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After a journal entry from Bee, “Unsafe Harbor” begins with Fitz grousing about sleeping poorly in advance of major tasks facing him. He rises from sleep aboard the Paragon and makes his way to the bow of the ship, considering Clerres. His reverie is interrupted by news through the Skill that he is a grandfather, Nettle having been delivered of her child, a daughter she has allowed to be named Hope. Fitz delights in the news, and he delights further in the news that Dutiful and Elliania are now expecting, their child to be named Promise. Upbuoyed by the prospect of his family continuing, Fitz returns his attentions to his task at hand, in which he is exhorted by his king.

Fitz breaks off Skill contact when he feels the touch of Vindeliar’s magic upon his mind, and he hides as he can; the Paragon rejects the touch from Clerres. Fitz is aware through the Skill of how Vindeliar is being questioned about the deaths of Symphe and Dwalia, as well as how Vindeliar lashes out through the magic at those around him. Fitz struggles to disentangle himself from Vindeliar’s mind, roused to awareness in his own body by Brashen, bidding him bestir himself.

Brashen relates that Amber has absconded from the Paragon, and Fitz realizes he was drugged. He finds Spark similarly befuddled, and the two confer about Amber’s likely progress. Fitz doses himself with carris seed rather than cindin, and the two realize that one of the tubes of Silver that had been given Fitz has been taken.

Given the assertion of two new Farseer names, I am reminded in the present chapter of Hobb’s predilection in the Realm of the Elderlings novels towards emblematic names (most recently discussed here). The names in question seem uncommonly optimistic for the Farseers; Hope is something of a contrast to Nettle or Bee, and while Promise is not necessarily at odds with Integrity or Prosper (or Dutiful, for that matter) denotatively, the connotations of the latter three names are somehow sterner and more rigid. They certainly contrast with Chivarly, Verity, and Regal, and with Shrewd before, but such sequels as are hoped for by many of Hobb’s readers may well show how clear but uncommon associations of those names can be brought forward. Shrewd’s shrewdness, Chivalry’s chivalry, Verity’s verity, Regal’s regality, and Dutiful’s dutifulness can all be read in some ways as back-handed commentaries on the ostensible virtues the names represent (perhaps another scholarly someday for me), and it does not stretch credulity to think that integrity, prosperity, and promise can be similarly regarded. All that lies in a future that may be hoped for but may not come to pass, however.

The present chapter also presents a certain irony, again, of Fitz being drugged (and from his own stores, no less). It might well be thought that someone who had drugged his own companions to rebuke and had not long ago been drugged by another of them, to strong effect, would be wary of it happening again. That Fitz was so trusting…I’m not sure how to read it, honestly. On one hand, he knows and should be expected to know that Amber is problematically fixated on things; on the other, Fitz is himself publicly fixated on things and has fatigue and grief to contend with, to boot. The oversight makes some sense…but not as much as it might. At least as I read the chapter this time.

I also note, as a minor point, the extended list of effects of cindin use in the chapter. I’ve commented before on the substance and the possibility of it paralleling cocaine. The comment in the present chapter that one of the effects of cindin use is increased libido seemed to confirm it for me to some extent; I recall claims about cocaine driving sexual behaviors from my work alongside substance use disorder treatment, and a short search of formal research finds at least one study appearing to confirm the anecdotal evidence. That study–“Cocaine Administration Dose-Dependently Increases Sexual Desire and Decreases Condom Use Likelihood: The Role of Delay and Probability Discounting in Connecting Cocaine with HIV” by Johnson et al. and appearing in Psychopharmacology 234 (599-612)–might possibly have been available to Hobb during composition of the present chapter; an electronic version appears to have been in evidence in 2016, although formal publication did not occur until 2017. Even if Hobb lacked access to it, though, the fact of it…it amuses me.

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Following a letter regarding the Kendry and the challenges recently besetting the ship’s crew, “Feather to Blade” begins with Bee, imprisoned, regarding the passage of time in her cell and considering her situation. After lamps are lit, Prilkop speaks to her of dreams, particularly prophetic ones, and relates ominous portents. Wolf-Father rebukes her self-pity as her mind turns towards Fitz, and Bee suddenly realizes Symphe stands outside her cell door.

Bee regards Symphe as the latter undoes the locks holding her captive. Symphe offers candy as if Bee is a foolish child, and Bee, urged by Wolf-Father, follows her amid Prilkop’s jeering. Bee is taken to a chamber Wolf-Father recognizes as smelling of blood, in which Dwalia and Vindeliar await. Symphe confers with them about what will be done with and to Bee, and Bee acts in her own defense. A brief melee ensues, with Symphe being burned, her throat slashed, and Bee coming into contact with a vial of serpent spit that Symphe had purloined. Its power adds to her inborn Skill, and she revels in it, accepting the proclamation that she is the feared and foretold Destroyer and killing Dwalia with a word.

Bee returns to her cell to await a better chance for escape. Prilkop recognizes what has happened, and Bee weeps for what she has had to become.

The present chapter is not the first mention of the Destroyer, although I would appear to have failed to mark mention of the figure previously. Said figure is mentioned as an imminent threat to Clerres and the society that centers on it, the coming of which is foretold in an increasing number of recent prophetic dreams. Its approach is certain, especially given the Servants’ hubristic belief in their own correctness; the irony, recognized in the present chapter, that the Servants have brought their Destroyer into their stronghold themselves is delicious in no small part because it does proceed directly from that hubris. Bee points out (540-41), rightly, that she had a life from which she had been torn that would have kept her from Clerres save for the Servants’ need to control every possible bloodline of White Prophet and every possible outcome that could be foretold. Had the Servants been content to leave well enough alone, they would not have invited their own unmaking–but they could not, being as they were and are.

That is, of course, the point of all of it. The Servants, by relying so heavily on prophetic foreknowledge to guide themselves, inevitably place themselves into the position of making their prophecies come true. By not only accepting foretelling, but actively working to enact and guide it, they subject themselves to it, and by exerting the kind of ruthless control over it that they seem to have for generations if not far longer, they have made themselves unable to conceive of their own actions as being potentially in error. They are trapped by the very thing that they have used to accumulate power.

There are political comments to be found therein, I’m sure.

To pivot: the idea of the Destroyer as a figure of imminent menace is hardly new to Hobb, of course. I grew up and again live in the Texas Hill Country, where there were and are an awful lot of people who claim to be convinced that the End Times are a-comin’, and soon; it’s the kind of thing that lends towards apocalyptic figures. It’s not the only one, either; it’s an archetype for a reason. While Hobb does have a tendency to play with tropes and archetypes, this one seems to be pretty straightforward. At least at this point…

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There is discussion of cannibalism in the present chapter.

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After a brief excerpt from Tom Badgerlock’s journals, “Silver Secrets” begins with Fitz joining the others from the Six Duchies aboard the Paragon in mourning the death of Chade Fallstar. There is some disagreement about the amount of hair that should be shorn from Fitz’s head, and he muses on his not having done so at Burrich’s death, as well as on the length of his association with the old man. Report arrives that the Paragon has reached the vicinity of Clerres, and Fitz considers the tasks awaiting him and the dangers to Bee that can be found among them. Plans for how to proceed are voiced, and Fitz confers with Brashen and Althea.

In the wake of the conference, Amber proposes a plan for infiltrating Clerres. Having none better, Fitz reluctantly accedes to it. Argument briefly emerges about Fitz’s retention of the Silver given him by Rapskal, but it soon fades against continued exposition of plans to retrieve Bee and enact revenge against Clerres. Fitz excuses himself from the planning for a time and finds himself conferring with the liveship about his death.

Afterward, Fitz observes as the liveship relates experiences in Clerres, and he makes his preparations as the ship approaches within sight of the city. He and the Fool confer, the Fool relating some regrets and some of the circumstances of his imprisonment in Clerres with Prilkop. They range to extreme depredation on the part of the Four and the Fool’s unwitting participation in the same. Fitz offers such comfort as he can and urges him to preserve Bee at all costs.

Discussion is interrupted by Spark arriving with water for tea. The Fool contributes herbs to brew, and Fitz is eased by them and the memories they spur, leaving Spark and Fool as they fall into sleep.

To deal with the big issue: the presentation of evil in the present chapter, the discussion of the Fool being induced towards cannibalism while imprisoned in Clerres, seems to me to be another instantiation of the almost cartoonish we-need-the-capital-letter-Evil at work in some of the later Realm of the Elderlings works. I discuss it previously here and as linked, and I find I’m not sure of the effect of the particular ponerology at present. Given the other descriptions of Clerres and its inhabitants in the novels, the motion towards cannibalism is, if unexpected on an initial reading, not out of place even in one. After all, Clerres is filled with Bad People, and cannibalism is, at least for the presumed primary readership of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus, a Bad Thing; Bad People tend to do Bad Things–and to try to get others to do them, too.

But that’s where the confusion is for me. What does Clerres gain from the Fool eating the flesh and blood of those who attempt to help him? He is already their captive, and he has demonstrated that, despite both cozening and torture, he will not turn to their ends; is it mere amusement for them in Clerres that they act so? Is it simply a demonstration of just how Evil (and, again the capital letter seems needed) they are?

As I think on it some more, the thought occurs that it might be a back-handed anti-Messianic image. That is, the Fool is constrained or impelled to drink the blood and eat the flesh of those who are sacrificed for their support of him, something of an inversion of Christian Communion and one deepened by the fact of their failure. That he is yet imprisoned when he partakes is an indication that their sacrifices have not availed. Clerres is highlighted as being yet more Evil to Hobb’s presumed primary readership–a high-selling author in the United States can be presumed to be writing to a predominantly United-States-based audience, and that country says an awful lot about its putative Christian underpinnings; if Clerres inverts what is perhaps the principal ritual of a religion, it is being figured as antithetical thereto, thus more emphatically Evil…and I think I may have to rework a paper once again.

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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.

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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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Unsigned comments seemingly from Fitz about Chade precede “Belief,” which begins with Brashen asking Fitz what Tintaglia wants from him amid a short break from the tasks setting out aboard the Paragon for Clerres demands of all who will sail thither. Those tasks are glossed, and the irritations felt at continued delays are rehearsed. Fitz loses his temper with the Fool.

After a couple of days, Sorcor, Wintrow, and Etta return to the Paragon, described in detail as they reluctantly allow Kennitsson to travel with the ship and Brashen and Althea’s crew. The matter is discussed, and permission for him to join the crew is given, with conditions applied. Work to ready the ship resumes in earnest, now aided by the vessel. Tintaglia arrives and summons Fitz to attend upon her. She rails against Icefyre, and she confirms that the Servants had done dragonkind some injury in the past for which vengeance must be taken–but she allows that Fitz may kill those in Clerres that he finds before hunger overtakes her and she gorges on Divvytown’s offerings.

Conversation ensues but is disrupted by the arrival of Heeby and Rapskal. Kennitsson falls under Heeby’s compulsion as Rapskal relays additional information to Fitz. Dragons’ eggs will soon hatch on Others Island and will need protecting; after that, the dragons will proceed to Clerres. The depredations of the Others and the Servants on prior generations of dragons are noted, and visits to that place recalled. Rapskal gifts Wintrow Elderling jewelry for his aid with She Who Remembers, and discussion of likely outcomes ensues.

Rapskal excuses himself, and Wintrow attends to him to defuse tempers. After their departure, Etta addresses Fitz with some concern.

The reminder in the prefatory materials that Chade was the brother of Shrewd, something noted early in the Realm of the Elderlings novels, is another one of the touches Hobb includes in the more recent works to remind readers of the narrative continuity at work. The reminder of Chade’s multiple magical talents is also a useful thing, reinforcing to readers the notion I explore in my old thesis that he is very much the Merlin to what Arthur Fitz can be considered to be. Too, I’m put just a bit in mind of Mary Stewart’s Arthurian Saga novels, which I still have on my shelf after having read them many years ago, now. I’ve not done the work to know if Hobb read Stewart (and I don’t think I’ll ever be in position to do so, things being as they are), but I’d not be surprised either way.

I suppose, in terms of narrative structures, that the present chapter is something of a climax. That is, it seems to be a turning point in the narrative, something like the first peak of a roller coaster before gravity takes over and sends the cars hurtling down the track. Matters have been set up, characters put into place, stakes established, tensions heightened, and the necessary course of events suggested sufficiently clearly that progress seems clear. (Too, it’s roughly halfway through the book; in the copy I’m rereading, the present chapter ends on page 399, while the whole novel runs to 846 pages. It’s the place to put such a thing, really.) An increase in pacing might well be expected to ensue in the next few chapters, as the narrative moves toward its resolution and denouement for the novel, its trilogy, and the main line of the Realm of the Elderlings corpus.

I look forward to rereading what’s coming. It’s been a while, certainly, and I have some need for the reminder. Too, it’s pleasant to be carried away by a story again; it used to happen for me a lot more than it does, and I miss it, anymore…

Fewer weeks remain, but there is still time to get your bespoke writing for the holidays!

Or you can send your support along directly!

Read the previous entry in the series here.
Read the next entry in the series here.

The chapter discusses genital mutilation and other objectionables.

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A “Report to the Four” regarding the Fool precedes “Another Ship, Another Journey.” The chapter proper begins with Bee rehearsing her situation and the changes to the same as she is forced to accompany Dwalia and Vindeliar towards Clerres aboard ship. The deception they work upon the ship’s crew is noted, as is Vindeliar’s lessening power in the wake of his being dosed with serpent saliva, and he bemoans the work he must do for her. Bee unsuccessfully resists the impulse to sympathize with her captors as she learns more of Vindeliar’s personal history, and she finds him in her mind.

Wolf-Father moves within her to defend her, presenting memories of Nighteyes’s earliest torments. It is successful, but Wolf-Father cautions Bee against allowing further intrusions. Bee takes the lesson she learns from the exchange and applies it to Vindeliar, lashing out at him through the Skill. They are interrupted from further tumult by a summons from Dwalia, which they move to answer. As they complete their assigned tasks, Vindeliar claims to Dwalia that Bee has stolen power from her, which Dwalia denies before beating Vindeliar again.

Bee realizes as Dwalia confronts her that she does, in fact, have the Skill, and she attempts to ply it against her as Dwalia makes to assail her again. At Wolf-Father’s urging, Bee feigns defeat, and Dwalia’s abusive attentions soon return to Vindeliar. Bee learns yet more of her captors and begins to slot that information together, including how Dwalia had come to know of her father and begun to move against them. She also realizes that she has made an enemy of Vindeliar, more than he already was.

I‘ll note that, as I was doing the rereading for this write-up, I got lost in doing the reading again. It’s something that happens to me fairly often when I am doing work with Hobb’s writing; I often find myself swept along by the prose, and I have done so for years. It complicated the work of writing my master’s thesis, in fact; I’d be looking through the Farseer or Tawny Man novels for quotes from which to construct my argument and realize, chapters and an hour or so later, that I’d gotten entirely sidetracked. That ease of immersion is one of the reasons I keep returning to Hobb’s writing, all these years later; it continues to draw me in. It’s nice to be so drawn; I don’t let it happen as often as I used to and as often as I probably ought to do, one of the changes in my life occasioned by my leaving academe.

I’ll also note that the explicit mention that Vindeliar is a eunuch is 1) unsurprising in the context of a society that practices eugenics (note here and elsewhere), and 2) an invocation of a standing trope of eunuchs as evil (and not seldom associated with magic powers). While there is some motion towards sympathy with Vindeliar, both within the narrative and between it and the reader, I have to wonder about the figuration at work in this case. As noted, the trope makes sense in context, and for the (dehumanizing) reasons the text has asserted directly and less so throughout discussion of Clerres. Still, I have to wonder how much, if any, is a response to Hobb’s contemporary, George RR Martin, and his use of the trope in Varys. I also have to wonder if Vindeliar is somehow being used as an inversion of Thick…something that makes more and more sense to me as I think on it again. Both might be true, of course. And it might well be true that the deployment of the trope serves other functions, perhaps helping to keep the Realm of the Elderlings connected to the Tolkienian tradition from which it has decided distinctions…among others.

More scholarly somedays await, it seems.

Scant weeks remain, but there is still time to get your bespoke writing for the holidays!

Or you can send your support along directly!