The Hedgewitch Queen

sing. Yes, impossible things were coming thick and fast now. “But I never saw—,” I whispered.

“Of course you never saw.” Jierre’s low voice turned dark. “Do you think the Captain that inept? And everyone knows he—”

I do not wish to know. “What more could everyone know, that I do not? No, do not tell me. Please, sieur. I can stand no more.”

“I am sorry, d’mselle.” I do believe he was. “I beg you, and it please you, to be kind to him.”

Kind to him? “I loosed him from the Palais donjon. He requires more kindness from me?” I had not meant to say as much aloud. Attending Court does mean one is required to do much one would rather not; I knew my duty and had always performed it to exaction. What more could di Yspres want? What more did any of them want?

“True.” Jierre shifted closer, his voice dropping still further. “Yet there is another donjon holding him, d’mselle. And you hold the key to that one.”

What, the man is playing riddlesharp with me? I am not the opponent I once was at that game, sieur. But, miserably, I knew what he meant. Jierre sought to tell me d’Arcenne would kill himself avenging the King’s death or seeking to put me on the throne — and his faithful lieutenant did not like the thought.

I did not blame him. The thought of d’Arcenne’s death sent a strange panicked bolt through me. I had to find a way to loose the Captain from the chains of his own sworn oath. And not so incidentally, loose myself from this nightmarish conundrum.

Dear blessed gods, what am I to do now? But I am well used to planning; one cannot sponsor a fete or an entrance at the Salonne without overcoming some practical obstacles. One furthermore cannot hunt an intrigue, manage a small independence, or stock a stillroom without overcoming obstacles and stumbling-blocks, either. Or deal with a fractious Princesse.

I calculated swiftly and cast my dice. “Then I will need your help, Lieutenant,” I whispered. “Can you make a horse ready for me, not tonight…Mayhap tomorrow night?”

Jierre gave me a strange look. His eyes narrowed.

“I do not seek d’Arcenne’s death, either.” I could swear his jaw dropped at my words. We were trading surprises, the lieutenant and I. “He will kill himself for what he thinks is duty. I think I can free him of it — but I need your help to do so. I can give you the Aryx and ride south for the ports, draw off pursuit and buy you time to take the Seal elsewhere.”

He stared at me as if I were mad. “D’mselle—”

“Your Majesty?” It was Pillipe di Garfour, looming over me with a bowl in his hand. “Tis stew, and hot, even if it is not Court fare. Tinan is not a very good cook, but he is better than some.”

“Damn me with faint praise,” Tinan called from the fire. “You had half the cooking of this, di Garfour, if tis gone wrong you share the blame.”

Rudely recalled, I reached up. Di Garfour almost jerked his hand back, as if my touch singed him.

Jierre di Yspres made it to his feet. He stared down at me with something like astonishment. It struck me di Garfour and di Rocham sought to make me smile, so I dutifully gave them my bright, interested Court expression. “I am sure tis well enough. I am hungry, I did not have my chai yesterday.”

My stomach flipped. I tasted the stew, and found it was hot and probably nutritious. That was all that could be said for it. But I took a few bites, and they all crowded around and began their sup, loosely grouped around the fire, some of them sitting on their saddles.

The Captain appeared at my side. “Blessed gods.” A rare bit of humor lightened his beaten face. “You must be brave, d’mselle Vianne, to eat Tinan’s cooking.”

A general shout of laughter rose. The young Guard flushed, and I pitied him. “Well,” I managed diplomatically, “tis not the worst I’ve had. Amys was preparing eels yesterday.” I bit my lip, remembering the cook. I set my bowl aside, and tried to put a bright face on it. The art of conversation requires making oneself agreeable, amusing where possible, instructing gently other times. “I loathe eels, but I would always have to try them. She would always ask me how they were, if they needed more salt or chivin. Imagine my surprise when I found she thought I loved eels — someone mischievous had told her they were my favourite delicacy.”

That caused more laughter, and di Rocham grinned at me gratefully. My heart lightened. The boy was charming, and he would have quite a career…if there was ever a Court he could return to.

The Captain settled next to me; I leaned away as subtly as I could. For some reason di Rocham hurriedly glanced away, his face falling as if he had seen something amiss.

I had done my duty and they did not look to me to amuse now. So I pulled my knees up and let their conversation drift around me. It was the closest to merriment I had heard from them, and with good reason. But they seemed easier now, and if I stayed silent and looked into the fire they might forget my presence a little.

“Tis not to your liking?” The Captain’s hand fell to his side. Had he been about to touch my shoulder?

Startled, I did not flinch only with an effort. “What?”

“The stew. I will admit Tinan needs practice, but tis not so bad. Not like Jierre’s cooking.” His blue eyes were shadowed, and firelight made the sharp planes of his face softer. You could almost miss the marring from the beating he’d been gifted.

“Tis well enough.” I touched the bowl with two fingers, decided I could not force myself to do more. “I simply have little appetite, Captain.” My voice broke on the last syllable, and I cursed myself. This was no time to be a blithering idiot. “My life has taken a rather surprising turn, of late.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looked down into his own bowl. “Try to eat, Vianne. You will need your strength.”

I nodded. Hunger is the best sauce for any stew, but even hunger could not force me to swallow more than I already had. “I beg your pardon, Captain. I do not mean to be a burden.”

Did he wince? It was impossible to be sure, dusk was gathering rapidly between the trees. “You are no burden, d’mselle. You’ve borne up with far more grace than any other Court dame would have.” He raked his dark hair back from his face with stiff fingers, and I saw the shadow of stubble along his chin. Of course, he had not had time to shave. A few of the Guard sported mustaches in honor of the King, but Tristan was clean-shaven.

I wondered what that roughness would feel like under my fingertips. Surely it did no harm to wonder, as long as I remembered he would not, did not, care for me. “My thanks for the compliment. I feel a burden and a fool. If I had not been in that passage—”

Did the smoke sting his eyes as it stung mine? For he blinked, quickly. “Twas luck, Vianne. Or fate. Had you not happened along, you would have been with the Princesse, and taken or killed.”

“If I had not been in that corridor, mayhap I could have saved Lisele.” I touched the bowl again, running my fingers along the metal rim.

“One unarmed woman against men who slew two of my Guard, then killed the Princesse and her ladies? You will drive yourself mad if you think such a thing.” Shadows now leapt away from the firelight. Night falls swiftly with no candle or witchlight to hold it back, even in spring.

“I wonder if madness might not be a comfort,” I said bitterly. My feet ached; the boots, however sturdy, were not made for this abuse. Nor was the rest of me. “I was not with Lisele when she needed me.”

“You could not have saved her. You rescued the Aryx, and freed me from an iron cell.”

Did he seek to ease my conscience? It was gallant of him, but I did not wish any comfort from his quarter. Still… There is another donjon holding him, d’mselle. And you hold the key to that one. “I would free you from your oath, and you could find service with another Court. Navarrin, perhaps, or even Badeau. They would be glad of you.” And their borders would keep you safer than most. The Damarsene would not take you, the Pruzians would kill you, and the Torkai, barbarians that they are, who knows what they would do? The image of d’Arcenne in the turbaned Court of Torkai, spreading himself on the floor to bow to their King, would have been highly diverting once. Now it merely irritated me.

“A man accused of killing his own King?” His mouth drew into a firm line. “What folly are you speaking?”

It is not folly if it saves a life, Captain. I gathered myself. “Think practically, Captain. There is no hope of success. The Duc has been laying his plans for years, if what