“My boy, I do not give out secrets that are not mine to share.”

I gave a small sigh of relief. It would have been uncomfortable to imagine someone in the keep watching me, knowing who I was but shielded from my gaze. At least I was on an equal footing with this new apprentice.

“Now. The Narcheska?”

And so I reported to him, as I had never expected to do again. As I had when I was a boy, I spoke to him the exact words I had overheard, and afterward he quizzed me as to what I had thought those words had meant. I spoke bluntly. “I do not know the man’s status in the Narcheska’s offering to Queen Kettricken. But I do not think he feels bound by the betrothal, and his advice to the girl affirms to her that she need not feel bound.”

“I find that most interesting. It is a valuable tidbit, Fitz, and no mistake. Their strange servant intrigues me as well. When your time permits, you could look in on them again, and let me know what you discover.”

“Cannot your new apprentice do that just as well?”

“You are prying again, and you know it. But this time, I will answer. No. My apprentice is no more privy to the network of spy passages in the castle than you were. That is not a matter for apprentices. They have enough to do with minding themselves and their own secrets without being entrusted with mine. But I think I shall have my apprentice pay special attention to the serving woman. That is the piece I fear most in this new puzzle you have handed me. But the spy tunnels and secret ways of Buckkeep remain ours alone. So—” and here a strange smile crooked his mouth— “I suppose you could see yourself as having reached journeyman status. Not, of course, that you are an assassin anymore. We both know that is not so.”

That jest prodded me in a tender place. I did not want to think about just how deeply I had slipped back into my old roles as spy and assassin. I’d already killed again for my prince, several times. That had been in the heat of anger, while defending myself and rescuing Prince Dutiful. Would I kill again, in secret, by poison, in the cold knowledge of necessity, for the Farseers? The most disturbing part of that question was that I could not answer it. I reined my mind to more productive paths.

“Who is the man in the Narcheska’s chamber? Besides being her uncle Peottre, I mean.”

“Ah. Well, your question unwittingly gives you the answer. He is her uncle, her mother’s brother. In the old ways of the Out Islands, that was more significant than being her father. To them, the mother’s lineage was the significant one. A woman’s brothers were the important men in the lives of her children. Husbands joined the clans of their wives, and the children took on the clan symbol of their mothers.”