The Hedgewitch Queen

An idea rose slowly. My own thought, not an alien voice whispering inside my head: The Aryx is indeed awake. It seeks to teach me.

Why does it stir itself now?

Shouting, confusion. I sought to steady myself, the world whirling most distressingly underneath me. My heart beat a thin tattoo in my wrists and temples. My pulse now matched the silent beat of the Seal against my skin, its metal scorching and the serpents writhing. Their scales rasped pleasantly, not quite rough as a cat’s tongue.

“Vianne?” Tristan’s hands closed around mine. “Vianne!”

I found myself wide-eyed, meeting his gaze. “The Aryx,” I whispered. Rain misted down, each drop a separate colorless jewel with its own name.

“You nearly flattened us all with that sorcery.” Was he pale? Perhaps it was merely the chill in the air. His eyes were darker than usual, and worried. Behind the worry was something else, an expression I could not decipher since my head was aswim. “Drink your chai.”

“Captain!” someone called.

He looked over his shoulder, his dark hair disarranged as he had shed his dripping hat. “Bring her something to eat, now. Pilippe, Adersahl is to set the watch. Tell him double. Find di Chatillon, send him to me.” Tristan’s fingers were hard and warm, and clasped too tightly in mine. “Vianne, m’chri, speak to me.”

I managed another drink of chai, Tristan letting go of my hands for that brief moment. Then he caught my hands again, my fingers burning between his and the chai-cup. “Speak to me, Vianne.” It was a command.

“Captain?” Was that me, the uncertain wonderment? For the love of every god that ever was, I thought, desperately, stop whining, Vianne!

“Here, and hale enough, though we’ve received rather a shock.” He freed one hand to push Tinan di Rocham’s hat back, peering under it to see me. “Can you tell me aught, m’chri? What does it feel like?”

I found a word for the expression under his worry.

It was awe. Of course, I had just performed a feat I should not have been able to even think of attempting. Any noble with even a touch of sorcerous Sight would have seen the moment the Aryx plucked the reins from my hands and pushed the spell through me, a wall of magic protecting them from tracking- sorcery.

“The Aryx.” My voice came from very far away. “Tis awake.”

He nodded. “It is. I do not know why it has awakened now.”

Strangely enough, that Tristan would admit to not knowing something made a thin curl of fear rise up from my belly. “Tis…” I struggled to find words. There are doors in my head, and they are so easy to open. What lies behind them? Do I wish to know? “I am frightened.” I finally whispered.

For the doors are easy to unlock, but what comes through them drowns me.

“I know,” he murmured, as if he did. “I would not have had this happen. I tried to prevent it.”

You do not know, sieur. None can know what this is. Tinan di Rocham’s hat had been knocked aside, and my braid had suffered. Stray hair fell in my face. I blinked, and could finally see him clearly, blue eyes, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “I cannot do this. It will eat me whole.” I managed to sound a little less stunned. “The Seal…it is hungry.” My wits returned, slowly. Do not admit weakness. What will he do, if he judges you unfit?

But it was too late. I had just said what I should not. Again.

“Do not cast any sorcery without me,” he said quietly, still holding my hands. “I would add my strength to yours. That may keep the Aryx from swallowing you. It is dangerous to attempt such things while fevered, m’chri.”

I nodded. Say something else. Make him speak to you. For the sound of his voice was an anchor, and if he turned silent I was afraid I would not stay here in this misty glade. I felt as if I might slip out of my flesh and into the long hall of the Aryx’s sorcery, passing through those doors in a dream of golden light. “I never saw you duel.”

His mouth twitched slightly, whether with anger or amusement I could not tell. “There was once or twice. I suppose you never noticed.”

“I suppose I never did.” The pulsing subsided below the surface of my conscious mind. I shuddered, my ribs heaving. The sensation of drifting outside my skin receded, bit by bit.

“Always with your nose in a book, or in a garden plot.” His tone was light, but he examined my face intently. “Vianne, if I told you…” Maddeningly, he stopped short.

I dropped my gaze, studied the cup. It was of blue metal, with a curved handle, full of rapidly cooling, sweetened chai. “Told me what?”

But someone came with a meatpie, and Tristan told me to eat. I did, suddenly ravenous, the sorcery burning a hole in my stomach. Luc di Chatillon appeared, and felt my pulse while his fair blond face turned serious. He lacked hedgewitchery but had some physicker’s skill, and pronounced me well enough, if still suffering the aftereffects of fever. He measured out the tisane and scolded me into taking it, and refilled my chai-cup.

The Guard seemed much easier now, laughing quietly, bantering back and forth. “Cook us something new, Tinan!” Jai di Montfort called from one end of the fire, and Tinan replied with an oath that would have made me blush at Court. As it was, I produced a wan smile, licking my fingers free of crumbs.

Jierre di Yspres brought me his flask of ansinthe. “Only a mouthful,” he said quietly, sinking down into an easy crouch next to me.

I coughed as the green venom burned all the way down. “My thanks, chivalier.” And what do you wish from me, to bear me such a gift?

“Think nothing of it, d’mselle.” He shifted slightly, accepted the flask’s return, and capped it with a quick efficient movement. “We seem never to finish our conversations.”

On the other side of the fire, Tinan di Rocham and Jai di Montfort bantered back and forth. “You come and cook, then!” Tinan said.

“I am no woman.” Jai’s lip curled.

“You certainly complain like one,” Tinan shot back, and there was a general shout of laughter. Tristan stood close to Adersahl di Parmecy et Villeroche, conferring, but his gaze rarely left me.

I found I did not mind as much as I should. “Then tell me what you wish to tell me, and have done with it.” I had lost all desire to be decorous. “More to the point, Lieutenant, will you help me?”

I had chanced a throw, and his answer told me I had lost. “You ask me to act against my Captain. I cannot do that, d’mselle. Wait out the harvest and winter in Arcenne, then we may decide what course is best.”

My heart plummeted. The weakness in my hands taunted me. Were they not clasped around the cup, they would shake, showing my feebleness even more plainly. “My thanks for your honesty, chivalier,” I murmured. I even meant it. The fire’s leaping light filled my vision.

His tone turned low and urgent. “You are a scholar, and a practical woman. You must set that sharp wit of yours to leading us aright. We have wagered our lives on this cast of the dice, d’mselle.”

“Do you think I do not know? Why do you think I am asking your aid in such a manner?” My shoulders sagged. “If I had not seen the Captain in that passageway—”

“—we would all be dead. We would have waited for Tristan until d’Orlaans closed his jaws on us. You saved us all. Please, be kind to Tristan. He…he prizes you, d’mselle.” His eyes were level, dark, and intent.

Oh, for the love of the Blessed. I almost choked on a sip of chai. “Will you cease with that?” My voice hit a decidedly indecorous pitch.

Silence fell. Di Yspres’s cheeks flushed, and his gaze cut away from mine.

I searched for a bit of Court wit to use. A laugh rose out of me, a thin unhealthy sound but well enough to bear up appearances, as if di Yspres had jested, perhaps a riddle with an end not meant for a lady’s ears. I leaned forward, touching his shoulder with my free hand, and the laugh quickly became natural.

The absurdity of the situation quickly made my merriment real — the Duchesse di Rocancheil in the