“Do you think they went back to Bingtown, then?”

“Most emphatically not. We had a messenger from the Traders last week, seeking word of Tintaglia. From the scroll, I could not tell if they were worried for her well-being, or frantic at having become the sole providers for several earth-bound dragons. I was going to tell them we had no idea of what had become of them after Icefyre made his appearance at the Narwhal mothershouse. Then Nettle spoke up. She said that Tintaglia and Icefyre were feeding and mating and completely engrossed in those two activities. She could not say where; her contact with Tintaglia is intermittent, and a dragon's idea of geography is quite different from ours. But they were feeding on sea bears. So I think that would put them to the north of us. We may yet see something of them if they decide to fly back to Bingtown.”

“I've a feeling we've not heard the last of them. But what about closer to home? Have we resolved anything with our Old Blood?”

“Old Blood has shed much blood while we were gone. It has rocked several of our duchies to discover that Old Blood may run stronger in the nobility than was previously admitted. There was even a rumor about Celerity of Bearns, that perhaps she and her hawk saw with the same eyes. Shocking. These revelations come out when vendettas run hot, and one set of murders lead to another. Kettricken has been hard-pressed to keep order. But the gist of it is that Old Blood seems to have thoroughly cleaned their own house of ‘the Piebald blight.' Web was horrified at the news he received when he arrived home. He has pressed, more than ever, for Old Blood to make itself known and respectable. In some ways, the bloodletting has been a setback for him. Ironically, he has proposed to create a township for Old Blood, where they may demonstrate their diligence and civility. What once they opposed for fear it would lead to slaughter, they now propose as a way to demonstrate their harmlessness. When unprovoked. The Queen is considering it. Location would require much negotiation. Many fear the Wit more than ever these days.”

“Well, not everything can go smoothly, I suppose. At least it may be more out in the open, now.” I sat a moment, wondering. Celerity of Bearns, Witted? I did not think so. But looking back, I could not be certain.

“And Lord FitzChivalry Farseer? Will he come out into the sunlight at last?”

“What, only Lord? I thought I was to be King?” And then I laughed, for never had I seen Chade struck dumb before. “No,” I decided. “No, I think we will let Lord FitzChivalry Farseer rest in peace. Those important to me know. That was all I ever cared about.”

Chade nodded thoughtfully. “I could wish you a minstrel's happy ending to your tale, ‘much love and many children,' but I do not think it will come to be.”

“It never came true for you, either.”

He looked at me and then looked aside. “I had you,” he said. “But for you, perhaps I would have died an ‘old spider' hiding in the walls. Did you never think of that?”

“No. I hadn't.”

“I've things to do,” he said abruptly. Then, as he stood, he rested a hand on my shoulder and asked, “Will you be all right now?”

“As well as can be expected,” I said.

“I'll leave you, then.” He looked down and added, “Will you try to be more careful? It was not easy for me, those days when you went missing. I thought you had fled Buckkeep and the duties of your blood, and then when the Fool came through, I believed you were dead somewhere. Again.”

“I'll be just as careful with myself as you are with yourself,” I promised him. He lifted one brow at me and then nodded.

I sat for some time after he was gone looking at the package and the scroll. I opened the scroll first. I recognized the Fool's careful hand. I read it through twice. It was a poem about dancing, and a farewell. I could tell he had written it before he discovered my absence. So. He had not changed his mind. He and Prilkop had paused here only to say good-bye to me, not because he'd had a change of heart.

The package was lumpy and rather heavy. When I untied the slithery fabric, a piece of memory stone the size of my fist rolled out on the table. The Fool's Skilled fingers had carved it, I was sure. I poked at it cautiously but felt only stone. I lifted it up to look at it. It had three faces, each blending into the next. Nighteyes was there, and me, and the Fool. Nighteyes looked out at me, ears up and muzzle down. The next facet showed me as a young man, unscarred, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. Had I ever truly been that young? And the Fool had carved himself as a fool, in a tailed cap with one long forefinger lifted to shush his pursed lips and his brows arched high in some jest.