{"product_id":"royal-assassin-isbn-9780553573411","title":"Royal Assassin","description":"\u003cb\u003e“Fantasy as it ought to be written . . . Robin Hobb’s books are diamonds in a sea of zircons.”—George R. R. Martin \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFitz has barely survived his first hazardous mission as king’s assassin. Battered and bitter, he vows to abandon his oath to King Shrewd, remaining in the distant mountains. But love and events of terrible urgency draw him back to the court at Buckkeep, and into the deadly intrigues of the royal family.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Renewing their vicious attacks on the coast, the Red-Ship Raiders leave burned-out villages and demented victims in their wake. The kingdom is also under assault from within, as treachery threatens the throne of the ailing king. In this time of great danger, the fate of the kingdom may rest in Fitz’s hands—and his role in its salvation may require the ultimate sacrifice.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003ePraise for Robin Hobb and \u003ci\u003eRoyal Assassin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e   \u003cbr\u003e “[Robin] Hobb continues to revitalize a genre that often seems all too generic, making it new in ways that range from the subtle to the shocking.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLocus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[\u003ci\u003eRoyal Assassin\u003c\/i\u003e] reaches astonishing new heights. . . . The Farseer saga is destined for greatness—a must-read for every devotee of epic fantasy.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSense of Wonder\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for Robin Hobb and \u003ci\u003eRoyal Assassin\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Fantasy as it ought to be written . . . Robin Hobb’s books are diamonds in a sea of zircons.”\u003cb\u003e—George R. R. Martin \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[Robin] Hobb continues to revitalize a genre that often seems all too generic, making it new in ways that range from the subtle to the shocking.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLocus\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[\u003ci\u003eRoyal Assassin\u003c\/i\u003e] reaches astonishing new heights. . . . The Farseer saga is destined for greatness—a must-read for every devotee of epic fantasy.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSense of Wonder\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eRobin Hobb \u003c\/b\u003eis the author of the Farseer Trilogy, the Liveship Traders Trilogy, the Tawny Man Trilogy, the Soldier Son Trilogy, and the Rain Wilds Chronicles. She has also written as Megan Lindholm. She is a native of Washington State.\u003cb\u003ePrologue: Dreams and Awakenings\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eWhy is it forbidden to write down specific knowledge   of the magics? Perhaps because we all fear that such knowledge would fall into the   hands of one not worthy to use it.  Certainly there has always been a system of apprenticeship   to ensure that specific knowledge of magic is passed only to those trained and judged   worthy of such knowledge.  While this seems a laudable attempt to protect us from   unworthy practitioners of arcane lore, it ignores the fact that the magics are not   derived from this specific knowledge.  The predilection for a certain type of magic   is either inborn or lacking.  For instance, the ability for the magics known as the   Skill is tied closely to blood relationship to the royal Farseer line, though it   may also occur as a 'wild strain' amongst folk whose ancestors came from both the   Inland tribes and the Outislanders.  One trained in the Skill is able to reach out   to another's mind, no matter how distant, and know what he is thinking.  Those who   are strongly Skilled can influence that thinking, or have converse with that person.    For the conducting of a battle, or the gathering of information, it is a most useful   tool.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eFolklore tells of an even older magic, much despised now, known as the Wit.   Few will admit a talent for this magic, hence it is always said to be the province   of the folk in the next valley or the ones who live on the other side of the far   ridge.  I suspect it was once the natural magic of those who lived on the land as   hunters rather than as settled folk; a magic for those who felt kinship with the   wild beasts of the woods.  The Wit, it is said, gave one the ability to speak the   tongues of the beasts.  It was also warned that those who practiced the Wit too long   or too well became whatever beast they had bonded to.  But this may be only legend.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eThere are the Hedge magics, though I have never been able to determine the source   of this name.  These are magics both verified and suspect, including palm reading,   water gazing, the interpretation of crystal reflections, and a host of other magics   that attempt to predict the future.  In a separate unnamed category are the magics   that cause physical effects, such as invisibility, levitation, giving motion or life   to inanimate objects—all the magics of the old legends, from the Flying Chair of   the Widow's Son to the North Wind's magic tablecloth.  I know of no people who claim   these magics as their own.  They seem to be solely the stuff of legend, ascribed   to folk living in ancient times or distant places, or beings of mythical or near   mythical reputation: dragons, giants, the Elderlings, the Others, pecksies.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I   pause to clean my pen.  My writing wanders from spidery to blobbish on this poor   paper.  But I will not use good parchment for these words; not yet. I am not sure   they should be written.  I ask myself, why put this to paper at all? Will not this   knowledge be passed down by word of mouth to those who are worthy? Perhaps.  But   perhaps not.  What we take for granted now, the knowing of these things, may be a   wonder and a mystery someday to our descendants.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e There is very little in any of   the libraries on magic.  I work laboriously, tracing a thread of knowledge through   a patchwork quilt of information.  I find scattered references, passing allusions,   but that is all.  I have gathered it, over these last few years, and stored it in   my head, always intending to commit my knowledge to paper.  I will put down what   I know from my own experience, as well as what I have ferreted out.  To perhaps provide   answers for some other poor fool, in times to come, who might find himself as battered   by the warring of the magics within him as I have been.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But when I sit down to the   task, I hesitate.  Who am I to set my will against the wisdom of those who have gone   before me? Shall I set down in plain lettering the methods by which a Wit gifted   one can expand her range, or can bond a creature to himself? Shall I detail the training   one must undergo before being recognized as a Skilled one? The Hedge wizardries and   legendary magics have never been mine.  Have I any right to dig out their secrets   and pin them to paper like so many butterflies or leaves collected for study?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I   try to consider what one might do with such knowledge, unjustly gained.  It leads   me to consider what this knowledge has gained for me.  Power, wealth, the love of   a woman? I mock myself.  Neither the Skill nor the Wit has ever offered any such   to me.  Or if they did, I had not the sense nor ambition to seize them when offered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Power.  I do not think I ever wanted it for its own sake.  I thirsted for it, sometimes,   when I was ground down, or when those close to me suffered beneath ones who abused   their powers.  Wealth.  I never really considered it.  From the moment that I, his   bastard grandson, pledged myself to King Shrewd, he always saw that all my needs   were fulfilled.  I had plenty to eat, more education than I sometimes cared for,   clothes both simple and those annoyingly fashionable, and often enough a coin or   two of my own to spend.  Growing up in Buckkeep, that was wealth enough and more   than most boys in Buckkeep Town could claim. Love? Well.  My horse Sooty was fond   enough of me, in her own placid way.  I had the true hearted loyalty of a hound named   Nosy, and that took him to his grave.  I was given the fiercest of loves by a terrier   pup, and it was likewise the death of him.  I wince to think of the price willingly   paid for loving me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Always I have possessed the loneliness of one raised amidst   intrigues and clustering secrets, the isolation of a boy who can not trust the completeness   of his heart to anyone.  I could not go to Fedwren, the court Scribe who praised   me for my neat lettering and well inked illustrations, and confide that I was already   apprenticed to the Royal Assassin, and thus could not follow his writing trade.    Nor could I divulge to Chade, my master in the Diplomacy of the Knife, the frustrating   brutality I endured trying to learn the ways of the Skill from Galen the Skill Master.    And to no one did I dare speak openly of my emerging proclivity for the Wit, the   ancient beast magic, said to be a perversion and a taint to any who used it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not   even to Molly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Molly was that most cherished of items: a genuine refuge.  She had   absolutely nothing to do with my day to day life.  It was not just that she was female,   though that was mystery enough to me.  I was raised almost entirely in the company   of men, bereft not only of my natural mother and father, but of any blood relations   that would openly acknowledge me.  As a child, my care was entrusted to Burrich,   the gruff Stablemaster who had once been my father's right hand man.  The stable   hands and the guards were my daily companions. Then as now, there were women in the   guard companies, though not so many then as now.  But like their male comrades, they   had duties to perform, and lives and families of their own when they were not on   watch.  I could not claim their time.  I had no mother, nor sisters or aunts of my   own.  There were no women who offered me the special tenderness said to be the province   of women.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e None save Molly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was but a year or two older than myself, and growing   the same way a sprig of greenery forces its way up through a gap in the cobblestones.    Neither her father's near constant drunkenness and frequent brutality nor the grinding   chores of a child trying to maintain the pretense of both home and family business   could crush her.  When I first met her, she was as wild and wary as a fox cub.  Molly   NoseBleed she was called among the street children.  She often bore the marks of   the beatings her father gave her.  Despite his cruelty, she cared for him.  I never   understood that.  He would grumble and berate her even as she tottered him home after   one of his binges and put him to bed.  And when he awoke, he never had any remorse   for his drunkenness and harsh words.  There were only more criticisms: Why hadn't   the chandlery been swept and fresh strewing herbs put on the floor? Why hadn't she   tended the bee hives, when they were nearly out of honey to sell? Why had she let   the fire go out under the tallow pot? I was mute witness more times than I care to   remember.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But through it all, Molly grew.  She flowered, one sudden summer, into   a young woman who left me in awe of her capable ways and womanly charms.  For her   part, she seemed totally unaware of how her eyes could meet mine and turn my tongue   to leather in my mouth.  No magic I possessed, no Skill, no Wit, was proof against   the accidental touch of her hand against mine, nor could defend me against the awkwardness   that overwhelmed me at the quirk of her smile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Should I catalog her hair flowing   with the wind, or detail how the color of her eyes shifted from dark amber to rich   brown depending on her mood and the color of her gown? I would catch a glimpse of   her scarlet skirts and red shawl amongst the market throng, and suddenly be aware   of no one else.  These are magics I witnessed, and though I might set them down on   paper, no other could ever work them with such skill.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e How did I court her? With   a boy's clumsy gallantries, gaping after her like a simpleton watching the whirling   discs of a juggler.  She knew I loved her before I did.  And she let me court her,   although I was a few years younger than she, and not one of the town boys and possessed   of small prospects as far as she knew.","brand":"Spectra","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":44867149988069,"sku":"NP9780553573411","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553573411.jpg?v=1742916561","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/royal-assassin-isbn-9780553573411","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}