Royal Assassin

Burrich shook his head. “What can be done for this, I can do for myself. Come, Fitz. Give me your arm.”

In disbelief, I offered my arm and Burrich took it, leaning on me heavily. For the first time I glanced down. What I had taken to be heavy winter leggings at first glance was actually a thick wrap of bandaging on his bad leg. He favored it, putting most of his weight on me as he limped along. I could feel the exhaustion thrumming through him. Up close, I could smell the sweat of pain on him. His clothing was stained and torn, his hands and face begrimed. This was as unlike the man I knew as anything I could imagine. “Please,” I said quietly as I helped him toward the castle. “Is Verity all right?”

He gave me a ghost of a smile. “You think our prince could be dead, and I still be alive? You insult me. Besides, use your wits. You’d know if he was dead. Or injured.” He paused and studied me carefully. “Wouldn’t you?”

It was plain what he spoke of. Ashamedly, I admitted, “Our link is not reliable. Some things are clear. Some are not. Of this, I knew nothing. What’s happened?”

He looked thoughtful. “Verity said he would try to send word through you. If you’ve relayed no tidings to Shrewd, then this information should first go to the King.”

I asked no more questions.

I had forgotten how long it had been since Burrich had seen King Shrewd. Mornings were not the King’s best times, but when I mentioned this to Burrich, he said he would rather report immediately at a bad time than delay information. So we knocked and, to my surprise, were admitted. Once within, I realized this was because Wallace was nowhere about.

Instead, as I entered, the Fool asked me graciously, “Back for more Smoke?” Then, as he caught sight of Burrich, the mocking grin faded from his face. His eyes met mine. “The Prince?”

“Burrich has come to report to the King.”

“I shall try to rouse him. Though the way he has been of late, one might as well report to him sleeping as awake. He takes as much notice either way.”

Accustomed as I was to the Fool’s mockery, this still jarred me. The sarcasm bit wrong, for there was too much resignation in his voice. Burrich looked at me worriedly. He whispered, “What is wrong with my King?”

I shook my head at him for quiet and tried to get him to take a seat.

“I stand before my King, until he bids me be seated,” he said stiffly.

“You are injured. He would understand.”

“He is my King. That is what I understand.”

So I gave off urging him. We waited for a time, and more than a time. At last the Fool came out of the King’s bedchamber. “He is not well,” he cautioned us. “It has taken me a time to make him understand who is here. But he says he will hear your report. In his chambers.”

So Burrich leaned on me as we went into the dimness and smoke of the King’s bedchamber. I saw Burrich wrinkle his nose in distaste. Acrid fumes of Smoke hung heavy here, and several small censers burned. The Fool had drawn back the bed curtains, and as we stood he patted and poked cushions and pillows behind the King’s back until Shrewd waved him aside with a small gesture.

I looked at our monarch and wondered how I had not seen the signs of his disease. They were plainly there when one looked. The general wasting of his body, the sour edge of his sweat, the yellow in the whites of his eyes: these were the least things I should have seen. The shock on Burrich’s face told me plainly that the change since Burrich had last seen him was immense. But he covered it well and drew himself up straight.

“My King, I have come to report,” he said formally.

Shrewd blinked slowly. “Report,” he said vaguely, and I was not sure if he gave Burrich an order, or simply repeated the word. Burrich took it as a command. He was as thorough and exact as he had always insisted I be. I stood, and he supported his weight on my shoulder as he told of journeying with Prince Verity through the winter snows, traveling always toward the Mountain Kingdom. He did not mince words, but spoke plainly. The journey had been full of hardships. Despite messengers sent ahead of Verity’s expedition, hospitality and aid along the way had been poor. Those nobles whose homes lay along their route professed to have known nothing of Verity’s coming. In many cases, they found only servants to greet them, and the hospitality no more than what would have been offered to any ordinary traveler. Supplies and extra horses that should have been waiting for them at assigned locations were not. The horses had suffered more grievously than the men. The weather had been savage.

As Burrich reported I felt a tremor run through him from time to time. The man was at the edge of complete exhaustion. But each time he shook, I felt him take a deep breath, steady himself, and go on.