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A proposal for exploiting prophetic foreknowledge precedes “Bribes,” which opens with Bee waking to breakfast in her imprisonment. Disoriented, she takes a moment to collect herself and asks for wash-water, only to be denied. Prilkop explains, and the Four enter, described once again as Capra takes Bee from her cell. Bee follows her past cells and into the stronghold of Clerres, coming to a room where Bee is instructed to bathe.

Bee does as bidden, assessing her physical state. As she dresses, she keeps with her a candle Molly had made, about which Capra asks her; at the questioning, Bee sees possibilities emerge, but she is soon obliged to follow Capra again through more of the stronghold. As they proceed, Capra explains what they pass by, noting a core library of texts and how they are used in Clerres to effect.

The pair continue on, and Bee begins to formulate a plan for how she will go on. Capra lays out possibilities for Bee to consider, and she takes her to dine privately. Bee puts forward her best possible presentation while concealing as much of her deeper self as she can, deflecting questions about deeper truths. Coached along by Wolf-Father, Bee has some success in it, partly by divulging information that belied Dwalia‘s earlier comments. The success is only partial, however, and she soon finds herself being recorded in detail.

Bee considers the scribe brought in to attend upon her, Nopet, and begins to make her report. In doing so, she gives more detail than she intends, and Wolf-Father continues to coach her. But it proves well for her that she does, because her accounts are confirmed by other sources, and as the Four begin to argue, Capra takes Bee back to her imprisonment next to Prilkop. Capra ubpraids the other three again, and Bee is left confined to consider what will happen next.

The present chapter, in Capra questioning Bee at the table about Fitz and the Fool, offers a reminder about the Six Duchies’ predilection towards emblematic names, something long asserted in the Realm of the Elderlings novels. (Indeed, the opening prefatory materials that begin the whole corpus make mention of it; readers learn the practice before they learn the narrator’s name in the text.) Originally an issue of royal and noble names, the practice seems to spread beyond those confines; one example is Perseverance, who does seem to keep going when he probably ought not to do so, and Spark/Ash presents another, paired, example of the same. (I am suddenly put in mind of something of a backhanded chain of jokes as regards Spark; her presence seems to kindle Lant[ern? I know it’s not, but it’s close enough for the evocation], much as he had been infatuated with Shine and fairly glowed in her company before the revelation of their close kinship. I motion towards the latter in earlier comments, but the former only now occurs to me, I think. It’s probably not a mark in my favor, although it is something that bespeaks the value of rereadings; more details emerge each time, deepening understanding and appreciation–at least for me.)

The present chapter also speaks to what I’ve noted is a recurring theme in Hobb’s work: the primacy of writing. As I’ve commented before, it’s not a surprise that a writer would espouse such themes; making money from writing requires that people believe in the value of writing, after all. I find, however, that in the present-of-this-writing, there is a connection between the accumulated knowledge of untold but implied-to-be vast time-spans of prophecies (and the subsequent reports that bear out their correctness) and the information economy that was certainly in place as the novel was composed and initially released. Again, the novel dates to 2017; social media, with its information-harvesting and predictive algorithms targeted at the acquisition of money, was already very much in place. The idea of reading Clerres as a fantasy take on science-fiction dystopiæ tantalizes, suggesting itself as yet another scholarly someday worth investigating.

I seem to continue to collect such things. I hope to be able to address at least some of them.

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Another account of a particular prophecy precedes “Hand and Foot,” which opens with harsh conversation among the Four as Bee listens, considering her situation before she is taken away. The advice to “Never do that which you can’t undo, until you’ve perceived what you can’t do once you’ve done it” (476) is voiced again, and Capra takes charge of matters, explaining why she does so.

Bee is locked in a cell again, her progress to that point described. As the Four lock her away, Prilkop, who is also locked away there, speaks to them challengingly but receives no response. After they depart, Bee sees to herself as she can and weeps. Prilkop speaks to her, then, and she passes a sorrowful night.

The next morning, Prilkop again attempts conversation with Bee, and she relates a version of her story to him. Prilkop answers her story with his understanding of surrounding events, as well as the utterly unforeseen continuation of Fitz and the Fool in the world after the former’s death and resurrection. Prilkop acknowledges that Bee’s arrival portends a massive upheaval, and he lapses into silence.

That Hobb once again makes fairly explicit reference in the present chapter to events in previous chapters is once again something I appreciate about her writing. That there is such call-back in a series of novels that makes much of prognostication helps to make things foreshadowing across decades of work (Assassin’s Apprentice was published in 1996; Assassin’s Fate in 2017, more than twenty years later), something that strikes me as being entirely thematically appropriate.

(I acknowledge that I’ve not done enough in this rereading series to connect themes across chapters and works. Part of the problem of working on it across years and with less focus than a more formal academic treatment–which is the kind of treatment that would bear out such connections–would expect is that I don’t always remember from session to session of work on the project what all I’ve done. Too, I’ve realized as I’ve gotten further and further into the thing, as I’ve refined my approach and expanded on my work, that I’ve not been as consistent or as detailed in indexing as I probably ought to have been. I have ideas about what to do, but whether I will ever have the time to enact them is an open question.)

There are some tantalizing things that come up for me as I reread the chapter. Prilkop’s long history is something hinted at across novels, its exceptional length being teased but not necessarily confirmed (I am not alone, I find, in wondering if Prilkop had once been called Hoquin, mentioned here, here, and here); whether Hobb will ever take up a project of expounding on that history, I would not venture to say, although I’d definitely read it. Similarly, the other captives held alongside Bee and Prilkop–five others, by Bee’s reckoning (483)–must have some stories of their own to have merited the special incarceration afforded them. And there are any number of other stories that could be told.

Alas, that there is not enough time for them all!

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Read the previous entry in the series here.
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Note that the present chapter contains a scene of torture and the commentary therefore discusses it.

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An account of a particular prophecy precedes “Clerres,” which opens with Bee considering her approach to the titular place. The city and its environs are described as she, captive, approaches it, and she muses on her situation and the changes it is making within her. She begins to harden her heart against her situation, and she makes preparations with Dwalia and Vindeliar to disembark the ship that has carried them.

The three head through the city into the stronghold of the Servants, and Bee takes in her surroundings, noting the people she passes. Dwalia’s attitude changes as they approach, growing haughty as they come to the stronghold’s entrance and are, after some discussion, admitted. Bee recognizes her surroundings from dreams recalled, and the three find themselves held aside until they are summoned by the Four, who lead the Servants.

The Four are described as Bee sees them, and they demand a report of Dwalia, from which Bee manages to piece together much. What Dwalia gives is unsatisfactory, and after division among the Four is observed, she is punished for it. Bee considers the punishment and why neither she nor Dwalia had foreseen the eventuality. And Bee alone marks the words Dwalia says after her punishment: “Your turn now” (474).

That the novel hastens toward its end is clear with the present chapter, in which one deuteragonist arrives at the foretold destination. The descriptions provided offer useful exposition, and I’m sure there’s another one of my many scholarly somedays to be found in reading the color-coding of the Four for insights; one thing that springs to mind swiftly for me, despite my assertion that Hobb moves away from the Tolkienian tradition in many ways, is a distorted echo of the Istari in the Legendarium, the five color-coded wizards. I am sure there are other interpretations to find in such descriptions, as well.

The passage in which Dwalia is flagellated at the whim of the Four is of interest, less because of the violence itself (although I do note that torture is something of a regular occurrence in Hobb’s work; I will eventually deal with “The Triumph” in my rereading, which offers one of the more extended examples) than because of the way in which it is prescribed. Each of the Four almost casually asserts a number of lashes to be administered to Dwalia, offering in a matter-of-fact way a punishment that could well prove fatal. The blithe disregard for possible fatality is telling. The easy assignment of a heavily-coded-for-US-readers punishment–whipping is particularly associated with chattel slavery in the US–also works to reinforce the evilness of Clerres, something already asserted in the novel and here made clearly not an exaggeration for effect on the part of the characters who have offered as much.

I remain uncertain how I feel about the matter. That it is as bad as it sounded like it would be seems at odds with much of the rest of what Hobb does, even as it does make sense in context (and, admittedly, aligns more fully with prevailing expectations; people want a clear “bad guy,” even if the “good guy” doesn’t always have to be really good). So it sits…strangely with me. But that’s not a bad thing for a book to do, admittedly, or even a single chapter in one.

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An excerpt from Bee’s journals precedes “The Butterfly Cloak,” which begins with Fitz ruminating on long ocean voyages, not entirely happily, as the Paragon proceeds towards Clerres, passing beyond what reliable charts the ship and crew have. The progress of the vessel and matters among the crew are glossed, and Fitz considers the value of boredom.

At one point, Lant approaches Fitz to note his concerns about Kennitsson’s interest in Spark. The pair confer, Fitz suggesting to Lant that he leave matters be until and unless he is asked to intervene, and Lant begrudgingly accedes. Fitz finds himself musing on his own history as he considers whether or not he should intervene, himself, and decides against it. He does, however, confer with the ship about it when the figurehead summons him to talk, and he finds himself subjected to the memories of trauma and abuse that the ship has taken in and held for others. How Igrot and his crew died is attested, as is more of what befell Paragon before the ship’s return to Bingtown.

Kennitsson joins the conversation, distracting the Paragon into discussion of the plan to return to draconic form, and Fitz absents himself. Returning to his cabin, he encounters the Fool, and the two move towards reconciliation over their earlier anger towards one another. The Fool notes the urgency of sharing prophetic dreams, and they talk together of what the Fool has dreamed until he falls asleep. Fitz tends to him, and then he reaches out towards Nettle with the Skill. She informs him that Chade has died and relates his final days. Fitz relates his contact with Bee to her sister.

After Fitz releases contact with Nettle, he reaches through the Skill towards Bee and finds an echo of Chade in the Skill-current. In the dark, Fitz weeps.

There are some things that attract my attention in the chapter, as might be expected. One of them is in the prefatory remarks, which might well also be expected at this point. In them, Bee writes that “Wasps are more like men [than are bees], able to kill again and again, and still go on living” (423). The simile is of interest; in context, Bee contrasts wasps with bees (meaningfully, given her name), juxtaposing the usual fatality to the bee of using its sting with the ability of wasps to sting repeatedly. Implied is the idea that the wasps do not suffer harm from their repeated stings, although I note that so much is not made explicit, and I read with the fact that Bee is a White Prophet in mind; exact wording matters (something of a theme across Hobb’s work, as I’ve motioned towards), and what is not said is as important as what is. Implied also is that she, herself, cannot kill and remain alive, although this, too, must be read with the fact that Bee is a White Prophet in mind; in that case, it may simply be an acknowledgment that acting in such a way is a death of innocence. Further explication is suggested, and while it may well be the case that many would argue such exercises are of little value, I would reply that they both serve to deepen engagement with–and thus likely enjoyment of–the text so treated and to foster skills in attention and interpretation that are likely to be useful when applied to other media and to the non-media environment. But that’s something of an aside, I admit.

Another matter of interest in the chapter is the reassertion of butterfly imagery. Commonly associated with transformation and rebirth, the insect is referenced more than a few times across the Realm of the Elderlings novels. That it is here juxtaposed both with Bee’s comments about bees and wasps and with Chade’s death (itself foreshadowed heavily in the previous chapter) makes a bit more interesting of a reading; there is a lot of talk of transformations and of moving through stages of existence in the chapter, whether in Bee’s journal and its implications or the liveship’s intention to transform (from parts of chrysalides, no less) or in the idea that something of the person persists beyond death in the flow of those magics which Fitz and other Farseers employ. The imagery, although it does end up mixing with other images, seems to work well, here, and I’m always glad to see such things in what I read.

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Transcribed records of the environmental disaster that ravaged the Realm of the Elderlings precede “Under Sail.” The chapter begins with the Paragon making ready to depart Divvytown in haste, the dragons having departed. Kennit’s son takes ship and is stymied to find himself treated as a common deckhand rather than as an entitled princeling, Brashen and Sorcor having conferred to that effect. Fitz finds himself addressed by name and title and swiftly intuits Brashen’s purposes before taking himself off to confer with Amber. The conversation between the two is strained and interrupted by another summons to work.

A day out, Motley rejoins the group, having seemingly conferred with and been enriched by Heeby. After conferring with Perseverance about the crow, Fitz finds himself addressed by Kennitsson, the younger man trying to sort out the hierarchy in place aboard the ship. Fitz considers the change in his status and the return to working aboard ship. He also continues to marvel at the ease of working aboard a liveship as compared to a more normal vessel, remarking on the attitudes of the crew towards the same. How his companions fare as part of the crew is noted, as well, both for good and for ill.

Fitz is later summoned to Amber to discuss rescuing Bee. Plans for doing so are discussed, and changes to the mission to destroy Clerres are noted. Fitz’s own ongoing desire for revenge is also noted.

Amid the tedium of a slow ocean voyage, Fitz is reached through the Skill by Nettle. She notes having received his written report of events in Kelsingra, and they exchange news. Fitz thinks of Chade and is nearly overwhelmed by the old man’s Skilling. As Nettle and those in Buckkeep move to restrain Chade, Fitz hears Bee through the Skill, and he is thrown from his magics. Although he sorrows for his mentor, Fitz is buoyed up by the certain knowledge that Bee lives.

When Fitz takes the news to Amber, he finds only rebuke, and he contrasts her with the Fool. Fitz takes himself away, leaving Amber angry behind him.

Fitz is roused by Spark, who tells him, with apologies, that Amber has dreamed his death. Fitz considers it and his history with the Fool, and he muses on how Bee will live after he retrieves her. So musing, he dismisses Spark.

There’s a lot going on in the present chapter. The tensions surrounding Kennitsson continue to increase as he takes ship and starts work. As noted, Fitz quickly comes to understand what is happening with the younger man; he is being tested, and in ways he was not expecting to be challenged. I am put in mind of Regal as I read, as well as of Dutiful, and the thought suddenly occurs to me that I need to look at how often Hobb puts forward only sons and how they compare across her works. The thought also occurs that I need to keep better track of all of the scholarly somedays that pop up for me; I seem to have a lot of them, and I despair of ever addressing them all. Perhaps I will luck into being able to do so.

Tension also increases between Fitz and Amber. Both of them seem to me to be talking past one another, failing each to hear and understand the other. Some of that has always been the case, particularly as Fitz regards Beloved; he has always had trouble understanding what the White Prophet says. But then, the Prophet is rarely clear or direct in speech, occasionally making self-aware comments to the same effect, and it is also the case that the Prophet has known Fitz for as long as Fitz has known Beloved; for the Fool or Amber not to realize Fitz will react as Fitz does, as Fitz ever has, seems an oversight. I’ll admit that there are other concerns for both characters; Beloved is still early in recovery from substantial trauma, and Fitz is barely holding onto himself amid his own. Both have reason to be other than at their best. Both may be following paths of recovery that may not and need not be linear. But that does not mean it is not marked that they are at odds as they are in the present chapter.

The issue of Chade’s decline is also somewhat pointed. In some ways, it is to be expected. Chade was already old when Fitz first met him, and that is some sixty years prior; Fitz remarks being in his seventh decade–so his sixties–in the present chapter, and he is around six years of age when he first meets Chade, who was senior to his grandfather, Shrewd. Chade is therefore easily at or past a century old, and it hardly defies belief that so aged a person would not be in full possession of faculties. That Chade has abused himself with drugs and reckless experimentation with addictive magics does not help matters, either. I find myself wondering once again if biographical criticism might apply here, despite knowing how fraught it always is; an author need not experience something to depict it, and there are levels and levels of experience. I spent a lot of time around those who had engaged heavily with addiction, and I have a fair bit of exposure to people in age-driven decline, and what is presented of Chade in the present chapter rings true for me; it lines up with what I’ve seen and, frankly, what I fear.

Again, I find myself remembering why I read Robin Hobb.

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