The Hedgewitch Queen

He shook his dark head. His voice was gentle, and I finally could think of the strangeness in it. I had never heard his tone so temperate. “I will not risk your death by traveling while you are feverstruck. Why did you not tell me you were so ill?”

I blinked at him, sinking into the bed — a real bed, such a luxury after the past few days. “I am not ill.” I searched for words. “I was simply so tired.”

“Unused to hard riding, and exhausted by grief,” Tristan said. “I was thoughtless, Vianne. Forgive me.”

The Captain himself, asking forgiveness? “What could I forgive you for?” I was honestly amazed. “Nobody craves my forgiveness, chivalier. It has been long since anyone asked it of me.” It was not quite true — di Yspres had just asked my forgiveness, too. I knew of women who feigned illness to force such declarations, and it irked me to possibly be counted among them. There was nothing wrong with me, save exhaustion that could be staved off if I exercised will and wit enough.

A yawn took me captive. I covered my mouth, reflexively, surprised by how heavy my arm was, weighted with lead.

D’Arcenne said nothing for a few moments. He leaned forward. “Well enough. Will you promise to rest, so we may leave here as soon as possible? I need you to regain your strength, d’mselle, not waste it. Help me. I do not know how else to ask.”

If he had leapt onto the table in a set of skirts and announced his desire to join the barbarian hordes of Tifrimat or Torkai, I would have been less amazed. As it was, I stared round-eyed at him for a long moment before remembering that he did ask me a question.

My wits were sorely blunted. Come, Vianne. Sharpen yourself. “You truly need my help?”

“Absolutely.” He even looked serious, sharp mountainfolk face set. Then again, he always did. When he was older he would not look like di Yspres. No, d’Arcenne would retain his looks for a long time, the bones under the skin preserving a certain beauty. “Please. Promise me you will rest, and stop insisting on being taken from here so quickly. Let me worry about the Duc d’Orlaans. Let me believe I am still capable of performing my duty.” Here he gave a bitter little laugh.

It was so unlike him, I thought perhaps I did have a fever, and it had strangled what wits I had left. “I will promise to rest, if…” If you will not kill anyone on my account was what I wished to say, but I could not make myself utter it. If I voiced the bargain, it would be admitting the murders had happened.

A noblewoman should not say such things. And I did not wish to. I hoped never to think on it again. I was so, so tired. If they did leave me in this room, I would be perfectly content. I would sleep, and the rest of the world could do what it would without my help at all.

D’Arcenne hovered, leaning close and watching me closely. “Anything you like. Set me your task, d’mselle.”

As if this were a silly courtsong, tasks set and a lady to die for. I shook my head, my hair moving against the pillow. Fresh sheets, how luxurious; could I simply not stay here forever? “I shall rest.” To prove it, I closed my eyes.

“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.

Chapter Ten

The 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