“Walk your thoughts through it, my friend. We dress and creep out of this room, get past the stable folk to take our horses out, ride through unfamiliar country by night until we come to where the Prince is up a tree with a wolf at the foot of it. One of us climbs the tree and forces the Prince down. Then we coax him to come back with us. Lord Golden miraculously appears at breakfast with, I imagine, a very disgruntled Prince Dutiful, or Lord Golden and his man simply disappear from Lady Bresinga's hospitality without a word of explanation. In any case, in a few days a lot of very uncomfortable questions are going to be asked about Lord Golden and his man Tom Badgerlock, not to mention Prince Dutiful.”

He was right. We already suspected the Bresingas were involved in the Prince's “disappearance.” Bringing him back to Galekeep would be foolish. We had to recover him in such a way that we could take him straight back to Buckkeep and no one the wiser. I pressed my fingers to my eyeballs. It felt as if the pressure inside my skull would force them out of their sockets. “What do we do, then?” I asked thickly. I didn't even really want to know. I wanted to fall over on my side and huddle into a miserable ball.

“The wolf keeps track of the Prince. Tomorrow, during our hunt, I will send you back for something I've forgotten. Once you are on your own, you will go to where the Prince is and persuade him to return to Buckkeep. I chose you a big horse. Take him with you immediately and return him to Buckkeep. I'll find a way to explain your absence.”

“How?”

“I haven't thought of it yet, but I will. Don't be concerned about it. Whatever tale I tell, the Bresingas will have to accept for fear of offending me.”

I picked at the next largest hole in the plan. It was hard to keep my thoughts in order. “I ... persuade him to come back to Buckkeep?”

“You can do it,” the Fool replied with great confidence. “You will know what to say.”

I doubted it, but had run out of strength to object. There were painfully bright lights behind my closed eyes. Knuckling them made them worse. I opened my eyes to the dim room, but zigzags of light still danced before my vision, sharding it. “Elfbark,” I pleaded quietly. “I need it.”

“No.”

My mind could not encompass that he had refused me. “Please.” I pushed the word out. “The pain is worse than I can explain.” Sometimes I could tell when a seizure was coming on. I hadn't had one in a long time. Was I imagining that odd tension in my neck and back?

“Fitz, I can't. Chade made me promise.” In a lower voice, as if he feared it was too little to offer, he added, “I'll be here with you.”

Pain tumbled me in a wave. Fear mingled with it.

Should come?

No. “Stay where you are. Watch him.” I heard myself say the words out loud as I thought them. There was something I was supposed to worry about in that. I recalled it. “I need elfbark tea,” I managed to say. “Or I can't hold the limits. On the Wit. They'll know I'm here.”

The bed moved under me as the Fool clambered out of it, a terrible jostling that pounded my brain against the inside of my skull. I heard him go to the washstand. A moment later, he was back, damp cloth in hand. “Lie back,” he told me.

“Can't,” I muttered. Any movement hurt. I wanted to get back to my own room, but could not. If I was going to have a fit, I didn't want to do it in front of the Fool.

The cold cloth on my brow was like a shock. I retched with it, then took short panting breaths to get my stomach under control. I more felt than saw the Fool crouch down before me as I sat on the edge of the bed. He took my hand in gloved ones and his fingers fumbled over mine. An instant later, they bit down, pinching hard between the bones of my hand. I gave an inarticulate cry and tried to pull free of him, but as ever he was stronger than I expected.

“Just for a moment,” he muttered as if reassuring me. The pain in my hand became a racing numbness. A moment later, he seized my arm just above my elbow in both his hands, and again his fingers sought and then pinched down hard.

“Please,” I begged him, and tried to move away from him. He moved with me and the pain in my head was such I couldn't escape. Why was he hurting me?

“Don't struggle,” he begged me. “Trust me. I think I can help. Trust me.” Again his hands moved, this time to my shoulder, and again those relentless fingers jabbed down hard. I gasped, and then his hands were on either side of my neck, his fingers pressing in and up as if he wished to detach my head. I grasped his wrists but could find no strength in my hands. “A moment,” he begged me again. “Fitz, Fitz, trust me. Trust me.”