‘Badgerlo—’ Lord Golden began warningly, but it was too late. Dutiful made a move, a tiny flexing of muscle that warned me. Without considering anything, I launched at him from Myblack’s back. My spring carried us both off our horses and onto the ground. We landed in deep grass, luckily for Dutiful, for I fell atop him, pinning him as neatly as if I had intended it. Both our horses snorted and shied away, but they were too weary to run. Myblack trotted a few paces, knees high, snorted a second rebuke at me, and then dropped her head to the grass. The Prince’s horse, having followed her so far today, copied her example.
I sat up, straddling the Prince’s chest while pinning both his arms down. I heard the sound of Lord Golden dismounting, but did not even turn my head. I stared down at Dutiful silently. I knew by the labouring of his chest that I had knocked the wind out of him, but he refused to make a sound. Nor would he meet my eyes, not even when I took his knife from him and flung it disdainfully into the forest. He looked past me at the sky until I seized his chin and forced him to look me in the face.
‘Choose,’ I told him again.
He met my eyes, looked away, then met them again. When he looked away a second time, I felt some of the fight go out of him. Then his face twisted with misery as he stared past me. ‘But I have to go back to her,’ he gasped out. He drew breath raggedly, and tried to explain. ‘I don’t expect you to understand. You’re nothing but a hound sent to track me down and drag me back. Doing your duty is all you know. But I have to go after her. She is my life, the breath in my body … she completes me. We have to be together.’
Well. You won’t be. I came a knife’s edge away from saying those words, but I did not. Factually, I told him, ‘I do understand. But that doesn’t change what I have to do. It doesn’t even change what you have to do.’
I got off him as Lord Golden approached. ‘Badgerlock, that is Prince Dutiful, heir to the Farseer Throne,’ he reminded me sharply.
I decided to play the role he’d left open for me. ‘And that’s why he’s still got all his teeth. My lord. Most boys who draw knives on me are lucky to keep any.’ I tried to sound both surly and truculent. Let the lad think Lord Golden had me on a short leash. Let him worry that I wasn’t completely under the lord’s control. It would give me an edge of mastery over him.
‘I’ll tend the horses,’ I announced, and stalked away from them into the darkness. I kept one eye and one ear on the shapes of the Fool and the Prince as I dragged off saddles, slipped bits, and wiped the horses down with handfuls of grass. Dutiful got slowly to his feet, disdaining Lord Golden’s offered hand. He brushed himself off, and when Golden asked if he had taken any harm, replied with stiff courtesy that he was as well as could be expected. Lord Golden retreated a short way, to consider the night and allow the lad to collect his shattered dignity. In a short time, Myblack and Malta were grazing as greedily as if they had never seen grass before. I had put the saddles in a row. I removed bedding from Myblack’s saddle-packs and began to make it into pallets near them. If possible, I’d steal an hour of sleep. The Prince watched me. After a moment he asked, ‘Aren’t you going to build a fire?’
‘And make it easier for your friends to find us? No.’
‘But –’
‘It’s not that cold. And there’s no food to cook anyway.’ I shook out the last blanket, then asked him, ‘Do you have any bedding in your saddle-pack?’
‘No,’ he admitted unhappily. I divided the blankets to make three pallets instead of two. I saw him pondering something. Then he added, ‘I do have food. And wine.’ He took a breath, then asked, ‘It seems a fair trade for a blanket.’ I kept a wary eye on him as he approached and began to open his saddle-packs.
‘My prince, you misjudge us. We would not think of making you sleep on the bare earth,’ Lord Golden protested in horror.
‘You might not, Lord Golden. But he would.’ He cast me a baleful glance and added, ‘He does not even accord me the courtesy one man gives to another, let alone the respect a servant should have for his sovereign.’
‘He is a rough man, my prince, but a good servant all the same.’ Lord Golden gave me a warning look.
I made a show of lowering my eyes, but muttered, ‘Respect a sovereign? Perhaps. But not a runaway boy fleeing his duty.’
Dutiful took a breath as if he would reply in fury. Then he let it out as a hiss, but leashed his anger. ‘You know nothing of what you speak about,’ he said coldly. ‘I did not run away.’
Lord Golden’s tone was much gentler than mine had been. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but that is how it must appear to us. The Queen feared at first that you had been kidnapped. But no notes of ransom arrived. She did not wish to alarm her nobles, or to offend the Outislander delegation soon to arrive for your betrothal agreement. Surely you have not forgotten that in nine more nights, the new moon brings your betrothal? For you to be absent at such a time goes beyond mere discourtesy to insult. She doubted that was your intent. Even so, she did not turn out the guards after you, as she might have done. Preferring to be subtle, she asked me to locate you and bring you safely home. And that is our only aim.’
‘I did not run away,’ he repeated stubbornly, and I saw that the accusation had stung him more sharply than I had suspected. Nonetheless, he stubbornly added, ‘But I have no intention of returning to Buckkeep.’ He had taken a bottle of wine from his pack. Now he pulled out food. Smoked fish wrapped in linen, several slabs of hard-crusted honey-cake, and two apples; hardly travelling rations, but the toothsome repast that loyal companions would supply for a prince’s enjoyment. He unfolded the linen on the grass, and began to divide the food into three portions. Dainty as a cat, he arranged the food. I thought it was well done, a show of a gracious nature by a boy in an uncomfortable situation. He uncorked the wine and set it in the middle. With a gesture he invited us, and we were not slow to respond. Little as there was, it was very welcome. The honey-cake was heavy, suety and thick with raisins. I filled my mouth with half my slab and tried to chew it slowly. I was fiercely hungry. Yet even as we attacked the food, the Prince, less hungry, spoke seriously.
‘If you try to force me to return with you, you will only get hurt. My friends will come for me, you know. She will not surrender me so easily, nor I her. And I have no desire to see you get hurt. Not even you,’ he added, meeting my stare. I had thought he intended his words as a threat. Instead, he seemed sincere as he explained, ‘I must go with her. I am not a boy running away from his duty, nor even a man fleeing an arranged marriage. I do not run away from unpleasantness. Instead, I join myself where I most belong … where I was born to belong.’ His careful unfolding of words put me in mind of Verity. His eyes travelled slowly from me to Lord Golden and back again. He seemed to be seeking an ally, or at least a sympathetic ear. He licked his lips as if taking a risk. Very quietly, he asked, ‘Have you ever heard the tale of the Piebald Prince?’
We were both silent. I swallowed food gone tasteless. Was Dutiful mad? Then Lord Golden nodded, once, slowly.
‘I am of that line. As sometimes happens in the Farseer line, I was born with the Wit.’
I did not know whether to admire his honesty, or be horrified at his naïve assumption that he had not just condemned himself to death. I kept my features motionless and did not let my eyes betray my thoughts. Desperately I wondered if he had admitted this to others at Buckkeep.
I think our lack of reaction unnerved him more than anything else we could have done. We both sat quietly, watching him. He took a gambler’s breath. ‘So you see now, why it would be best for everyone if you let me go. The Six Duchies will not follow a Witted king, nor can I forsake what my blood makes me. I will not deny what I am. That would be cowardice, and false to my friends. If I returned, it would only be a matter of time before all knew