is a dragon. But it is hard to call someone your friend when you know that your death would mean no more to her than a moth flying into a candle means to me. Pftt! Oh, it's gone. Too bad. As if I were just an animal!" She snatched a flower from a nearby bed as if to tear it apart.
I winced. She sensed it.
"No, I meant like a bug or a fish. Not like a wolf." Then, as if the thought had only just come to her, "You aren't as I see you in my mind. I know that now. I know you aren't a wolf. I mean, I don't think of you as just an animal. Did I hurt your feelings?" Hastily, she restored the flower to its broken stem.
She had, but I didn't think I could explain it to myself, let alone her. "It's fine. I know what you meant."
"And when you come back with the others, I'll finally get to meet you and see you as you are?"
"When I come back, it's very likely we'll meet."
"But how will I know you?"
"I'll tell you it's me."
"Good." Hesitantly she added, "I missed you while you were gone. I wanted to talk to you, when they told me my father was dead. But I couldn't find you. Where did you go?"
"Someone very important to me was in trouble. I went to help him. But now that's all settled, and we'll be coming home soon."
"Someone important to you? Will I meet him?"
"Of course. I think you'll like him."
"Who are you?"
I wasn't expecting the question just then. It took me off balance. I didn't want to tell her that I was FitzChivalry or Tom Badgerlock. I found myself saying, unplanned, "I'm someone who used to know your mother, before she met Burrich and married him."
Her reaction was not what I expected. "You're that old?" She was shocked. "And I think I just got older," I told her, laughing.
But she did not laugh with me. Her reply was stiff. "Then I suppose that when you return, you are more like to be my mother's friend than mine."
There was a complication I had not counted on. Jealousy rang green in her thoughts. I tried to stem it. "Nettle, I have long cared about both of you. And will continue to do so."
Even colder, she asked, "Will you try to take my father's place with her?"
I felt a blundering fool. I groped for an answer and then forced myself to face a truth I'd been avoiding. "Nettle. They were together for, what, sixteen years? They shared seven children. Do you think anyone could take his place with her?"
"Just so you understand that," she replied, somewhat mollified. And then she dismissed me with "Now I must clear my dreams of you in case the Prince wishes to find me. Almost every night, he or Lord Chade has words I must bear to the Queen. I get little time to make my own dreams anymore. Good night, Shadow Wolf." And then her fragrant garden and gentle twilight world faded away from me and I was left in the darkness. It took a short time for me to realize I was not asleep at all, but was lying on the floor of the Black Man's cave, staring into shadows dimly lit by the embers in his fireplace. I thought over what I had told Nettle, and decided that I had been foolish to let her know that I had once loved Molly. And how could I not have foreseen that Molly's children, including Nettle, might see me as an interloper in their household? I felt discouragement wash over me, and considered a total retreat from all of it.
But in the wake of that, I found iron resolution. No. I would not flee from the chaos I had made of my life. I loved Molly, still, and I thought it possible that she might still have some feelings for me. Even if she didn't, I had told Burrich that I would see to the well-being of his younger children. I would be needed there, even if I were not welcomed at first. I might fail; Molly might even drive me off. But I would not surrender before I had tried.
I was going home.