The Hedgewitch Queen

Something very much like strength flooded me, a quiet warmth starting at my toes and rising through my body, warm and wonderfully cooling at the same time. I sighed.

A terrible thought struck me. “Tristan? Where are you?” Why does it matter? But I wanted to see d’Arcenne. I wanted to know he was alive. If this was no dream, was he still in the donjon?

“Seeing to the supplies, Vianne.” Jierre, unwontedly gentle. He addressed me almost tenderly, and that was another mystery. “Rest easy, he’s here.”

“Her betrothed?” The hedgewitch. They had found a hedgewitch skilled in healing for me. Why? I was not ill.

The thought coalesced, slowly took shape. Fever. They have stopped in a town, and are in terrible danger. Because of me.

“Not yet.” Jierre’s tone was strange, as if he sought to hold back laughter.

“Clear to see he fancies her. And her such a pretty young d’mselle.” The hedgewitch clucked her tongue. “Now, here’s the tisane. And, sieur, not to be moving her for a good three days, that’s my recommend. She is quite ill. If you move her, she may suffer more fever.”

“My thanks, m’dama.” There was the sound of cloth moving. The hedgewitch’s fingers left my forehead, but the wonderful warmth remained. There was a clink — coin changing hands.

“Many thanks to you, sieur. Tis touching to see a brother caring for a sister so; and you two all alone in the world now.” The woman sounded chatty as a Court dama, and I hoped he would let her stay. The sound of a woman’s voice comforted me, reminded me of other voices. At Court, there was always chatter; it was a soothing sea-song behind even the quiet of the bedchamber.

But no, she left soon after, and my eyelids drifted open. I found Jierre di Yspres pulling a wooden chair up to the bedside. The angle of the sunlight had changed — late afternoon now, instead of morning. The white ceiling and thick beams were the same.

He saw I was conscious and smiled, his lean, dark face easing for a moment. Yet graven lines of worry bracketed his mouth, a single line between his dark eyebrows too. “Hello, d’mselle.” Softly and carefully. “We are in Tierrce d’Estrienne. The rest of the Guard has gone into the Shirlstrienne to wait for us. Tristan and I brought you to an inn, and contracted a hedgewitch physicker. How do you fare?”

I found I could speak, though still light-headed and dreamy. “Danger.” I wet my lips with my oddly numb tongue. “For you.”

He shook his head. “Not so much. The Duc’s spies are seeking a noblewoman fleeing at haste with a group of men four dozen strong. There are letres and heralds in the marketplaces with the wrong description, enough to make one laugh. Garonne di Narborre is probably near to Marrseize by now — the rumor is those phantoms have gone further to the south, to take ship for Tiberia. We have some breathing room, d’mselle. Do not worry so.”

I sighed. “The Captain?” It was the only question I could think to ask.

“Sore grieved you’re ill, d’mselle, but otherwise himself. He would not hear of leaving anyone else with you.” Jierre looked very serious now, but the lines had lessened. “He was very pale, when we found you had been struck by fever.”

Pale? No doubt he thinks of the danger to his men, even if you are too kind to say so. “I beg your pardon,” I whispered. “The trouble.”

“No trouble, d’mselle. Little good it would do to have you die of fever. We can afford to halt a day or two.” He was seeking to be comforting, I realized, and wondered at it. When had di Yspres turned into a tut-tutting nurse?

I blinked slowly again. “I feel strange.” If he was a nurse, I sounded like a child. “My head feels light, and tis so cold.”

“The hedgewitch left a tisane. Could you take some, do you think?”

I considered the question. The room was large and airy, probably the best the inn had to offer, and boasted a table topped with a pitcher and three cups, four wooden chairs, a large fireplace, a window seat, and a large clothespress made of dark wood. I wondered if the watercloset had a bathing tub. I longed for a bath. “I should,” I finally whispered, when I remembered what he had asked me. “Thirsty.”

“Say no more, then.” He moved about, and poured me a small cupful of dark ruby syrup. I recognized the smell — hart’s-fleet and fevrebit, the Feversbane. I wondered why she had thought to dose me with such a strong tisane. I could not be that ill.

But I was so cold. The warmth from the hedgewitch’s charming had fled. My body was not my own, weak and numb. I hoped I had not soiled myself; the embarrassment—

He propped me up on the pillows and held the cup to my lips, then fetched me a cup of cool water. I began to wake my dozing wits.

“Did I do anything foolish?” I asked wistfully, and was surprised. I did not think Jierre di Yspres capable of giddy laughter. He tipped his head back, seeking to master himself, and his chuckles rang against the roof.

Eventually he calmed. “No, d’mselle.” He lowered himself onto the chair by my bedside. “We were the fools, to think you an empty-headed Court dame. You did nothing foolish. In fact, you tried to insist we take the Aryx and leave you behind, until Tristan told you in no uncertain terms we could not think of leaving you and to stopper your mouth. Then you insisted we bypass the town and go into the forest, and you tried to prove you were well and hale by reciting Tiberian verbs. You showed great valor, d’mselle di Rocancheil.”

His dark eyes gleamed with merriment, and the lines were gone completely. I bit my lower lip, thinking he was mocking me but unable to decide just how good-naturedly. “I beg your pardon. I do not mean to be any trouble, in such a dire situation.”

“Your Majesty.” Now he was dignified, drawing himself up, every inch the Guard. He would never be considered handsome, but later in life when his face settled on his bones he would be thought of as severe and dignified. His features would hold up well. “Tis an honor to serve you, and I mean every word of my oath. I spoke in haste once, out of anger and pain and grief. Please, do me the honor of forgetting that outburst and accepting my apology. I offer it in good faith.”

My eyelids turned heavy, great weariness swamping me. “Really, chivalier. I am the least queenly person I have ever met.”

“To yourself, mayhap.” He folded his arms across his chest, his leather belt creaking slightly. “The Aryx would not accept your touch if you were not at least capable of becoming such. Why else did the Blessed gift it to us? Now rest, d’mselle, an it please you. Tristan should be returning soon, and he will wish to speak with you.”

Oh, no. That thought made me sigh again. I had no desire to speak to the Captain. “What, to scold me?” I closed my eyes. “I am merely a silly Court girl with too-noble feelings.”

That wrung another chuckle from di Yspres. He seemed very merry. Perhaps his wits were touched.

Then there were footsteps, and his laughter ceased as if cut by a knife.

Two knocks sounded on the door, a pause, then a third. The door was unbolted, and Jierre murmured something. The door closed again, and the bolt shot home.

“Well enough. How is she?” D’Arcenne, a heaviness to the words. Relief bloomed secretly in my chest, and I kept my lips pressed tight over it.

“The hedgewitch said we dare not move her for three days more, charmed her again, and left a different tisane. She will return tomorrow. The d’mselle was awake and seemed lucid, for a short time. Now I think she sleeps.” There was a short pause as their footsteps crossed to the table. “She asked for you.”

“Hm.” It was the same noise I had heard before from the Captain, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, a noncommittal reply. Someone approached the bed.

I opened my eyes to see Tristan d’Arcenne gazing down at me, his blue eyes dark and thoughtful. His bruised face looked much better, but his mouth turned down at the corners, and his eyebrows drew together. He was pale. “D’mselle.” There was a strangeness in his tone. “How do you fare?” He lowered himself gingerly into the chair while Jierre busied himself with something at the table.

“I beg your pardon.” My voice sounded thin and fretful, a thread in the room’s quiet. “I will be better tonight — we must make haste to escape.”