The Hedgewitch Queen

where the fatal seed was planted. But at that moment, under the pinon tree in the vastness of the Shirlstrienne, I merely shivered. “I do not cherish that thought. Tristan…”

I meant ask him if he truly favoured me, and swallowed the question just in time. It was not a question a well-bred woman should ask. Another query rose to my lips: if Simieri had been in the passage to catch me, bring me to the Duc as the conspiracy boiled to its climax, why did Tristan say it was by chance? Had he followed the Minister, or had he been watching me?

By chance, he said. A good chance, I should think, for it saved me from di Narborre’s tender attentions, not to mention the Duc’s.

I did not care to think on it too closely. I could always ask him later, when my head was not so muzzy.

“Vianne.” He still looked away, but the set of his shoulders warned me something was afoot. Luc di Chatillon was stirring something — stew; one of the Guard had brought down a brace of woodsfowl. The rain was slackening, finally, its endless rushing retreating to spatters falling from soaked leaves. Tristan d’Arcenne gathered himself afresh and bolted forward, much as a duelist would. “If we were still at Court and I left a token for you, what would you do?”

For a few heartbeats, I thought I had not heard him aright. Then I knew I had.

He does favour me. If he had declared his intent to take an oath of celibacy and spend his life in the service of Kimyan, I could not have been more surprised.

As it was, I almost choked on my chai. But everything lightened within me, as if the Aryx held me in that hall of golden light and unlocked doors. Only this was a different gold; the vastness of a meadow inside me. “I suppose I would send you a token in return,” I finally managed, around the beating of my heart high in my throat. “And ask you to meet me by the stairs from the herb garden.” I paused, judiciously, but not too long. “Perhaps,” I added, for to seem too forward was not what a noblewoman should do.

His breathing had quickened, and two spots of color burned on his hollow cheeks. “What token would you send me, then?”

I leaned against the tree, sighing internally. Why now? Of all the… If only we were at Court, and safe. Though it seems Court was more perilous than even I thought. “Tis not polite to ask. But I would not have refused yours, chivalier.” Would I? Mayhap. But not for long. And if I did not suspect you of any interest in doing my Princesse harm. Perhaps we would have had some small luck, you and I.

His mouth quirked into another, gentler smile, one I found I liked almost as much as the boyish, proud grin. “I certainly hope not. I would be terribly embarassed if you did.”

I strove for a light, laughing tone, failed miserably. We were at Court no longer, and coquetry was out of place here. Still, the habit steadied me. “I am certain you would have been able to overcome the embarrassment.” I took another sip of my oversweetened chai. Though it was not the chai that gave me fresh strength, the warmth of it was welcome.

“Not likely. You could strike me to the heart, did you realize it.” His eyebrows drew together. “Are you certain you are hale? You are pale, and your hands shake. Do not think I do not notice.”

I closed my eyes. “I wish we were somewhere safe. Anywhere but here.” Twas ungrateful of me, perhaps.

“So do I. For now, however…” Amazingly, he stepped close and slid his arm around me, so I leaned against him rather than the tree. None of the Guard seemed to notice. In fact, none of them looked at us at all, which was odd. “Rest.”

I laid my head on his shoulder, hearing the fire hiss. The rain slacked even more, thunder dying in the distance. “The storm is passing.”

“We can only hope.” His tone did not admit of much hope, and I silently agreed.

Why was Tristan in the passage? Why was Simieri truly there? I sighed, the thoughts disappearing under a weight of weariness.

His was a welcome heat in the eternal, damnable, dragging damp. It was a day for strange things, for he bent his head down and kissed my wet, disheveled hair. I felt a tingle of Court sorcery along my nerves.

New warmth stole through me. Slowly, a little life crept back into my numb fingers and toes. It was merely a simple charm, but it felt wonderful. I finished my chai, slowly, luxuriating in dry warmth. “I never knew you were such a Court sorcerer.”

“I was born with some talent, and I’ve studied. Lean on me, Vianne.”

And, may the Blessed forgive me, all questions fled me. I did.

Chapter Sixteen

The rain finally stopped, but I noticed little. I was busy swallowing spoonfuls of the hedgewitch’s diminishing tisane and seeking to stay conscious. A great exhaustion settled on me, so large and deep every day took on the quality of a dream except for the Aryx’s sluggish pulse.

Now that I know what was stalking us, I curse myself for not recognizing it in time.

I remember the Sun briefly smiling upon us the thirteenth day as we rode through a meadow, the nodding wet heads of dandille flowers smiling up at the cloudy sky. We pulled our horses to a halt — at least, they did; I was too busy hanging to the pommel. The sudden sunlight made our cloaks steam, and Tinan di Rocham laughed and sang a few lines of a hymn of praise to Jiserah.

I did not think him a religious man, being so young. But I took note, though it cost me some effort to do so. I knew them all by now, and some part of me was ashamed at how I hoarded my knowledge, added to it, all in service of someday, perhaps, saving them from themselves.

The Sun helped clear my head, and I straightened my spine, the Aryx sparking under my shirt. Why do I feel so odd? This is not fever.

Something teased at the corner of my memory, something—

— but the Sun hid himself behind a cloud, and I sank back against Tristan, who stroked my hand before we continued on. The sense of something badly amiss returned, but I was too draggled to try to discover the source of the feeling. When I had the energy to think, I realized this should intrigue me.

Then a cloud would descend upon me. Why bother? All was amiss since the moment I had climbed to the servants’ passage and discovered violence and conspiracy. My nerves were simply threadbare, as any gently-born woman’s would be.

One night I woke to a great blundering in the forest, branches snapping as something crashed close to our camp. I clawed my way out of sleep, bolting to my feet as steel sang loose from sheaths around me, the Guard all rising. Those on watch had arrows nocked, I know, because Tristan arrived at my side and pushed me back down to the bedroll, then stood poised with a bow in his hands, an arrow to the string. The shield of magic over our small camp held firm, its edges blending seamlessly with the night. Yet my heart knocked fearfully against my ribs, and I smelled something foul that fair threatened to swoon me back into my blankets. Twas merely a breath, and I choked on it before it vanished and I pushed myself painfully up to my knees, staring into utter darkness lit only by an edge of banked firelight.

The crashing and snapping faded.

“Demieri di sorce,” someone whispered. Whoever it was, in the dark they sounded very young, but twas not Tinan di Rocham.

“More likely a treecat,” someone else replied. “Or an ursine.”

“Enough.” Tristan’s tone sliced through the mutters. “We stand fast, and double watch.”

He did not mention sorcery, and none of the others did either. I was not sure what I had sensed in the darkness, being possessed of no woodscraft at all. Yet I wondered, when I could find the strength to wonder.

On the twentieth day of our entrapment in that dismal forest, something else happened.

The rain had briefly ceased but clouds still filled the sky’s eye, and the dark of the Shirlstrienne seemed more than the shade of trees and clouds. We rode single-file, following Robierre and Pilippe, who conversed in low voices. They seemed to disagree over our course, for the first time.

Prickles of unease roiled over my skin. I raised my head from the languor trapping me, weighting my body.