Hardy accused Kitney of murder and demanded that he be given his sister’s son to raise.

The contest commenced, and Kitney was soon badly battered by Hardy. When Kitney’s staff broke, Hardy laughed aloud and promised him a swift death. Kitney exclaimed, “By Eda, I swear that I did not do this awful thing. To the goddess I turn for protection.”

He lifted his hands and ran. Some there said he only hoped to flee. But seven witnesses and Drum the minstrel said that he appeared to deliberately dash himself against the face of one standing stone. There he vanished, as if he had dived into deep water.

Summer has passed and still no one has seen Kitney Moss or heard word of him. But it has been discovered that Tag the miller had in his possession a silver chain and a ring that once belonged to Weaver. When his cot was searched, other stolen items were discovered, and it now appears that perhaps Weaver discovered him robbing her house and she was killed by him. Kitney Moss was apparently innocent.

—Scribe Simmer, One Account of the Matter of Kitney Moss

It was past noon when we reached Buckkeep Castle.

We had ridden slowly for Nettle’s comfort. Riddle rode at her side, and any anger she had felt toward him had vanished, swept away by the even more terrible loss we shared. By way of the Skill, she had kept Dutiful and the others abreast of our tragedy. I was deaf to the Skill and numb to every sense except my loss.

We had camped for five days at the site. Nettle had summoned a fresh coterie from Buckkeep. They had joined us there and attempted to find Bee in the pillar from our location. Their efforts had exhausted them with no results. They had returned to us, frostbitten and hollow-eyed. Nettle had thanked them and the Killdeer Coterie for their heroic efforts. We’d struck camp and left the standing stone in the deeply shaded winter forest. I carried that cold within me as we left.

I had Perseverance’s horse as a mount, a beast so well trained he took absolutely no management. Bleak and silent, I dropped back to ride with my Rousters. Not thinking took my entire focus. Every time a blade of hope sprouted, I rooted it out. I refused to think of what I’d done wrong, of what else I might have done. I refused to think at all.

We rode by daylight, but all seemed dimness to me. Sometimes I felt thankful that Molly was dead and not here to witness how badly I had failed. Sometimes I wondered if I was being punished because I had not loved Bee enough when she was small and dumb and helpless. Then I would push my mind back into not thinking.

The Buckkeep Guard admitted us without pause and we rode to the courtyard. There was a flurry around Nettle’s horse as servants emerged to welcome her home and all but carry her inside. I was dully surprised to find my Rousters standing in a row, holding their horses and waiting to be dismissed. I sent them off to their barracks and told them to report to Foxglove on the morrow. Time for Foxglove to integrate them, to change their livery and teach them discipline. I could not care about any of it.

I wondered why I had come back here. I wondered what would happen if I got back on the horse and rode away. How long would it take me to get to Clerres? I would travel fastest alone. The horse was tired. No supplies. That was not the way to do this. But how I longed to be that reckless boy again. I stood silent for a long time, aware that Riddle had come to stand beside me, but I didn’t turn to look at him.

He spoke quietly. “King Dutiful has summoned all of us to his private audience chamber.”

There would be a royal rebuke for my disobedience. A report demanded. I did not care about any of it, but Riddle just stood there, a presence against my Wit-sense. I didn’t turn to him when I spoke. “I need to take care of the horse,” I said.

He was silent for a time and then said, “I’ll tell Nettle that you’ll be with us shortly.”

I led the horse into the old stables. I didn’t even know his name. I found the empty stall between Fleeter and Priss, removed harness, hauled water, and found grain where it had always been kept. The stable girl named Patience came, looked at me, and then went away silently. No one else approached me until Perseverance appeared. He looked over the stall wall at me. “I should be doing that.”

“Not this time.” He was quiet, watching me do meticulously every small task one does when a hard-used horse is returned to a stable. I knew how his hands must itch to watch someone else take care of his animal. But I needed to do this. I needed to do at least this small task correctly.

“She goes like the wind. That Fleeter. The horse you loaned me.”

“She does. She’s a good one.” She was watching me over her stall door. I was finished. There was nothing more to do here. No more excuses for delay. I closed the stall door behind myself and wondered where I would go.