Chapter 29: The Maer’s Court

THE MAER’S COURT was a beautiful trap.

I understood this within three days of arriving at Severen—understood it in the way a mouse understands a cat’s patience, or a fly understands a spider’s web. Every smile concealed calculation. Every kindness carried conditions. Every word spoken in the gilded halls was measured, weighed, and filed away for future use.

And I was very, very far out of my depth.

“You’re holding the fork incorrectly,” Stapes observed, watching me attempt to navigate a breakfast that seemed designed more as test than meal. “The third fork is for the preserved fruits. The fourth is for the meat pastries. The one you’re using is for signaling that you wish to be excused from the table.”

I set down the fork.

“In my defense, no meal should require five separate forks.”

“In the Maer’s defense, distinguishing between those who know proper etiquette and those who don’t is precisely the point of having five forks.” His voice was mild, but his eyes were sharp. “The nobility communicate through hundreds of small signals. Cutlery. Clothing. The precise angle at which one inclines one’s head. You can navigate these waters, Master Kvothe, or you can drown in them.”

“I’d prefer to avoid drowning.”

“Then you must learn to swim.” He gestured at the array before me. “Again. From the beginning.”

Stapes was the Maer’s retainer—a position that meant everything and nothing, depending on who you asked.

Officially, he was a servant. He maintained the Maer’s personal quarters, coordinated his schedule, managed the minor details of daily existence. He held no title, commanded no troops, controlled no lands.

But everyone in Severen knew that crossing Stapes was tantamount to crossing the Maer himself.

“You’ve been here a week,” he said, as we walked through the estate’s gardens later that morning. “What have you observed?”

“About what?”

“About everything. The court. The politics. The people who attend the Maer hoping to gain his favor.” His walking pace was deceptively leisurely—I found myself slightly winded keeping up. “I’m curious what an educated outsider sees when he looks at this place.”

I considered my answer carefully.

“I see a nest of vipers pretending to be a garden party. Everyone smiles, but their teeth are sharp.” I paused. “I see factions—at least four major ones—competing for the Maer’s attention. I see alliances forming and breaking over matters that seem trivial but probably aren’t.”

“What else?”

“I see you. Watching everything. Remembering everything. Quietly steering outcomes in directions that benefit the Maer.”

Stapes smiled—a thin expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re more observant than most. That’s either very good or very dangerous.”

“Which is it?”

“That depends on how you use what you observe.” He stopped walking, turned to face me directly. “The Maer didn’t bring you here just to cure his illness. He brought you here because he needed someone without connections, without obligations, without the web of favors that binds everyone else in this place.”

“Someone disposable.”

“Someone deniable. There’s a difference.” His voice softened. “I’m going to tell you something now, Master Kvothe. Something I don’t share with outsiders.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Maer is dying.”

I blinked. “His illness—”

“Is more than illness. Someone is poisoning him. Slowly, carefully, in ways that are almost impossible to detect.” Stapes’ eyes were hard. “I’ve suspected for months, but I couldn’t prove it. Couldn’t identify the source. Couldn’t risk telling the wrong person and alerting whoever’s responsible.”

“Why tell me?”

“Because you’re clever enough to figure it out, and you have no stake in the outcome. If you discover the poisoner, I gain a valuable ally. If you fail…” He shrugged. “You’re a foreign arcanist with no standing in Vintas. Expendable.”

“That’s remarkably direct.”

“I have lived too long for the luxury of deceit. You know where you stand. You know what I want.”

I thought about it. The Maer’s pale face. The court full of smiling predators. The opportunity that had brought me here—and the danger that might end me.

“I want access,” I said finally. “To the people who might know something. To the places where secrets are kept. And I want your protection while I’m looking.”

“Granted.” Stapes extended his hand. “Find the poisoner, Master Kvothe. Before the Maer dies. Before whatever plans are in motion succeed.”

I took his hand.

And became, for better or worse, a player in the Maer’s court.

The court physician was called Caudicus.

He was a round man with soft hands and softer eyes, always smiling, always accommodating, always ready to explain the Maer’s condition in terms that sounded learned but said nothing of substance.

“The humors are imbalanced,” he told me, the first time I managed to corner him in the Maer’s sickroom. “The blood runs too hot, the bile too thick. I’ve prescribed a regimen of cooling herbs and calming tinctures.”

“May I see the prescriptions?”

“That’s… somewhat irregular.” His smile flickered. “Patient confidentiality, you understand. Ancient traditions of the healing arts.”

“The Maer asked me to consult on his condition. Surely that grants me access to relevant information.”

“The Maer’s judgment may be… compromised by his illness. I wouldn’t want to burden him with the need to make decisions in his current state.”

“Then perhaps I should ask him directly what he wants.”

Caudicus’ eyes went hard for just a moment—a flash of something cold and calculating beneath the bland facade. Then the smile returned, warmer than before.

“Of course, of course. I’m merely trying to protect His Grace from unnecessary strain.” He produced a scroll from his bag, handed it to me. “Here are the prescriptions. You’ll find everything in order, I’m certain.”

I examined the scroll. The handwriting was elegant, the ingredients familiar—common herbs, standard preparations, nothing obviously harmful. But something about the way Caudicus watched me as I read…

“These seem reasonable,” I said. “Thank you for sharing them.”

“Of course. Anything for His Grace’s well-being.” He bowed slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to attend to.”

He left.

And I began planning how to follow him.

Three days of careful observation taught me Caudicus’ patterns.

He visited the Maer each morning and evening, administering his prescribed medicines with practiced efficiency. Between visits, he spent time in his quarters, in the library, in the gardens where various medicinal herbs were grown. Nothing suspicious. Nothing obviously wrong.

But I noticed things.

The way certain servants avoided him, their eyes sliding away when he passed. The way he always seemed to know when I was watching, always had a pleasant smile ready, always made his movements seem natural and unremarkable. The way his quarters were locked with three separate mechanisms, far more security than a physician should need.

“You’re interested in Caudicus,” Stapes said, when I reported my observations.

“I’m interested in why he works so hard to seem harmless.”

“Most people at court work hard to seem harmless. It’s a survival strategy.”

“Most people at court don’t have private quarters that could withstand a siege.” I leaned forward. “Has anyone searched his rooms?”

“We can’t. Not without cause. Not without evidence.” Stapes’ voice was frustrated. “He has powerful friends. Patrons who would object to any suggestion of impropriety.”

“What kind of patrons?”

“The kind who don’t want the Maer asking too many questions about their activities in Vintas.” He lowered his voice. “There are rumors—just rumors—that Caudicus has connections to factions that would benefit from the Maer’s death.”

“The Jakis family?”

“Among others.” He looked around, making sure we weren’t overheard. “The Maer controls the only reliable route between Vintas and the south. If he dies without an heir, that control passes to whoever can claim it. Several parties have been positioning themselves for that eventuality.”

“Including Caudicus’ patrons.”

“Allegedly.” Stapes’ expression was grim. “But allegations aren’t proof. And without proof, I can’t move against him.”

“Then we need to find proof.”

“Yes. But carefully. If Caudicus suspects he’s being investigated, he might accelerate whatever he’s planning.” He gripped my arm. “I’ve seen the Maer’s condition worsen. Whatever poison is being used, the dose is increasing. We may not have as much time as I hoped.”

The next morning, I met Bredon.

I’d noticed him before—an old man with white hair and an easy smile, always lingering at the edges of gatherings, always watching but rarely participating. He dressed well but not ostentatiously, carried a silver-topped walking stick that might have been weapon or affectation, and moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had nothing left to prove.

“You’re the young arcanist,” he said, approaching me in the gardens where I’d retreated to think. “The one everyone’s whispering about.”

“I wasn’t aware I was being whispered about.”

“You’d be surprised. A mysterious scholar arrives from across the sea, takes up residence in the Maer’s private wing, spends his days asking questions about people who’d prefer not to be questioned.” His smile was knowing. “The court finds you very interesting.”

“I find the court confusing.”

“That’s because you’re trying to understand it. A mistake most newcomers make.” He gestured at a nearby bench. “May I sit? These old bones appreciate the opportunity to rest.”

We sat.

“The court isn’t meant to be understood,” Bredon continued. “It’s meant to be navigated. You don’t study the ocean to learn how to swim. You just… swim.”

“That’s remarkably unhelpful advice.”

“On the contrary. It’s the most helpful advice you’ll receive here.” He reached into his coat, produced something small and wrapped in cloth. “Do you play Tak?”

“I’ve heard of it. Never learned.”

“Then permit me to teach you.” He unwrapped the object—a travel set, the board and pieces carved from alternating light and dark wood. “Tak is the oldest game in the Four Corners. Older than courts, older than kingdoms. Some say it was invented to teach strategy without the mess of actual warfare.”

“And some say?”

“Some say it was invented to teach something else entirely.” He began setting up the pieces. “The goal is simple: create a road—an unbroken line of flat stones connecting opposite edges of the board. The complexity comes from how you build that road, and how you prevent your opponent from building theirs.”

He explained the rules—simpler than I expected, yet rich with possibilities I could already sense lurking beneath the surface. We played a quick game, which I lost badly.

“You’re aggressive,” Bredon observed, as we reset the pieces. “You see an opportunity and you seize it, regardless of what it leaves exposed.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s characteristic. Neither good nor bad, simply… revealing.” He placed his first stone in the center of the board. “The court is like Tak, in some ways. Every move reveals something about the player. Every choice creates opportunities and vulnerabilities.”

“And what does my aggressive play reveal?”

“That you’re young, confident, and unaccustomed to enemies who think in longer terms than you do.” His eyes met mine. “Be careful, young arcanist. The people you’re investigating have been playing this game for decades. They know how to win against players who move too quickly.”

“You seem to know what I’m investigating.”

“I pay attention. It’s a habit I’ve cultivated over many years.” He captured one of my stones with a capstone, cutting my nascent road in half. “Caudicus is dangerous. Not because he’s clever—he’s not, particularly—but because he’s protected by people who are.”

I studied Bredon more carefully now. The easy smile, the cultured voice, the silver-topped walking stick that caught the light just so. Something about him reminded me of someone, though I couldn’t place it.

“You’re not just a nobleman, are you?”

“Everyone is just something, if you look hard enough.” His smile didn’t waver. “The question is whether what you see is what they want you to see.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’ll get today.” He placed another stone on the board. “Tell me, young arcanist—in your travels, have you ever encountered a man called Master Ash?”

The name sent ice through my veins. Denna’s patron. The man she protected with such fierce secrecy.

“I’ve heard the name,” I said carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Perhaps not. He moves in… unusual circles. A patron of the arts, particularly music.” Bredon’s eyes flickered—something calculating behind the warmth. “He’s been known to take an interest in young women with exceptional voices. Women who might be convinced to sing certain songs.”

Denna. The thought hit me like cold water. Was this man describing Denna’s mysterious patron?

“Why do you mention him?”

“Because people who protect poisoners often have other interests as well. Darker ones.” He captured another of my pieces. “Master Ash—if that is his name—has connections to forces that have been moving in the shadows for a very long time. Some say he’s a scholar. Others say he’s something older. Something that wears scholarship like a mask.”

“And what do you say?”

“I say that very few people are what they appear to be.” His smile turned enigmatic. “Including, I suspect, yourself. And most certainly including me.”

“Then help me expose Caudicus,” I said, steering back to safer ground. “Whatever your reasons.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re here, talking to me, teaching me a game while dropping hints about my investigation. You want something.”

Bredon smiled—a genuine expression, warm and slightly surprised.

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.” He leaned back on the bench. “Very well. I’ll help you. Not because I care about the Maer—though he’s pleasant enough as rulers go. But because the people protecting Caudicus have designs that conflict with interests I value.”

“What interests?”

“The kind I don’t discuss with people I’ve just met.” He stood, gathering the Tak set. “I’ll send you information. Names, connections, evidence trails. Use them wisely.” He paused. “And practice your Tak. The patterns you learn will serve you in unexpected ways.”

“And Master Ash?”

“Consider him a thread worth following. Though I warn you—if you pull that thread too hard, you may not like what unravels.” His eyes met mine. “Some patrons are more than they seem. Some are exactly what they seem, which is worse. And some…” He trailed off, something dark passing behind his expression. “Some are wearing masks that have been in place so long, even they have forgotten what lies beneath.”

He walked away, his cane tapping against the garden stones, and I sat alone on the bench, wondering what game I’d just agreed to play.

And wondering, too, about Denna’s patron. About the man she called Master Ash. About why Bredon—whoever he truly was—seemed to know so much about forces that should have been secrets.

Bredon’s information arrived that evening—a sealed envelope containing names, dates, and a map of Caudicus’ quarters with certain features marked.

A hidden compartment behind the fireplace.

A loose stone in the floor.

A book on his shelf that wasn’t quite what it appeared.

I spent three nights planning my approach, learning the guard rotations, identifying the windows of opportunity. On the fourth night, when Caudicus was attending a formal dinner that would keep him occupied for hours, I made my move.

His quarters were exactly as the map indicated. The hidden compartment held vials of substances I didn’t recognize—but which looked suspiciously like components of the medicines he fed the Maer. The loose stone concealed documents: letters, payment records, instructions written in a cipher I didn’t have time to decode.

And the book—a leather-bound volume that appeared to be a treatise on herbal remedies—contained something far more interesting.

A list of symptoms. A timeline. Notes on dosage and effect.

The careful documentation of how to poison someone so slowly they’d never know they were dying.

I took everything I could carry.

And when I presented it to Stapes the next morning, his face went pale and then very, very cold.

“This is enough,” he said quietly. “This is enough to move against him.”

“When?”

“Now. Before he realizes his quarters have been searched.” He looked at me with something that might have been respect. “You’ve done well, Master Kvothe. Better than I expected.”

“Will the Maer recover?”

“If we stop the poisoning now, perhaps. The damage is severe, but not necessarily permanent.” He stood, began gathering the evidence. “Stay in your quarters today. What happens next may be… unpleasant.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Justice,” Stapes said.

And his smile was the coldest thing I’d ever seen.

Caudicus was arrested that afternoon.

The confrontation was brief and surprisingly undramatic—guards appeared at his door, produced the evidence, led him away without protest. He went quietly, his soft eyes still smiling, his manner still accommodating, as if being taken to prison was simply another item on his schedule.

But as he passed me in the corridor, he stopped.

“You think you’ve won,” he said quietly. “You think exposing me solves something.”

“It stops you from killing the Maer.”

“For now. But the people I work for don’t abandon their objectives because one agent fails.” His smile widened. “You’ve made powerful enemies, young arcanist. Enemies who move in circles you can’t imagine. They’ll remember what you’ve done here.”

“Let them.”

“Oh, they will.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And when they come for you—when everything you’ve built is burning and everyone you love is dead—remember that I warned you. Remember that you had a chance to stay out of it and chose not to.”

The guards pulled him away.

And I stood in the corridor, feeling the weight of his words settle into my bones.

That evening, the Maer summoned me.

He was still pale, still weak, but there was a clarity in his eyes that had been absent before. The trembling in his hands was less pronounced. Whatever poison had been eating at him was beginning to lose its grip.

“Stapes tells me I owe you my life,” he said, gesturing for me to sit.

“Stapes provided the information I needed. I simply gathered the proof.”

“False modesty doesn’t suit you.” A thin smile. “I know what you risked. I know who Caudicus worked for. And I know what his masters will do when they learn their scheme has failed.”

“What will they do?”

“Move against you, eventually. Not immediately—they’re too clever for obvious retaliation. But eventually.” He paused. “You’ve interfered with plans that took years to develop. That kind of interference isn’t forgotten.”

“Then what do I do?”

“For now? Stay here. Under my protection. Let me show the world that those who serve me well are rewarded, not abandoned.” He leaned forward. “There’s a task I need accomplished. A matter requiring someone clever, resourceful, and untethered to the intrigues of my court.”

“What kind of task?”

“I’ll tell you when the time is right. For now, rest. Recover from your adventures in espionage. And be ready when I call.”

I bowed and left.

But as I walked back to my quarters, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d traded one danger for another.

And that the game Bredon spoke of—the long game, played by enemies who thought in decades rather than days—was only just beginning.

That night, I dreamed of Caudicus.

Not the soft, smiling physician I’d exposed, but something else. Something wearing his face the way a puppet wears its paint.

You shouldn’t have interfered, the dream-Caudicus said. Some things are meant to happen. Some doors are meant to open.

What doors?

The ones that have been closed for three thousand years. His smile was too wide, too knowing. The ones your kind sealed when they thought they could control what they didn’t understand.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

You will. He began to fade, dissolving into shadow. When the singing starts again. When the sleepers wake. When everything you’ve built comes crashing down around you…

I woke to silence.

But somewhere in the distance, so faint I might have imagined it, I could almost hear a song.

Ancient. Patient. Waiting.

And getting louder every day.