Of course, if I was locked in the Bastillion, dinner would be a moot point.
The corridor led to a set of rickety wooden stairs, and d’Arcenne pushed me before him, relinquishing my arm. Under the smell of dust, green garden simmering, and my own sweat was now the tang of leather and male, of sharpened steel, of a Guard.
A new thought occurred to me, and it escaped my mouth before I could stop myself. “Tis true, then. You are the Left Hand.”
Too late I realized that even should I suspect such a thing, saying it aloud was extraordinarily dangerous.
“Up to the second level. I told you to stop chattering.” He took a step up. That meant I had to climb the stairs, or have him crowd me most improperly.
I cursed under my breath, a term most unladylike. D’Arcenne made a small sound that might have been a smothered laugh, and I set myself to climbing the narrow stairs. They twisted crazily, and I was half afraid the entire edifice would come crumbling down at any moment. When we finally reached the second level, I breathed a sigh of relief, and d’Arcenne touched my shoulder. “To your right, Duchesse.” His hand closed around my elbow again.
My sense of direction was completely bewildered, more by shock than by actual location, so I had no idea where in the Palais I was. “Captain,” I began again, “please, have mercy on me. Tell me if I am to be arrested, or executed, or—”
“Cease.” Quietly, again in my ear. My skin tingled with the warmth of his breath. “This particular corridor is hidden only from eyes, not ears. A chance eavesdropping will place you in even greater danger. I would not have that.”
“But,” I whispered frantically, “dear gods, please, can you not
He half-turned, spinning, and pushed me. I retreated, nearly tripping on my skirts, and my back met the wooden wall. I could go no farther. Tristan d’Arcenne put his hands to either side of my shoulders and leaned in as if he were a courting swain, his nose less than an inch from mine. “You are not to be arrested
My heart galloped along inside my rib cage, rattling me. Perhaps it was only the shocks to my nerves that made it behave so.
“No doubt the King will explain what he wishes from you tomorrow,” d’Arcenne whispered, less forcefully now. “But for the present, Vianne di Rocancheil, I must ask that you trust me.”
I bit my lip. D’Arcenne studied me, his blue eyes suddenly speculative.
Yet it seemed to me d’Arcenne had been quietly hanging in the background of Court functions, sometimes watching me, sometimes not, for a very long time now. And whatever part of the ballroom or Great Court chambers I wandered to, he was frequently in the same place. Twice was also precisely twice more than any
I do not know how long Tristan d’Arcenne stood waiting for my reply. Finally, I looked up at him, opened my mouth, remembered not to speak, bit my lip again, and nodded.
Yet whatever I would have said was drowned in the noise and clamor starting almost that very moment, the moment the world completed veering off its accepted course and descended into confusion.
He actually jerked, as if struck by a fist. His eyes widened, and he grabbed my shoulders. “Curse me for a fool,” he said, conversationally. I was later to learn that very same soft impersonal tone was the voice he used while dueling. “Duchesse.
Did he think me some featherbrained ninny? I took the keys and put them in my skirt-pocket. Alarums now could only mean one thing — the conspiracy the Minister Primus had spoken of was now loose, and the Princesse was at risk even as the King was.
Footsteps, shouting voices, and steel clashing now resounded through the deserted hall. I gasped, for d’Arcenne’s hands tensed even more. I would be bruised both on knees and shoulders, come morning.
“Take care, Duchesse.” His expression was very strange as he gazed down at me. “Take
I was now beyond words. I nodded, my cheeks flaming. Even at that moment I did not think a conspiracy could matter. It was serious, of course — the conspirators would be locked in the Bastillion, then beheaded, their bodies buried turned away from the West and the home of the Blessed.
But a conspiracy could never
“You.” The word caught me by surprise; I found what I wished to say. “Take care yourself, d’Arcenne. My thanks.” I managed to sound calm, and lifted my chin so I could gaze directly at him.
He swore again, and did another passing-strange thing. He shook me so hard my head spun, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. The touch sent a scorching flush through my every limb, my dress suddenly rasping-tight against me.
He released me, turned, and ran lightly the way we had so recently come. I knew where he went — he was called to the King’s side.
As I was called to Lisele’s.
I stood there, dazed, for a few moments, hearing the clamor of alarum bells and shouting. Those moments I later cursed myself for, though I sorely needed them to quiet my racing heart and laboring lungs.
When I could think again, I shook myself and ran along the corridor. My skirts dragged, weighing me down.
I found the third door on the left — twas a narrow aperture with a slim wooden panel, hardly qualifying as a