The Hedgewitch Queen

building I would never be able to find again, did you return me to the town and ask me to do so at daggerpoint. Twas eerie to hear the life of a town echoing all about us, and yet every street d’Arcenne chose was well-nigh deserted.

Di Yspres rode silent behind us. I looked a boy too young to ride a destrier, perhaps — my braided hair safely hidden under Tinan’s hat — and the peasants would not question obvious nobles.

But they could be questioned later, and they might remember. We could only hope our pursuers would not know the correct questions to ask. Much now depended on whether yesterday’s visitor had sent a missive to his master.

Once we left the town’s edgings, we found ourselves on a cart track slipping into the shadows of the forest.

The Shirlstrienne’s fringes were lovely as a courtsong, trees arching up over the cart track, dappling the grass and dusty wheelruts with shade. They provided a measure of relief from the heat, though dust danced and swirled fair to choke one.

The sky remained clouded, yet the day was close and oppressive. Dark clouds stacked themselves in the northern sky, glimpsed once or twice before the trees closed us away. I shivered, the unpleasant sensation of approaching storm weighting my arms and legs. I was sensitive to such things even without the help of hedgewitchery; sometimes at Court the looming of a storm would send me to bed with half my head knotting itself tight with pain. Lisele fretted, and Comtesse di Rocheburre and Lady di Chvreil also suffered storm-pains and the half-head after, so I knew I was neither imagining the agony nor likely to die of it.

Though dying might have been preferable, once or twice. The half-head is distinctly unpleasant, and those who do not suffer it rarely understand.

D’Arcenne’s arms tightened. “What is it?”

I prayed the Blessed would spare me the half-head. “Merely a storm. I am well enough.”

Di Yspres was before us, gloomy light gathering between the trees. His horse paced, sprightly for such a large creature, and dappled leaf shadow ran wetly over beast and rider. The feather in his hat bobbed, a lazy counterpoint.

I searched for aught to say. “How far to the others?”

“Another hour.” His breath touched my ear once more, and a hot flush went through me. “Perhaps a little less. They know we are approaching.”

I nodded. Uneasiness prickled at my nape. But was it danger, or because his arms were around me? He could not help it; we had to ride double, and were I to perch on the back of the saddle and hold him I might well shatter any illusion I ever had of being graceful by falling and breaking my neck.

That would solve the present quandary nicely, would it not? I straightened, seeking to lean away from him, but his arms tightened again, pulling me back. The horse’s hooves clopped on the dusty track.

“The trees become very thick. If the storm breaks we shall be dry for a short while at least while we unpack the cloaks. But you are still uneasy, no?”

I nodded. “Still uneasy.” I gave up trying to lean away from him, and he sighed.

“You are safe, Vianne. I swear it.” Was something caught in his throat? And why would he address me so familiarly? I was not dreaming.

Of course, I was important to him — if only because I was the means of his revenge. As long as he still thought me capable of serving that end, I was reasonably safe. And yet, I could not allow him to harm himself. Perhaps he would listen to reason. He was reasonable.

Sometimes.

I rested my head against his shoulder. It was easier to speak without his gaze on me. “I do not wish you to die pursuing this ridiculous course, Captain.”

“I survived Court, and the Duc d’Orlaans’s tender attentions. I think I have the skill to survive reaching Arcenne.” Was he bridling? I could not tell.

“Afterward,” I persisted, felt him tense. “After Arcenne. You plan to field an army, do you not? I wish no such thing. We may find another to hold the Aryx, one more suited, and all will be well.”

“You are the holder of the Aryx.” Tristan’s tone was soft, inflexible, gentle. “You are the rightful Queen of Arquitaine. Whence comes this uncertainty of yours?”

“I am an illegitimate royal at best. That does not make me a Queen. There must be someone else.” Someone who could direct this warmongering spirit of yours more fruitfully. And less dangerously.

“There is the Duc.” A humorless jest, delivered through clenched teeth. “He killed his brother to gain the throne, and would force you into a wedding and bedding within a day were he to capture you.”

I blew out a long sigh, forgetting that such a thing was not pretty manners. My frustration was not mannerly at all. “But certainly there are others. There must be others!”

“There are no others. Did you not listen, Vianne? The royal bloodline has been exterminated, even its most diluted branches. Every royal scion the Aryx might find remotely acceptable is dead. Except for you and the Duc.”

And that is exceeding suspicious. “Why was I not killed? Poison in a cup, knife in the dark?” Or a poison killspell? I am no Court sorcerer, and no fair hedgewitch either, apparently. Since I could not scent poison on a pettite-cake.

And yet I wondered about that. Something about the King’s chai before his death disturbed me greatly. I could not lay my finger on it, and had not time to think, for d’Arcenne now chose to speak further.

“Do you think me incompetent? I watched too closely at Court. There was not an opportunity to strike at you. And the Duc watched too. You were at Court, a presence, he could not afford to move on you and warn the King the conspiracy reached even into the Palais. We kept the whole affair quiet, not wishing panic. So he waited. You fit neatly into the plan — a noblewoman with Court connections to smooth his way, legitimize his reign.” Tristan’s laugh was bitter, and his arms held me closer than was proper at all. “You fit so well into the plan I doubted you at times. Yet I kept watch, instead of taking you to the Bastillion for questioning.”

“You doubted me?” Did Lisele? Did she know aught of this? I would have thought there few secrets between us, my Princesse and I. Tears pricked my eyes, I denied them.

“Only for a week or so. Then I heard you taking a hedgewitch lesson from that peasant woman, the one everyone at Court bought love-philtres or swellfree from. You scolded her for not taking better care of herself and brought her a cup of chai, and you spoke — not much, just a touch — of your loneliness. She did not know enough to listen, but I did. I realized — to my great relief, I might add — you were innocent of both conspiracy and counterplot.”

I cast back in memory, at first unsuccessfully, to remember such a time. There was a hedgewitch lesson, before Drumiera died. She had been old, and ill, and I had brought her a cup of chai. We spent the day speaking of Court and hedgewitchery — carefully, for Drumiera was discreet and I was cautious. I had not even dreamed I was overheard.

Where could he have hidden to hear such things? Drumiera’s quarters had been tiny, and just on the edge of mean. I struggled to remember that conversation now. It had been the only time I even hinted my life at Court was…unsatisfactory. Hooves clopped on the dusty track as I thought this over. “You were listening? How?”

“Do not you understand? I have watched over you for years, m’chri.”

My blush was most improper, and I was glad there were no eyes to see it. “Why name me thus? I am only of use to you, d’Arcenne, and dependent on your kindness. There is no need to sweeten me.” I closed my eyes.

“Is it possible to sweeten your temper? But I ask your pardon. It must slip out. I did not think you would notice.” Now, all the Blessed damn the man, he sounded amused. “Rest, then.”

I saw nothing amusing, but much that was dangerous, in this turn of conversation. “How could I not notice when you call me that?”

“You have been oblivious of other suitors.”

Which other suitors? I have had my share of attentions, but none I cared enough to jeopardize my position for. I wished to pursue the line of questioning further, but there were more pressing concerns. My mind seemed finally to be working again, and he seemed disposed to answer questions. I sorted