Let us go hunting instead.
Perhaps, I found myself agreeing, that would be the best thing. To go hunting, to kill, to eat, to sleep. And to do no more than that.
Why not now?
I don’t really know.
I composed myself and knocked at Kettricken’s door. It was opened by little Rosemary, who dimpled a smile at me as she invited me in. Once within, Molly’s errand here was evident. Kettricken was holding a fat green candle under her nose. On the table were several others. “Bayberry,” I observed.
Kettricken looked up with a smile. “FitzChivalry. Welcome. Come in and be seated. May I offer you food? Wine?”
I stood looking at her. A sea change. I felt her strength, knew she stood in the center of herself. She was dressed in a soft gray tunic and leggings. Her hair was dressed in her customary way. Her jewelry was simple, a single necklace of green and blue stone beads. But this was not the woman I had brought back to the Keep a few days ago. That woman had been distressed, angry, hurt, and confused. This Kettricken welled serenity.
“My queen,” I began hesitantly.
“Kettricken,” she corrected me calmly. She moved about the room, setting some of the candles on shelves. It was almost a challenge in that she did not say more.
I came farther into her sitting room. She and Rosemary were the only occupants. Verity had once complained to me that her chambers had the precision of a military encampment. It had not been an exaggeration. The simple furnishings were spotlessly clean. The heavy tapestries and rugs that furnished most of Buckkeep were missing here. Simple mats of straw were on the floor, and frames supported parchment screens painted with delicate sprays of flowers and trees. There was no clutter at all. In this room, all was finished and put away, or not yet begun. That is the only way I can describe the stillness I felt there.