The Hedgewitch Queen

Now I was responsible for two more deaths. Peasants, to be sure — but still, two more awful murders.

So much death. We were wading in it, and it rose like the Airenne’s infrequent floods.

A great chill settled over me, far deeper than my skin. It pushed all the way down to my bones. I cupped my elbows in my hands and hugged myself, shivering. I could find nothing more to say.

D’Arcenne said nothing, either, and we heard the footsteps of the Guards returning. Who had killed them? Perhaps di Garfour? No — he was too kind. Luc di Chatillon? No, his eyes were so merry, and he had offered his oath in a voice that shook just a little. Robierre d’Atyaint-Sierre? No, I could not imagine it.

You do not need to imagine, Vianne. It is done.

They filed into the tiny clearing. “Is the Queen harmed?” Pillipe di Garfour asked shyly, faith shining in his gaze.

He believed. The Captain had made them all believe they were the Queen’s Guard, and the Queen’s Guard they would be, to the last man. There would be no better defense for the Aryx.

I set my chin and raised my eyes. “Unharmed.” My voice that sounded strange even to myself. “My thanks, sieurs. The Captain has informed me we are departing this place.”

With that, I brushed past d’Arcenne. He gave a subtle push to my shoulder, telling me which way the camp lay. I was grateful for that, at least. I tried my best not to stumble, though my eyes were dry and felt full of sand. His fingers slipped, as if he had sought to catch me as I passed, but I did not let him.

At least I was not weeping. The tears had turned to stones, and settled behind my beating heart.

Chapter Eight

I did not break my fast, and d’Arcenne did not notice. He was too busy giving orders and planning. I simply sought to stay out of the way.

I alternated between silently reciting Tiberian verbs and hedgewitch charms. It was the only thing I could think to do. I leaned against a firgan tree and went through the first twenty Tiberian verbs, each declension a rough martial song, then recited a charm to salve a bruise. Now I could remember a dozen more — a charm to take infection from a wound, a charm to still bleeding, a charm to make a wounded person sleep and so, conserve their strength.

When it mattered most, I had been able to remember only a charm to mend a scullery maid’s hand. A miserable hedgewitch, in truth. I was determined that should I witness another death, I would do all in my limited power to prevent it.

All, Vianne? That was another question, one which occupied me greatly.

We set out through the fog’s eerie muffling, and I again kept myself leaning away from Tristan as long as I possibly could. The motion of the horse and my own numb hunger conspired to put me in a half-slumbrous state.

Moisture dropped from the slender trees, underbrush gemmed with crystal drops, the birds finishing their dawn chorus and settling into the day’s gossip. Yet they were hushed, whispering — perhaps they, too, knew that the King was dead, and conspiracy stalked Arquitaine.

I thought on all the hedgewitch charms I knew, seeking to fix each of them more firmly into memory. At the Palais I would have my books — I wondered what had happened to my books, whether they were still in my bedchamber or if they had been taken. Surely the Duc must have known by now that I had escaped with Tristan. Or did he? Did he think I had left the Palais alone? Who else could have freed the Captain? Anyone loyal to him, certainly. Had there been anyone loyal to Tristan left in the Palais by the time the Duc was finished with his well- laid plans?

I missed odd things. My mother-of-salt comb, a keepsake from my mother. A bite of Cook Amys’s honeycake. The scent of my pillows, the blue silk ribbon I had left carelessly draped across my mirror. The small silver gryphon statue Lisele had gifted me with on my naming-day last year, its eyes glowing rubies.

We rode all day, the copses blurring together and the clearings becoming more infrequent. I must have slept, barely waking when we stopped for luncheon and to rest the horses. Someone pushed a sweetroll and a thick slice of cheese into my hands, and a cup of chai, but my stomach turned to a roiling mass of snakes when I raised the sweetroll to my lips. I held the bread and cheese until I ascertained which way I should go to relieve myself, leaving the cup on the leaf-scattered ground.

I threw the sweetroll into the bushes, and followed it with the cheese, sore tempted to send a muttered curse after both. A small charm to preserve my modesty, and another small charm to clean oneself afterward — at least I was hedgewitch enough for that. Here in the wilderness, it was easy. The charm took its power from the trees and earth, not from me. Thank the Blessed, for I was numb, and light. My forehead felt cold and wet to my hot, dry fingers when I pushed stray strands of hair back, seeking to repair my braid.

I did not go very far from the Guard, and when I reappeared, Tinan di Rocham handed me my cup again. “Drink it, and it please you, d’mselle. You are pale.”

I raised the cup to my lips, but did not drink. The smell of chai made my stomach cramp, and I feared I would retch most unbecomingly. I lowered it gingerly, and he seemed satisfied.

“That will help you. Do you need aught?” His fair young face was concerned. I wondered what he would have made of d’Arcenne’s commands to kill two helpless peasants.

What I need, young chivalier, you cannot give. Leave me be. I shook my head, and as soon as he was gone I tipped the chai unobtrusively into a thornbush. My stomach eased a little, but did not cease its boiling. My arms and legs ached, and my head split with pain. I longed for my bed, or for a certain window seat in the White Gallery. From that casement one could watch the gardens below, and bask in the Sun at any season. Lisele and I had often hidden there as children, pulling the pale draperies closed to hide from prying eyes, whispering and giggling as our dolls had adventures on the broad gold-figured satin of the seat.

We did not stop for long, and soon I was back atop the horse with Tristan d’Arcenne behind me. I tried again to avoid touching him — an impossible feat on horseback — and was again defeated by my third recitation of the second class of verbs. I fell into a dreamy haze, and was glad of it as the day wore on.

Nightfall came, and still we continued, skirting the fields of Vanstrienne to the east. The country grew thick with hills and stands of broader oak and vastvain trees; we passed many a country lane and small brook. I heard someone remark this was Adersahl’s home province, and he knew it well. There was a manse, and some discussion of whether we could afford to rest there, sleep in real beds. But it was too dangerous — to Adersahl’s family and to us. It was decided to simply push on through the night. In three days’ time we should reach the place where a dark finger-dagger of the Shirlstrienne pointed into the heart of Arquitaine, and would be safe enough in that belt of forest — especially as it widened and became an ocean of trees, the Shirlstrienne proper.

Safe enough. Except for the bandits.

I found I did not care.

D’Arcenne occasionally made a remark into my captive ear, but I told myself I did not hear him and soon enough he did not speak to me. I occupied myself with reciting charms, and when I could no longer think of such things, simply staring at the horse’s mane.

We stopped just before moonrise at a small brook, and I was led to a pad of two blankets that someone — perhaps Tinan — had put between the roots of a tall spreading chestnut tree in full leaf. I dropped down and pulled my knees up, resting my forehead atop them, stray strands of my hair falling forward to screen me. I had neither time nor energy to comb or braid; even the thought filled me with unutterable weariness. I shut my eyes and wished for sleep, but I seemed to have found an exhaustion too deep for slumber.

The men spoke in low voices and I ignored them, shutting the sound out as much as I could, simply enduring. They offered me chai, again, and cold mince pie, but I did not answer, pulling more tightly into myself. There was some argument, then. Jierre di Yspres asking me to eat, Tinan di Rocham saying I looked fevered, Luc di Chatillon remarking we had no time for women’s vapors, and Adersahl di Parmecy et Villeroche telling him sharply to hold his tongue. I found if I concentrated on the blood soughing in my ears I could ignore them much more effectively.

Finally, the food was taken away, there was more low but heated discussion, and d’Arcenne came and