The Hedgewitch Queen

Wintrefelle rarely woke, and for all her beauty she snored like a pig — and we would fall asleep in my bed, giggling or quiet with the silence that comes only after you have known someone since childhood.

I stirred uneasily. They were mute for a long while, and I had almost fallen back into sleep’s black softness. The darkness behind my eyelids held shapes I did not care to examine too closely. Crumpled shapes in bloody dresses, lying so still.

So, so still.

“I would say through the forest.” Jierre, finally. “Bandits are a lesser danger to us at the moment.”

“I agree.” Tristan sighed. “Did I go amiss, Jierre?”

There was another long, uncomfortable silence. “I would not presume, sieur,” Jierre replied. “You acted honorably. I was wrong to doubt you.”

“Tis not what I meant.” Tristan sounded amused now, and bootleather creaked. “Gods above, this is a mess.”

“Aye,” Adersahl coughed, but it did not cover his laugh. “I never thought I would live to see this turn.”

“Many thanks, Adersahl,” Tristan said drily.“You are enjoying this courtsong?”

“Of course not,” the older man returned. “I wish you luck, tis all.”

Tristan cursed, but it was good-natured, and they all three laughed softly, so as not to wake the others. It was shared merriment, and I envied it.

Stealthy footsteps, going to different parts of the firelit clearing. Someone settled next to me, and I could not hold my peace. “Is something wrong?” Slow and sleepy, as if I dreamed.

“No,” Tristan d’Arcenne said very softly. “Sleep, Vianne. We are standing watch.”

“Captain?” I wished him to speak again. For when I heard him, the ugly visions faded somewhat.

“Try to rest,” He did not sound angry.

Say something diplomatic, Vianne. My tongue was thick with fatigue. “Your pardon, Captain. I was not kind to you.”

“Kind enough.” He sounded amused. “You needed to lance that wound. I was beginning to worry.”

“You never worry.” I sought to wake myself. He laughed, catching the sound back as if it pained him somewhat. “D’Arcenne?”

“Hm.” An affirmative sound. I watched the fire’s glow through my heavy, heavy lashes.

I wanted to ask him so many things, but I could not seem to make my mouth work. Instead, I fell back into the darkness of sleep. Before I did, someone’s fingers smoothed back a loose strand of my hair. It was a gentle touch, and I welcomed it.

The Captain

Chapter Seven

The floor of the Sculpture Hall echoed underfoot as I hurried along, trying the doors. Each was locked, rattling like rusted chains, and I wept with frustration and fear. Behind me, they came — the Duc’s Guard, with lean, black-eyed Garonne di Narborre at their head, coming for me to make certain, make certain, make certain.

“Vianne?”

Behind one of the doors was my Lisele, and she was bleeding. The blood washed under the doors, rising around my ankles, so much of it, and the walls between the doors were festooned with broken harpstrings. I knew the hedgewitch charm to save my Princesse but I could not remember it, and I could not remember which door she was hidden behind, and all of them were bleeding. I tried them all, and my hands slipped on the doorknobs. My hands slipped because they were sweating, and covered with blood as well, Lisele’s blood, for I was to blame—

“Vianne!” Someone had my shoulders, shook me. “Vianne, wake. Tis a dream, nothing more.”

I woke fully in one terrified lunge, the scream dying on my lips. Swallowed the last half of the cry and looked up at d’Arcenne while I clutched the blanket to my chest as if it could shield me.

It was early morn, and thick fog hung between the trees. One of the Guard doused the fire, but d’Arcenne gave me a cup of hot chai. “Here. Take this. Twas merely a dream. You are safe.” He folded my hands around the cup, his warm callused skin against mine. My hands shook, but he held them steady for a few moments until I could draw a breath. My mouth tasted foul, and the sudden urge to tear my hands from his and examine them for traces of blood shook me.

He had shaved, and his face looked better too. The bruising and swelling was going down; perhaps one of the Guard had some skill at healing. Had I thought, I would have offered to charm the bruises for him myself, though it was faintly improper.

My breath came harsh and ragged. Was there blood on my hands? I could not tell. All I could feel was the warm metal of the cup, just on the edge of scorching.

The Guard moved about the camp, jostling each other, rolling up sleeping pads. I wondered whose I had occupied so thoughtlessly. I felt incredibly rumpled, and as the last vestiges of sleep fled I longed for morning chocolat and a hot bath. D’Arcenne still knelt at my side, his fingers warm and solid.

If my hands were bloody, he would not hold them so. The idea came and fled in less than a moment.

“Captain.” I searched for something to speak of to push the dream away. Anything. “I never asked what happened to you, after you left me in the passageway.”

He almost flinched, gave me a sharp look, his fingers tightening. Of course, who would wish to speak of something so awful?

His careful examination of my face made me blush, and when he finally spoke it was not in his usual calm tone. No, his words turned lame and halting, as if he chose them with care, blue eyes dark-shadowed and his mouth tight with distaste. “I found my way to the Rose Room. The King was dying. The pink petitte-cakes, they were poisoned. The Duc’s Guard burst in, and I killed four of them before they took me down. And carried me to the donjons in chains, then beat me until the Duc paid the honor of a visit.” His gaze had turned steely.

Now I was sorry I had asked. It could not have been pleasant to remember. “I beg your pardon. I do not mean to wound you.” Poison? I sensed no poison. There were scentless poisons, though, even if a hedgewitch tended to be sensitive to the slightest breath of toxins. I had not been at my best in the Rose Room.

And yet…

He shrugged, loosed his fingers from mine. “I know, Vianne. Do not trouble yourself. The King asked if you were safe, and Lisele.” D’Arcenne ducked his dark head, examining the ruin of the sleeping roll I had been tossing upon. “I lied. I told him I knew you and the Princesse were safe. I told him I would watch over you. That, at least, is true, and I shall see it remains so.”

“Oh.” Furious heat stained my cheeks, I wished I could stopper it. It was merely the King’s jest. You must be wary, this man may turn on you. You have no protection here.

“I do not wish to wound you, either.” Quietly, as he settled his knee more comfortably on the damp ground.

I gazed at the blankets and the rumpled sleeping pad. Something else to speak of, Vianne. Quickly now. “Whose are these?” The fog made the morning eerily quiet.

“Mine. Three stand watch at a time, so there are a few to spare.”

Oh, dear gods. “My thanks, Captain.” I found enough presence of mind to sip the chai. It was hot and sweet with stevya, and I was grateful. I felt queerly light and drained, as if the dream were still happening around me. The predawn hush was immense; even our voices seemed not to break it. “I feel I am