The King was sitting before his hearth, vapidly mumbling. The Queen-in-Waiting sat desolately beside him, while Rosemary dozed at her feet. Kettricken rose from her seat to regard us with surprise. “FitzChivalry?” she asked quietly.

I went swiftly to her side. “I have much to explain, and a very little time in which to do it. For what I need to do must be done now, tonight.” I paused, tried to decide how best to explain it to her. “Do you remember when you pledged yourself to Verity?”

“Of course!” She looked at me as if I were crazy.

“He used August, then, a coterie member, to come and stand with you in your mind, to show you his heart. Do you remember that?”

She colored. “Of course I do. But I did not think anyone else knew exactly what had happened then.”

“Few did.” I looked around, to find Burrich and the Fool following the conversation wide-eyed.

“Verity Skilled to you, through August. He is strong in the Skill. You know that, you know how he guards our coasts with it. It is an ancestral magic, a talent of the Farseer line. Verity inherited it from his father. And I inherited a measure of it from mine.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I do not believe Verity is dead. King Shrewd used to be strong in the Skill, I am told. That is no longer the case. His illness has stolen it away, as it has stolen so many other things. But if we can persuade him to try, if we can rouse him to the effort, I can offer him my strength to sustain him. He may be able to reach Verity.”

“It will kill him.” The Fool spoke his challenge flatly. “I have heard of what the Skill takes out of a man. My king has not that left to give.”

“I don’t think it will. If we reach Verity, Verity will break it off before it hurts his father. More than once he has drawn back from draining my strength, to be sure of not injuring me.”

“Even a Fool can see the failure of your logic.” The Fool tugged at the cuffs of his fine new shirt. “If you reach Verity, how will we know it is true, and not a show?”

I opened my mouth in an angry protest, but the Fool held up a forbidding hand. “Of course, my dear, dear Fitz, we should all believe you, as you are our friend, who has only our very best interests at heart. But there may be a few others prone to doubt your word, or regard you as so selfless.” His sarcasm bit at me like acid, but I managed to stand silent. “And if you don’t reach Verity, what do we have? An exhausted and drained King to be further flaunted about as incapable. A grieving Queen, who must wonder, in addition to all her other pains, if perhaps she grieves for a man who is not dead yet. That is the worst type of grieving there is. No. We gain nothing, even if you succeed, for our belief in you would not be enough to stop the wheels that are already turning. And we have much to lose if you fail. Too much.”

Their eyes were on me. There was question even in Burrich’s dark eyes, as if he debated the wisdom of what he had urged me to do. Kettricken stood very still, trying not to pounce on the bare bone of hope that I had thrown at her feet. I wished that I had waited, to talk first with Chade. I suspected I would never have another chance after this night, to have these people in this room, Wallace out of the way, and Regal busy below. It had to be now or it would not be.

I looked at the only one who was not watching me. King Shrewd idly watched the leap and play of the flames in his hearth. “He is still the King,” I said quietly. “Let us ask him, and let him decide.”

“Not fair! He is not himself!” The Fool flung himself between us. He stood high on his feet to try to look me in the eye. “On the herbs fed him, he is as tractable as a plow horse. Ask him to cut his own throat, and he’ll wait for you to hand him the knife.”

“No.” The voice quavered. It had lost its timbre and resonance. “No, my fool, I am not so far gone as that.”

We waited, breathless, but King Shrewd spoke no more. At last I slowly crossed the room. I crouched down beside him, tried to make his eyes meet mine. “King Shrewd?” I begged.

His eyes came to mine, darted away, came back unwillingly. At last he looked at me.

“Have you heard all we have said? My king, do you believe Verity is dead?”

He parted his lips. His tongue was grayish behind them. He took a long breath. “Regal told me Verity is dead. He had word….”

“From where?” I asked gently.

He shook his head slowly. “A messenger … I think.”

I turned to the others. “It would have to have come by messenger. From the Mountains, for Verity must be there by now. He was nearly to the Mountains when Burrich was sent back. I do not believe a messenger would come all the way from the Mountains, and not stay to convey such news to Kettricken herself.”