Fool's Errand (Tawny Man #1) 49

“Fitz,” I murmured, in response to something, and then, “FitzChivalry,” I said aloud to myself. A fresh log crashed down onto the embers of the fire, scattering the glowing heart into individual coals. For a time I stared at it, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I blinked, and became aware of Chade 's hand resting on my shoulder. I smelled hot food, and slowly turned my head. A platter rested on a low table near the chair. I stared at it, wondering how it had come to be there.

“Fitz?” Chade said again, and I tried to recall his question.

“What?”

“Did you find Prince Dutiful?”

Each word gradually made sense to me until I perceived his query. “No,” I said as a wave of weariness rolled over me. “No, nothing.” In the wake of the fatigue, my hands began to tremble and my head to pound. I closed my eyes, but found no relief. Even with my eyes closed, snakes of light trembled across the dark. When I opened my eyes, they were superimposed on the room before me. I felt as if too much light were getting inside my head. The waves of pain tumbled me in a surf of disorientation.

“Here. Drink this.”

Chade put a warm mug into my hands and I lifted it gratefully to my mouth. I took a mouthful, then nearly spat it out. It was not elfbark tea to soothe my headache, but only beef broth. I swallowed it without enthusiasm. “Elfbark tea,” I reminded him. “That is what I need right now. Not food.”

“No, Fitz. Recall what you yourself told me. Elfbark stunts the Skill ability, and numbs you to your talent. That is something we cannot risk just now. Eat something. It will restore your strength.”

Obediently I looked at the tray. Sliced fruit floated in cream next to freshbaked bread. There was a glass of wine and pink slices of baked river fish. I carefully set the mug of broth down next to the revolting stuff and turned my gaze away. The fire was rekindling itself, dancing licks of flame, too bright. I lowered my face into my hands, seeking darkness, but even there the lights still danced before my eyes. I spoke into my hands. “I need some elfbark. It has not been this bad in years, not since Verity was alive, not since Shrewd took strength from me. Please, Chade. I cannot even think.”

He went away. I sat counting my heartbeats until he came back. Each thud of my heart was a flare of pain in my temples. I heard the scuff of his steps and lifted my head.

“Here,” he said gruffly, and set a cool wet cloth to my forehead. The shock of it made me catch my breath. I held it to my brow and felt the thudding ease somewhat. It smelled of lavender.

I looked at him through a haze of pain. His hands were empty. “The elfbark tea?” I reminded him.

“No, Fitz.”

“Chade. Please. It hurts so bad I can't see.” Each word was an effort. My own voice was too loud.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know, my boy. But you will just have to bear it. The scrolls say that sometimes the use of the Skill brings this pain, but that, with time and repeated effort, you will learn to master it. Again, my understanding of it is imperfect, but it seems to have to do with the split effort you make, both to reach out from yourself and to hold tight to yourself. Given time, you will learn how to reconcile those tensions and then ”

“Chade!” I did not mean to bellow but I did. “I just need the damned elfbark tea. Please!” I took sudden control of myself. “Please,” I added softly, contritely. “Please, just the tea. Just help me ease this pain, and then I could listen to you.”

“No, Fitz.”

“Chade.” I spoke my hidden fear. “Pain such as this could push me into a seizure.”

I saw a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But then, “I don't think it will. Besides, I'm here beside you, boy. I'll take care of you. You have to try to get through this without the drug. For Dutiful's sake. For the Six Duchies.”

His refusal stunned me into silence. Hurt and defiance tore me. “Fine.” I bit off the word. “I have some in my pack in my room.” I tried to find the will to stand.

A moment of silence. Then, unwillingly he admitted, “You had some in your pack in your room. It is gone. As is the carryme that was with it.”

I took the rag from my forehead and glared at him. My anger built on the foundation of my pain. “You have no right. How dare you?”

He took a breath. “I dare as much as my need demands. And my need is great.” His greeneyed gaze met mine challengingly. “The throne needs the talent that only you possess. I will allow nothing that diminishes your Skill.”