The Hedgewitch Queen (13 page)

“Good.” D’Arcenne did not move. He simply tarried in the chair, and I could feel his gaze upon me like sunlight.

There was a long silence, and my breathing evened out. I relaxed, but sleep would not come.

Finally di Yspres spoke, soft and respectful. “Eat something. She is safe enough now. What of the supplies?”

“We have more than enough,” d’Arcenne replied heavily. There was no sound of movement. Did he still watch me? “I almost cost us everything.”

“She’ll need you strong, not starved. How much coin have we?”

Most interesting. They are planning. Listen well, Vianne.
Keeping my ears open at Court had served me well; this was not eavesdropping, for I
was
seeking to sleep. I told my conscience to leave me be.

“Four or five purses. Enough to last through the next winter. Arcenne will shelter us, too, pay us through trade with Navarrin so d’Orlaans cannot trace it. I am more worried about the peasantry, and sorcery. The killspell on Simieri was well-laid, and powerful, d’Orlaans has been practicing. What might he cast at Arcenne?”

“Or at her? Do not borrow trouble just yet, we have enough.”

“What did she say, Jierre? Tell me.”

I heard a liquid sound. Wine, poured into a cup. “She thinks you mean to scold her, Captain.”

“Does she.” I heard them settle down, and smelled something heavy and rich. Mince pies. It made my stomach tighten into knots. I was not hungry.

I turned onto my side and burrowed under the covers, sighing. They were quiet. I curled around myself and hugged the pillow. The linens smelled of lavender.

“The hedgewitch thinks you her betrothed.” Jierre sounded strained.

D’Arcenne said nothing.

“Twas easy enough to let her think so,” Jierre continued. “Tristan, my Captain, you are hopeless.”

“Indeed. A fine word for it.”

From there the talk turned to the rest of the Guard, camped in the Shirlstrienne. They were worried but still in good spirits, and Tristan had delivered supplies to them. We would be ready to traverse the forest toward Arcenne in a few days’ time.

If I could shake free of the fever, that was. I closed my eyes more tightly and resolved to do all I could.

T
he hedgewitch Magiere was a broad, red-faced woman, her graying hair caught in a snowy kerchief. She felt my pulse, peered into my eyes, and declared me much better. “But you must rest,” she said firmly, her dark gaze skipping over my face, as if afraid to settle. I must have been a sight. “No riding for two more days, and mind you go slowly after that. Where are you bound,
d’mselle
?”

I knew not what lie to tell, but di Yspres smoothly intervened. “We are bound for Avignienne to visit distant family.” He leaned against the mantel, a fine sight in his feathered hat with his sword at his side, slim and dark as the hero of any courtsong. “We have not much left, but we are lucky all the same to have each other.”

Her back was turned, so she did not see the wink he tipped me. If I had not felt so slow and stupid I might have betrayed the game, but as it was I merely fixed my eyes on the hedgewitch and tried to look vapid.

It was no large feat. My wits simply would not answer me, and I sorely missed them.

She beamed, pouring another small cup of the syrupy tisane. “Such a devoted brother!” she clucked, and held the cup to my lips. I suffered it, drinking obediently, and accepted a draught of water while she rinsed the smaller cup from the pitcher. Her skirts whispered and rustled in the room’s quiet. I heard footsteps in the halls outside my door and sounds from the street below, but it was surprisingly peaceful inside this room.

Pale pearly sunlight flooded through the windows. The sky had clouded, and it smelled of rain, a green odor filtering through doors and halls and windows to reach my own sensitive hedgewitch nose. I wondered about the Guard, sheltering in the forest, and bit my lip so I would remember not to ask di Yspres about them in
m’dama
Magiere’s hearing.

“Excuse me,
m’dama
,” I said politely, and she preened under my respectful tone. “I have some small knowledge of tisanes, and could not help but notice you’ve mixed me a strong draught. Am I truly that ill?”

She fussed over me, taking the empty cup and smoothing the blankets. “Oh, aye,
d’mselle
. Fever’s a risk, especially for such a gentle lady as yourself. Why, two of the women in the town have died, and it not even summer yet. And a rumor of plague, too, but I do not believe it. You were fair taken when I saw you,
d’mselle
; and your betrothed white with fear.”

Di Yspres made another smothered sound, and I glanced curiously at him. He examined a vase on the mantel with great interest, and I thought sourly that he had a very strange sense of humor indeed, calling the Captain my betrothed. But still, it explained why he rode with us, and it deflected suspicion. “He was?” I tried to sound pleased.

“Oh, aye. Tis clear to see how he fancies you. Now, you must have some broth and bread, and another cup of tisane before bed. I shall charm you now,
d’mselle
, an it please you.” Magiere’s apple-red cheeks crinkled as she smiled at me. I nodded.

“Many thanks for your trouble,
m’dama
.”
You have made the same jest a King did. I hope it repays you more kindly.

She preened again, and laid her work-roughened hand against my forehead. The charm she used was simple, but she had some power. I closed my eyes, feeling the same warmth stealing up from my toes to flush my entire body with its healing. When it was finished, I opened my eyes, smiling at her.

She gasped.
What did I do?
Puzzled, my sudden happiness drained away. “Your pardon. Is aught amiss?”

“No.” She took her callused hand away, suddenly shy. “You’re very pretty,
d’mselle
.And when you smile, tis a wonder.”

She sought to flatter me, hoping Jierre would hear and add to her fee. I wished her joy of it, for she did her job well. “My thanks for the compliment,” I answered with good grace. “And for your care,
m’dama
.”

She fluttered away. Di Yspres paid her—I did not look to see how much—and she sternly reminded him that I must not be moved, and I should not ride hard for another week. The lieutenant agreed and accompanied her to the door. Their small talk held very little information, but I still noted everything in it, out of long habit.

It pays to remember such trifling conversation, and in good coin too. Once I had pieced together an intrigue from a single word, and moved to shield Lisele from it. It had only been a trivial one, involving dresses and jewels, but I was still rather proud of how neatly I outdid di Valancourt. Her face when Lisele appeared in a simple gown and put her beribboning to shame had been priceless, though I suspect I was the only person to see the flash of anger—and only because I had been watchful for it.

But you were not watching when it counted, Vianne.

I had other business now, so I did my best to ignore that thought. I slid my hand under the cover and found the pocket of my linen shift. The emerald ear-drops I had carried all the way from Palais D’Arquitaine bit into my palm as I brought my hand out.

I sighed as soon as the hedgewitch had quit the room. “Lieutenant?
Chivalier
? Here, I have summat to say.”

He approached the bed cautiously. I had not asked where the Captain was—gone when I awakened; I told myself I did not feel the lack.

“
D’mselle
?” Di Yspres’s tone was a great deal softer than his wont.

I opened my hand. The ear-drops, heavy silver and glittering green stones, lay obediently in my palm. “I was wearing these the day the Princesse…died.” I heard the queer dullness in my tone; I was not sprightly in conversation today. “I know it costs coin to engage a hedgewitch. Perhaps you could…”

He gazed at the ear-drops, then at my face. Heat rose in my cheeks.

“Your pardon,
d’mselle
di Rocancheil, but if we sold them, it would cause comment. Maybe in the Citté we could do so without attracting notice, but here we cannot. And besides, we have enough coin for now. Keep those, an it please you.”

I nodded, my cheeks hot. A well-bred lady would normally never discuss such a thing with anyone but a solicitor or a majiorduomo. I bit the inside of my cheek and folded my fingers over the ear-drops.

“I beg your pardon.” I gazed at the blue-and-white quilt. “I only thought to help.”

“Much appreciated,
d’mselle
.” He scratched his cheek. Twas a good thing we were both dark-haired and dark-eyed; still, I wondered if anyone truly mistook us for brother and sister. “Tristan went to see if he could buy a horse for you—a palfrey, perhaps, something with an easy gait.”

“Oh. I must remember to thank him.” Prim and unhelpful, giving him no purchase did he seek to embarrass me.

The lieutenant settled his hat on the table and dropped into the chair by the side of the bed. His lean face broke into a wide, unaffected smile. “I remember Tristan set a watch over you at Court. Once or twice I took a shift. He would always ask what you had done that day, if you seemed happy, who had spoken to you. We often discussed that you sought to minimize your lineage.”

I sensed danger in this conversation, but could not tell what quarter it would arrive from. “You mean, I did not act like a bastard royal? I heard the rumors, but the rest of Arquitaine is—
was
—full of other nobles that could lay claim to a larger share. It mattered little to me.”

“You had the benefit of blood from both sides of your family tree, and it may have mattered to the other ladies-in-waiting,” Jierre noted, reasonably enough. “I think perhaps some of the…ah, the small troubles you had at Court were a result of this. It was known you were the King’s ward, and under Princesse Lisele’s protection. Who would have dared to slight you openly? But you could be snubbed in countless little ways—and the fact you seemed not to care only added fuel to the flames.”

“Oh.” I watched the squares on the quilt rise and fall as I breathed. Yet I did not say more.
And you are not simply making conversation to ease me. You have some purpose in mind.
Until I knew what that purpose was, best I keep my lips sealed.

“Tristan watched over you,” Jierre prompted.

I gathered myself. Now was as good a time as any for me to chance a throw. “He was commanded to by the King.
Chivalier
, I know you do not wish Captain d’Arcenne to throw his life away for what he thinks is his duty any more than I do. I thought if I could give him the Aryx and ride south, I might draw some attention and leave you time and space to reach Arcenne safely.”
And I may hide myself quite handily as a hedgewitch, or starve to death in Marrseize.
“The Captain seems determined to do himself some harm,” I added delicately.

Di Yspres shrugged. His face had shut itself most firmly, all amusement fled. “You hold the Aryx, and are of royal blood. You cannot relinquish it, Your Majesty, as much as you may wish to. Arquitaine law says the Aryx chooses its holder.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “But it did not
choose
me. I was late reaching Lisele’s side, and she pressed it on me. Tis not mine.”
What of this do you not understand, Lieutenant? I am seeking to save you
and
d’Arcenne some trouble; I will not go very far on this course without your help.

“But it is.” He was just as merciless as his Captain. “The Aryx is what all Court sorcery flows from. It is the heart of Arquitaine, and tis more than powerful enough to have chosen you instead of d’Orlaans.”

It was perilously close to blasphemy, but I had to say it. “If tis so powerful, why did it not save Lisele? And the King?”

Jierre stopped, pushing his hair back with his fingers. His boots creaked slightly as he shifted, and his rapier tapped the chair. “Who knows,
d’mselle
? Yet for good or ill, we have sworn our service to you as the Queen.”

“What if I released you from your service,
chivalier
?” My hand was a fist, wrapped around the ear-drops, but I lifted it and touched the hard lump of the Aryx under the linen shift. I had been able to wash myself that morn, though it had cost me far more effort than such a simple operation should entail, and Tinan di Rocham’s clothes were away to be laundered.

I was grateful for that. The weight of the lump of metal at my throat, however, did no good. My chest could barely rise and fall under such a burden.

A single shrug. My protest was of little account to this man. “If you released us all tomorrow, we would simply take our oaths again. We are bound to this course.”

“You could go over the mountains to Navarrin and take service there.”
And you would live. I would not have your deaths on my burdened conscience. I have enough, by the Blessed.

“We are d’Arquitaine.” His chin lifted proudly, shoulders back. “And we are in the right. The Duc killed his brother and his niece. Such a monster is not fit for the throne.”

I could not argue with that. “I wish you could find someone else.” I dropped my eyes back to the quilt.

“So does Tristan. He could court the Duchesse di Rocancheil, but the Queen of Arquitaine is an entirely different tale.”

You jest too much.
I stared at Jierre, who leaned forward earnestly. My heart thundered as if I would faint, like any well-bred
d’mselle
in a silly courtsong.
Or is he mocking me? Both are equally likely.
I searched for a response that would not lead the conversation into even more dangerous waters. Now that I knew he would not help me, I would be forced to find what I could in another direction. The di Rocham boy. Or di Parmecy et Villeroche—he seemed, perhaps, easily led? I did not know enough about them to begin setting my snares. “Captain d’Arcenne does not seem the courting type.”
What would Comtesse Rochburre say?
A bright pain pierced my chest. The numbness, my friend, was wearing away, and the truth of the horrors I had seen sinking in. I half-wished we were still riding through Arquitaine, so I could have something other than these memories to torment me.

“Do you not care for him, then?” Di Yspres leaned even further forward, intent. Was it cruelty in his bright dark gaze? “Because,
d’mselle
—”

“Please. Do not mock me,
Chivalier
di Yspres, I beg of you. If you will not aid me, leave me be.” My voice broke on the last syllable, and a knock sounded at the door.
Rescued, and not a moment too soon.
I closed my eyes, sinking into the pillows.

There was a pause, and three more knocks. Di Yspres unlocked the door, and booted feet tramped. Sudden fear turned the taste of the Feversbane on my tongue to copper.

“Good morn to you, Jierre.” Twas Luc di Chatillon’s light, merry voice, and I slumped into the pillows, wishing mightily for anodyne sleep. “How does the Queen?”

“Well enough. How does the Guard?” There was the sound of men greeting one another—the slaps on the shoulder, the creaking of leather.

“Well enough as well.” Di Chatillon gave forth another merry laugh. “Much easier, now that we know she’ll live. We were fair worried.”

“No less than d’Arcenne,” Adersahl di Parmecy et Villeroche said. “May we speak to her?”

It was no use. I could not feign stupor at this point, and it would be unconscionable to waste such an opportunity for setting my wits to discovering which of them would aid me. The three of them clustered near the door, and I pulled my hand back under the covers, slipping the ear-drops back into the small pocket sewn into my shift.

“Take care not to tire her. The physicker says she will be fit to travel soon if we do not ride too hard.”

Luc di Chatillon’s blond head dipped. He approached the bed, Adersahl trailing him. The older man smoothed his fine mustache nervously.

“Good morn to you, Your Majesty.” Di Chatillon’s hazel eyes danced. They did not wear the red sash of the Guard here, but Court was evident in the bow he swept me, his hat’s feather almost brushing the floor. “And a bright Blessed dawning. Glad to see you hale.”