Fool's Quest (The Fitz and The Fool Trilogy #2)

Fool's Quest (The Fitz and The Fool Trilogy #2) Page 71

“Are you certain there is no difference in your vision?”

“I can’t really tell. Perhaps I perceive more light. My face is sore, but in a different way. The soreness of healing, perhaps. Did you find anything when you were … inside my body? Could you tell what stole my sight?”

“It’s not like that, Fool. I could tell that there were breaks in your facial bones that hadn’t healed properly. And I put them on the path to healing, and tried to undo some of the places where the bones were not aligned as they should be.”

He lifted questioning hands to his face. “Bones? I thought the skull was one bone, mostly.”

“It’s not. If you wish, later I can show you a human skull.”

“No. Thank you. I’ll take your word for it. Fitz, I can tell by your voice that you found something else. Is more wrong with me than you wish to tell me?”

I chose my words carefully. No lies this time. “Fool, we may have to go more slowly with your healing. The process is demanding for me. We must employ good food and rest as much as we can, and save magical efforts for the more difficult injuries.” I knew those words were true. I tried not to follow that thought to its logical conclusion.

“But—” he began and then halted. I watched the brief struggle in his expression. He so desperately needed to be well and on his quest and yet, as a true friend, he would not ask me to exert myself past my strength. He’d seen me exhausted from Skill-efforts, and knew what the physical demands could be. I did not need to tell him that the healings might do actual injuries to me. He did not need to bear the guilt for what I’d already done to myself. That was my own doing. He turned his clouded gaze back to the candles. “Where did Motley go?”

“Motley?”

“The crow,” he seemed embarrassed to reply. “Before she went down to you, we were talking, well, not really, though she knows quite a few words and almost seems to make sense sometimes. I asked her, ‘What’s your name?’ Because, well, because it was so quiet up here. At first she said random things in reply. ‘Stop that!’ and ‘It’s dark’ and ‘Where’s my food?’ And finally she said back to me, ‘What’s your name?’ It rattled me for a moment, until I realized she was just mimicking me.” A tentative smile dawned on his face.

“So you named her Motley?”

“I just started calling her Motley. And shared my food with her. You said she came down to you and you painted her. Where is she now?”

I hated to tell him. “She came down the stairs and tapped at the secret door. I let her into my room, where she ate half my breakfast. I left the window open for her; I suspect she’s gone by now.”

“Oh.” The depth of disappointment in his tone surprised me.

“I’m sorry.” He said nothing. “She’s a wild creature, Fool. It’s for the best.”

He sighed. “I am not certain you are correct about that. Eventually, the ink will fade, and then what? Her own kind attacks her, Fitz. And crows are flock birds, unaccustomed to being solitary. What will become of her?”

I knew he was right. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “But I also don’t know what else I can do for her.”

“Keep her,” he suggested. “Give her a place to be and food. Shelter from storms and her enemies.” He cleared his throat. “The same things that King Shrewd offered to a misfit creature.”

“Fool, I scarcely think that’s a valid comparison. She’s a crow, not a youngster alone in the world.”

“A youngster. In appearance. Young in terms of my kind, yes. Naïve and unlearned in the wider world in which I found myself. But almost as different from King Shrewd as a crow is from a man. Fitz, you know me. You’ve been me. You know that you and I are as much unlike as we are alike. As like and unlike as you and Nighteyes were. Motley, I think, is as like me as Nighteyes was like you.”

I pinched my lips shut for a moment and then relented. “I’ll go and see if I can find her for you. And if I can find her, and if she will come, I’ll bring her up here to you. And set out water and food for her.”

“Would you?” His scarred smile was beatific.

“I will.” And I rose in that moment, and went down the steps and opened the door to my room. Where I found Motley waiting.

“Dark,” she informed me gravely. She hopped up a step, then the next one, and on the third one she turned to look back at me. “What’s your name?” she demanded of me.