Fool's Errand (Tawny Man, #1)(183)

His voice was soft. Relief washed through me that he had enough mind left to speak. At the same time, I hastily reviewed my thoughtless rambling and hoped he had not been paying too much attention. “How do you feel, my Prince?” “I can't feel my cat.”

A long silence followed. I finally said, “I can't feel my wolf, either. Sometimes he needs to be separate from me.”

He was silent for so long that I feared he wasn't going to reply. Then he said, “It doesn't feel like that. She's holding us apart. It feels as if I am being punished.”

“Punished for what?” I kept my voice even and light, as if we discussed the weather.

“For not killing you. For not even trying to kill you. She can't understand why I don't. I can't explain why I don't. But it makes her angry with me.” There was a simplicity to his heartspoken words, as if I conversed with the person behind all the manners and artifice of society. I sensed that our journey through the Skillpillar had stripped away many layers of protection from him. He was vulnerable right now. He spoke and reasoned as soldiers do when they are in great pain, or when ill men try to speak through a fever. All his guards were dropped. It seemed as if he trusted me, that he spoke of such things. I counseled myself not to hope for that, nor believe it. It was only the hardships he had been through that opened him to me like this. Only that. I chose my words carefully. “Is she with you now? The woman?” He nodded slowly. “She is always with me now. She won't let me think alone.” He swallowed and added hesitantly, “She doesn't want me to talk to you. Or listen. It's hard. She keeps pushing me.”

“Do you want to kill me?”

Again there was that pause before he spoke. It was as if he had to digest the words, not simply hear them. When he spoke, he didn't answer my question.

“You said she was dead. It made her very angry.”

“Because it is true.”

“She said she would explain. Later. She said that should be enough for me.” He was not looking at me, but when I gazed at him, he turned his whole head aside as if to be sure he would not see me. “Then she . . . she was me. And she attacked you with the knife. Because I ... hadn't.” I couldn't tell if he was confused or ashamed.

“Wouldn't kill me?” I suggested the word.

“Wouldn't,” the Prince admitted. I was amazed at how grateful I was for the small piece of knowledge. He had refused to kill me. I had thought only my Skillcommand had stopped him. “I wouldn't obey her. Sometimes I've disappointed her. But now she is truly angry with me.”

“And they're punishing you for that disobedience. By leaving you alone.”

He gave his head one slow, grave shake. “No. The cat does not care if I kill you or not. She would always be with me. But the woman . . . she is disappointed that I am not more loyal. So she . . . separates us. Me from the cat. The woman thinks that I should have been willing to show that I was worthy of her. How can they trust me if I refuse to prove my loyalty?”

“And you prove your loyalty by killing when you're told to kill?”

He was silent for a long time. It gave me time to reflect. I had killed when I was told to kill. It had been part of my loyalty to my King, part of my bargain with my grandfather. He would educate me if I would be loyal to him. discovered did not want Kettricken's son to be thatloyal to anyone.

He sighed. “It was . . . even more than that. She wants to make the decisions. All the decisions. Every time. ust as she told the cat what to hunt, and when, and took her kills away. When she holds us close, it feels like love. But she can also hold back from us, and yet we are still held . . .” He could see that I did not understand. After a time he added quietly, “I didn't like it when she used my body against you. Even if she hadn't been trying to kill you, I wouldn't have liked it. She pushed me to one side, just like . . .” He didn't want to admit it. I admired that he forced himself to it. “Just like I've felt her push the cat aside, when she didn't want to do cat things. When she was tired of grooming, or didn't want to play. The cat doesn't like it, either, but she doesn't know how to push back. I did. I pushed her back and she didn't like it. She didn't like that the cat felt me do it, either. I think that's the biggest reason why I'm being punished. That I pushed her back.” He shook his head, baffled himself, and then said, “She's so real. How can you besure she's dead?”

I found I could not lie to him. “I ... feel it. So does Nighteyes. He says the cat is riddled with her, as if she were parasites worming through her flesh. He felt sorry forthe cat.”

“Oh.” The word was very small. glanced back at him, and thought he looked more gray than pale now. His eyes went distant and his thoughts traveled back. “When I first got her, she loved for me to groom her. I kept her coat like silk. But after we left Buckkeep . . . sometimes the cat would want to be brushed, but the woman always said there was no time for that. Cat lost weight and her fur was rough. I worried, but she always set my worry aside. She said it was just the season, that it would pass. And I believed her. Even though the cat wanted to be brushed.” He looked stricken. “I took no pleasure in telling you that.”

“I suppose it doesn't matter now.”

For a long time, I led the horse in silence as I tried to puzzle out what his last words meant. Didn't matter that I was sorry, or didn't matter that she was dead?