The Hedgewitch Queen

Chapter Twenty

After another few days of Risaine’s constant fussing and dosing with herbal tisanes, I found myself able to bathe in a tub I helped her laboriously fill in front of the fire. It was so delicious to be clean that I stayed until the water grew cool. Afterward, she clucked and fussed over me as she chafed my hair mostly dry and braided it. She hummed as she did so, and I shut my eyes, remembering Lisele performing the same task. A high honor, but we never saw it thus. It was simply what we did — I dressed Lisele’s hair, and she dressed mine, as we had since childhood.

The memory sent a flintstrike of pain through me, yet I swallowed it. The time had come to make myself sterner. I could not hope to keep anyone safe if I did not temper what little steel I possessed.

After the bath, Risaine left me to my own devices. Every day brought more and more wounded souls to this small place, and I heard whispers of other villages hidden in the forest’s vastness. A whole province of the fled and dispossessed, taking shelter in the Shirlstrienne as children will hide behind a nurse’s skirts.

Here at the edge of the darker Alpeis forest, they did not fear the demieri di sorce. Instead, they feared d’Orlaans.

I had set myself to tidying her table of jars and herbs, and when a shadow filled the door I looked up, expecting to see Tristan. Instead, Adrien di Cinfiliet leaned against the door, his half-smile more mocking than ever. “And a good morn to you, my lady Riddlesharp.” His sharp light eyes passed through the room once, the same glance I saw Tristan use so often. Gauging the ground, or searching for enemies.

“Good morn, sieur bandit.” I set down the jar of woundrot, lining it up with the next. “M’dama Risaine went to—”

“—minister to her patients, I know. I thought you might chafe at this small cage, and came to offer my services as jester. Would you care to walk with me?” He delivered the invitation in such a light tone I was hard- pressed not to laugh.

It was, I admit, a pleasure to hear a cheerful voice. Tristan visited me daily, but he did not speak overmuch. Jierre looked in on me briefly every few mornings, and Tinan di Rocham was sober and constrained when he managed to knock on Risaine’s door. I knew not what they did the rest of the time, but I did not imagine it to be pleasant.

“I should be glad of it.” I straightened, smoothing down Tinan’s leather vest. I must have been a sight in boy’s clothes, with my long rope of hair and my fever-thinned face — for I could feel, when I touched my cheeks, the hollows left behind by illness. “If you take care to walk slow, sieur, for I am not in fit condition to dance.”

“I shall seek to avoid dancing.” He stepped out of the door as I approached, and offered his arm as soon as I moved into the open air. “Besides, I have no skill for it.”

I doubt that. “You carry a rapier, do you not?” I took his arm, glad of the support. My legs sometimes decided to tremble like a newborn colt’s.

“Tis not meant for dancing, lady Riddlesharp.” We began to amble, and I sensed he had summat to say. But his tone remained light, though his uneasiness called forth an uneasiness of my own.

For all that, it was pleasant to walk with him and for a moment pretend I was in the formal gardens, perhaps strolling with a chivalier whose witticisms required attention and politeness. “Swordplay is a cousin to dancing, sieur. I do not think you heavy on your feet.”

“Cats must land lightly. I would think dancing a cousin to something else, though.”

The entendre caught me unawares, and I coughed slightly, a hot flush rising to my cheeks. Highly improper. Yet he is a bandit, after all. I gathered my wits, preparing to do battle, and suddenly felt at home. This was a situation I was not at sea upon.

“Of course, it could merely be fear,” I remarked sweetly. “Some men do blanch more at a woman than a drawn blade.”

He acknowledged the cut with a short, barking laugh. “You have a facile tongue, Duchesse.”

“Tis a hazard of Court life, chivalier. What troubles you?” You did not come here to trade petty jests with me, more’s the pity. I could have used the relaxation of a few more moments pretending I was nothing more than a lady-in-waiting again.

Old leaves crunched underfoot, and hard-packed dirt settled under the soft leather-soled clothshoes Risaine had loaned me. Di Cinfiliet was silent until we reached the edge of the village, the swirl of Risaine’s spells hanging shimmering to our right. “I beg your pardon, d’mselle. I do not mean to offend. At least, not you, and not now.”

Interesting qualifications. “No offense taken. You seem uneasy.”

He indicated a fallen log with a nod. “Rest awhile, an it please you. Tis best to be uneasy, so close to the Alpeis. Only a fool goes blithely here.”

And how much of a fool am I, to be so blithe as to walk unaccompanied with you? I settled gratefully on the log, and he sank down next to me with a creak of boot leather and a sigh. The woods smelled of verdant life, the earth fresh from nightly rain.

There had not been a storm since we’d arrived here. That was an uneasy thought. Another followed hard on its heels.

Was it chance that we happened upon a nobleman and his aunt hiding here? Was it chance I saw Tristan in that passage, or chance that I escaped notice in the Palais? It strains the mind to think of so much luck, ill or good. Was the Aryx taking a hand in matters, leading us here unawares?

That was discouraging. Even more discouraging was the thought that gods might be stirring themselves to take an active interest in Arquitaine, as they did in the time of the Angouleme’s children. I do not grudge the Blessed their control of our land — though any good daughter of Arquitaine might wish that they would secure our borders without ado — but I was uncomfortable with the idea of being a pawn in such control. Any sane person would be, no matter how fashionably irreligious and Court-bred.

I had very little reason to doubt the Blessed at the moment. Rather than being a comfort, the thought was becoming a deadly discontent.

I glanced at di Cinfiliet’s profile. He looked much like Risaine, especially at rest, with his long nose and narrow mouth. I dropped all pretense of levity. “Speak, an it please you.”

He pushed a small bit of leaf mould aside with his boot-toe. “What are your plans, d’mselle? Summer is coming, and di Narborre haunts these woods. Our scouts report him moving hither and yon, seeking you. The pathways to Arcenne may be watched.”

My mouth dried and I settled my hands in my lap, as if I wore a skirt. “I had not thought so far ahead,” I admitted. “I have been occupied with becoming fit to ride, so we may not endanger you for longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Well enough.” He did not sound disdainful. “I have a thought, and I pause to lay it before you. You may take offense.”

“What, again? If I did not take offense at your light speech before, why should I now?” I studied the weather-tanned skin and the bright slashes of his eyes. His hair was trimmed haphazardly, and his hands were rough from use. Grime tainted his fingernails.

Still, he had an honest face, and I had no reason to mistrust him yet. He had sheltered us for days now, and if his levity had an edge, I suppose he had reason. My own levity is too sharp for common consumption many a time, and as a woman I am rarely given lee to produce it outside the safe confines of my own thoughts.

He shrugged, pursing his thin lips as if finishing a long conversation with himself. “Then I shall be blunt. I have a cadre of good men and horses. If we go swiftly, there is the thin southron pass to Navarrin. Tis little-used and dangerous, and I would lay my last copper tis not watched as the passage to Arcenne may be. If you have reason to distrust your…current position, remember you have an alternative.”

If he had bothered to look at me he would have found my jaw ajar like a stuck fish’s. Well. That is surprising, my fine bandit. And most welcome, though you cannot know why. I snapped my mouth