“He chose you a queen!” Shrewd interrupted harshly. I knew then that this was not the first time this had been argued and sensed that Shrewd was most annoyed that I had been privy to these words. “Regal chose a woman, not for you, or himself, or any such silliness. He chose a woman to be Queen of this country, of these Six Duchies. A woman who can bring to us the wealth and the men and the trade agreements that we need now, if we are to survive these Red-Ships. Soft hands and a sweet scent will not build your warships, Verity. You must set aside this jealousy of your brother; you cannot fend off the enemy if you do not have confidence in those who stand behind you.”
“Exactly,” Verity said quietly. He pushed his chair back.
“Where do you go?” Shrewd demanded irritably.
“To my duties,” Verity said shortly. “Where else have I to go?”
For a moment even Shrewd looked taken aback. “But you’ve scarcely eaten ….” He faltered.
“The Skill kills all other appetites. You know that.”
“Yes.” Shrewd paused. “And I know, too, as you do, that when this happens, a man is close to the edge. The appetite for the Skill is one that devours a man, not one that nourishes him.”
They both seemed to have forgotten entirely about me. I made myself small and unobtrusive, nibbling on my biscuit as if I were a mouse in a corner.
“But what does the devouring of one man matter, if it saves a kingdom.” Verity did not bother to disguise the bitterness in his voice, and to me it was plain that it was not the Skill alone that he spoke of. He pushed his plate away. “After all,” he added with ponderous sarcasm, “it is not as if you do not have yet another son to step in and wear your crown. One unscarred by what the Skill does to men. One free to wed where he will, or will not.”
“It is not Regal’s fault that he is unSkilled. He was a sickly child, too sickly for Galen to train. And who could have foreseen that two Skilled Princes would not be enough,” Shrewd protested. He rose abruptly and paced the length of the chamber. He stood, leaning on the windowsill and peering out over the sea below. “I do what I can, son,” he added in a lower voice. “Do you think I do not care, that I do not see how you are being consumed?”
Verity sighed heavily. “No. I know. It is the weariness of the Skill that speaks so, not I. One of us, at least, must keep a clear head and try to grasp the whole of what is happening. For me, there is nothing but the sensing out, and then the sorting, the trying to fix navigator out from oarsman, to scent out the secret fears that the Skill can magnify, to find the faint hearts in the crew and prey upon those first. When I sleep, I dream them, and when I try to eat, they are what sticks in my throat. You know I have never relished this; Father. It never seemed to me worthy of a warrior, to skulk and spy about in men’s minds. Give me a sword and I’ll willingly explore their guts. I’d rather unman a man with a blade than turn the hounds of his own mind to nipping at his heels.”
“I know, I know,” Shrewd said gently, but I did not think he really did. I, at least, did understand Verity’s distaste for his task. I had to admit I shared it, and felt him somehow dirtied by it. But when he glanced at me, my face and eyes were empty of any judgment. Deeper within me was the sneaking guilt that I had failed to learn the Skill, and was no use to my uncle at this time. I wondered if he looked at me, and thought of drawing on my strength again. It was a frightening thought, but I steeled myself to the request. But he only smiled at me kindly, if absently, as if no such thought had ever crossed his mind. And as he rose and walked past my chair, he tousled my hair as if I were Leon.