The Hedgewitch Queen

free of his silence — but it also drove him to a fury.

“You — you—” His fists shook, but I felt a curious comfort. He would not harm me just now. Of that much, I was certain. “How can you trust me?”

If he was this angry, at least he was not sunk in dangerous apathy. A furious Tristan d’Arcenne was a formidable ally, while an apathetic one was no use to anyone, least of all himself.

And this conversation, however it ended, would strengthen my hand in the coming time, when I set myself to doing what I must.

Now for the soothing — but not until you rough his waters a tiny bit more. “I can understand,” I continued softly, smoothing the blanket. “I am only the di Rocancheil oddling. Tis miraculous that the Aryx has not fried me for insolence. You perhaps do not prefer a Court dame more suited to peasant magics and dry books?”

“Will you shut up?” he snarled. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever known! ”

Well, that, at least, is something. “Do you wish to be my Left Hand and Consort, or not?” The Aryx rang softly under my words.

“I would give everything I own and sell my soul in the bargain to do so,” he said through gritted teeth. “I cannot, Vianne. The game of politics would require you to appear free. And I am—”

“I care nothing for the game of politics,” I cried, dropping my pretense of calm. “If the Aryx wishes me to be Queen of Arquitaine, very well. If you wish to be my Consort, very well. If you do not — very well. But I will not be forced any further, Tristan!”

While I had almost certainly uttered words I would regret — for if I held the Seal I must care for the game of politics deeply enough that I was not hoodwinked — the last part was, at least, unvarnished truth. I was free of fever and on the mend, my wits had returned, and I was prepared to do my wretched duty once again. Another baton was ruling the musicians and the dance had changed, but I was required to follow the steps as prettily as possible, and not blunder.

But I would dance in my own fashion, and I would do all I could to take charge of the tune. My first step was wresting the lead from the Captain of the Guard, and his reaction was such I could hardly believe my good luck.

He did care for me. Perhaps it was only that we had traveled together, and that I represented his revenge. But he did care, and he did not think clearly at the moment.

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw working, eyes blazing. Then he gifted me with a single nod. “I would be honored to do aught you asked, Vianne.” Clenched teeth, clenched jaw, clenched hands. “You are the Queen, and I shall redeem myself in your service.”

Let us hope those are not empty words. “Then I shall decide how to dispose of myself.” My pulse hammered thinly in my throat and wrists. “So we must find a temple, and contract you as my Consort as soon as possible. We must also leave this place. They have been kind to us; we cannot bring di Narborre upon them.” I trust Risaine’s skill more than I would trust mine, but tis a chance I do not wish to hazard.

My decisiveness calmed him. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, and his tone became more businesslike. “You are not hale enough for the kind of hard riding we must do to reach Arcenne quickly. It would kill you, Vianne.”

I have no intention of dying just yet. Before, I might have, just to spite the Duc. But now…I cannot die. I have accounts to settle. I let out a short, sharp breath, the same sound I would make before a grand entrance at Lisele’s side, echoed by hers. The small sigh was our private signal, a Court lady’s battle call. “I will see what Risaine and I can do together, with the Aryx.”

As I suspected, he had an immediate objection. “Court sorcery runs too much risk, especially with di Narborre in Tierrce d’Estrienne.”

Court sorcery is not the only magic in the world. “Then we shall try hedgewitchery. I will be fit to ride, Tristan. I promise.”

“Soon enough.” He approached me cautiously, as he would a wary animal. Lowered himself down on the bed again, sitting on the edge. He looked away, across the room, his back to me. His head dropped again. “I will not betray you, Vianne.”

“Of course not.” What a curious choice of words. Yet we were faced with so much black betrayal, I did not wonder he felt the need to swear it aloud. And, truth be told, I was more than a little unsettled, as if I had prepared myself for battle and met instead with a fete.

I had thought the Consort offer would be refused with some pretty words about duty; I had anticipated the conversation to take a completely different cast. This was…unexpected.

To say the least.

We sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and voices outside.

I waited until I could stand it no longer. I touched his shoulder for the second time, cupping my hand over the curve under his shirt. Muscle stood out under the cloth; tension vibrated through him, infecting my own flesh.

He caught my wrist with a swift movement, and pulled my hand to his mouth. Pressed a rough kiss into my palm, his teeth pressing through soft lips. I did not flinch. “Vianne,” he murmured against my skin.

Then he kissed the inside of my wrist where the pulse beat. The Aryx rang, a thrill sharp as fire.

I had to swallow twice before I could speak with anything approaching a normal tone. “The King said you favoured me.”

“Of course.” His lips moved against my wrist. “Are you blind, m’chri?”

“I thought you hated me, after…” After you ordered the peasants to be killed. And I do not understand your anger, Tristan. I do not understand your moods at all, for all I think I am making headway.

“Of course not. I have never hated you. That was my downfall.” He held my wrist to his mouth, his eyes closed, inhaling as if smelling my skin. For a few moments we stayed like that. It was as far from a courtsong as I had ever seen, but I felt light and happy, and for that moment it was enough.

Chapter Nineteen

Two days later I was allowed — with Risaine at my elbow, to bolster me — to see the bandit village.

I knew then why Tristan had argued so hard against it. For what I found in that village scored me deeply.

“See that?” Risaine said, ruffling a child’s hair. The girl played solemnly with a threadbare doll, her hollow- cheeked face devoured by her eyes. “Just barely escaped the plague, arrived a week ago with four other children led by a boy not past his twelfth year. Their village was ransacked by armed thugs looking to eke more of the harvest from the peasantry. Oh, and that man? His family, killed by d’Orlaans’s bullies half a year ago. That woman? Cannot stand to have a man touch her.” Risaine clicked her tongue sharply. “Not after the Guard at Rouenne finished with her six months ago. A wonder she’s alive.”

I absorbed this as I leaned on the older woman’s arm. Most of the “bandits” were thin, desperate-looking men with fierce faces and peasants’ weapons. The women seemed hard, but their gazes were nervous as hungry birds. In the lee of a rude hut one woman — wide-hipped and red-faced, with cornsilk hair braided about her head as the peasants of Sainte-Ecy did — sobbed as another held her, murmuring soothing nonsense words.

“What of her?” I asked quietly.

“Her daughter was killed by tax farmers last week, and she still cannot believe it. The tax men are the law.” Risaine drew me away. “Do you see this, Vianne? This is what the King brought us to.”

The King bears the blame for this? “How so?” I found myself gazing upon a collection of ragged children taking a lesson from a rail-thin woman dressed in a dark priestess’s cloak, her hair cropped close to mark her as one of Kimyan’s elect. She was training them in arithmetic, counting on her fingers, a teaching-rhyme I remembered from my own nursery-school days. One bloat-bellied boy had a bandage wrapped about his left hand; he cradled it as his dark eyes followed the priestess’s chanting. “Gods.” My stomach churned.