“To our persecution,” the Prince corrected me mildly. He sat back in his chair and pondered it a bit, as if working out the consequences for himself. He looked uncomfortable as he said, “You’ve already accidentally put a crimp in the Queen’s plans. Despite all Chade’s efforts to take no official interest in your fate, there were still rumors that the death of ‘Keppler,’ Padget, and that other man went unpunished simply because they were suspected to be Witted.”

“I know. Chade told me. And that you were accused of having the Wit as well.”

The Prince bowed his head to that. “Yes. Well, I do, don’t I? And the Piebalds know that, and perhaps some of those who style themselves Old Blood know it as well. Right now, the Old Blood have an interest in keeping my secret. They want this convocation as much as the Queen does. But the deaths of those three men have made them far more cautious than they were. They talk now of demanding more sureties before they will commit to endangering themselves by coming here.”

“They want hostages.” My mind made the leap. “They want an exchange of people, some of ours to hold at risk while their folk are in our hands. How many?”

The Prince shook his head. “Ask that of Chade. Or my mother. From the way they argue, I suspect that she communicates directly with the Old Bloods, and only tells the old man what she thinks he needs to know. It frustrates him. I think she has managed to calm their fears and reschedule the meeting. Chade swore that it would be impossible without granting them ridiculous demands. Yet she had done it. But she will not tell Chade how, and that agitates him. She has reminded him that she is Mountain-bred, and that granting a demand he would see as ‘ridiculous,’ or accepting a risk that he would declare ‘unacceptable,’ are for her a matter of principle.”

“It would. I can’t think of anything he would find more upsetting than to see a pie he couldn’t get his fingers into.” I spoke mildly even as I uneasily wondered where Kettricken’s Mountain ethics on being Sacrifice for her people might lead us.

Dutiful seemed to sense my reservations. “I agree. And yet, in this, I will side with my mother. It is time she forced him to cede the upper hand to her. If she does not insist upon it now, it does not bode well for me to have any real power when I come to the throne.”

His words put a chill down my spine. He was right. The only reassuring part was that he could look at it so levelly and coolly. Then a wry thought twisted my perception. He could see Chade’s machinations because he was as much Chade’s student as he was Kettricken’s Mountain son. Dutiful spoke on as casually as if we were discussing the weather.

“But that is not what we were talking about. You say your true identity cannot become known. I agree that cannot happen right now. There would definitely be a faction interested in ensuring your death. A great many people would hate and fear you. And the Farseers would be accused of sheltering a regicide simply because you were one of the family. Even more interesting might be how it would affect both the Old Bloods and the Piebalds. The Witted Bastard has been a rallying point for them for years, and the rumor of your survival is like a revered legend amongst them. To hear Civil speak of you, you are almost a god.”

“You haven’t discussed me with Civil?” Alarm flooded me.

“Of course not! Well, not you as you. The legend of FitzChivalry, the Witted Bastard, is what we have discussed. And only in passing, I assure you. Though I think your identity would be as safe with Civil as it is with me.”

I sighed, heartsick and weary. “Dutiful. Your loyalty is admirable. But I doubt Civil’s. The Bresingas have betrayed you twice. Will you allow them to do it a third time?”

He looked stubborn. “They were coerced, Tom . . . It feels strange to call you that, now.”

I refused to be distracted. “Become accustomed to it again. And if Civil is threatened again, and again spies for them, or worse?”

“He has no one left for them to threaten.” He halted suddenly and looked at me. “You know, I have neither apologized nor thanked you. I sent you to Civil’s aid without considering that it might be a risk to you. And you went, and you saved my friend’s life, even though you yourself don’t like him much. As a result, you nearly died.” He cocked his head at me. “How do I thank you for that?”

“You don’t need to. You are my prince.”

His face grew very still. Kettricken lurked in his eyes as he said, “I don’t much like that. It seems to make us more distant. I would that you and I were only cousins.”