The Hedgewitch Queen

— his infrequent look of happiness seemed to have come direct from her. “Call me Silvie. Well, let us have a look at you.” Her gaze moved over my face. “Hmmm. Tristan told me you were lovely, but he never mentioned how beautiful you truly are.”

My cheeks grew hot, savage embarrassment rising. Did I seem to need the flattery? “Oh, I am sure he… he…”

“Stuff and nonsense. You’re exquisite. My dressmaker will be pleased — she is an artist, and loves to have a canvas. Now, Tris, fetch her a cup of chai, very sweet. And Talya will be along with a very light lunch soon — I thought sweetrolls and soup, and some of the apples from the orchard. I love the apples here, they remind me of Vintmorecy. You did not know I was of Vintmorecy, did you? Though your father’s family is liege, and mine merely a chivalier’s holding.”

Slightly stunned, I stammered out something polite.

“Mere, do not fuss at her.” Tristan crossed to the window, glancing out. “There should be a guard here.”

“I sent them to sup,” she said. “Poor men. You’re too hard on them. Just like your father. And you are looking finer than I’ve seen in months, Tris. Did you know, young d’mselle, that our son —”

“Mere,” Tristan said firmly. “She is weary, and she has just endured a—”

“A series of nasty shocks.” The Baroness fixed her son with a mother’s level, serious gaze. “The best thing for her is a bit of normalcy. Let me fuss over the ill, Tris, tis my duty. You’ve probably frightened the poor girl half to death with your serious face and your always this and never that and danger the other.” She tossed her black curls and laughed, and I saw another echo of Tristan in her face. I found myself smiling.

“Pere will wish to speak with her soon.” Tristan laughed, spreading his hands to indicate defeat. “Do not give me the sharp edge of your tongue, Mere. I cannot stand it. Vianne, tell her not to scold me.”

I was so enchanted by the spectacle of him truly laughing, I barely comprehended what he said.

The Baroness patted my arm comfortingly. “I was not certain the dress would fit well, but Perseval said we are of a size, you and I. Though I am a trifle taller, I think. And my long arms fill me with dismay. So tell me, child, what do you think of my Tristan? He quite fancies you — do not give me that look, Tris, I am your mother, I can say so — and he wrote about you in his letters. Said he danced with you.”

I stole a glance at Tristan. He leaned at ease next to one of the windows, out of the sunshine, and there was a definite crimson stain in his cheeks.

Tristan d’Arcenne was blushing. In front of his mother. He wished to be my Consort, and he was blushing.

The Baroness watched me with a faint line between her charcoal eyebrows. She is not as carefree as she seems. She is seeking to set me at my ease.

I rallied, and took a deep breath. “He danced with me twice. He forgot it quickly, too, for he asked me if it was at the Fete of Flowers, when it was the Festival of Skyreturn.”

The Baroness’s mouth twitched, then she chuckled. It was a happy, musical sound. “Just like a man!” She rested her hands on my knees, just as I would sometimes do with Lisele. It sent a pang through me. “Forgetting a dance. I thought I raised him better, my dear. My apologies.” That startled me into a laugh, and we were on familiar territory. “Tris m’fils, why are you in that dark corner? You see, dear, he and his father are of a pair, nothing in their heads but Guard rosters and politics. Boring, dry, dreadful stuff. If not for me, everyone in the castle would be eating hardtack and sausage, doing endless weapon-drill.” She smiled at me, her ear-drops glittering. They held pale peridot stones, and a matching necklace clasped her slender throat.

“You might someday thank me for being dreadful and boring, Silvie,” Tristan’s father said from the door.

I sank back down in the chair. The Baroness did not seem to notice that I had jolted upright upon hearing a new voice. Tristan’s gaze rested on me from the shadow near the window, and I knew he had noticed.

It was absurdly comforting.

Baron Perseval d’Arcenne moved precisely two steps into the room and closed the door. He wore the uniform of an Arcenne guard, though his doublet was finer than a plain chivalier’s and his sword probably an heirloom, with a ruby in the hilt. His dark hair was thickly peppered with gray but less mussed than last night, and in the unforgiving daylight I could see the lines on his face more clearly. Time had visited the elder Baron, whispered her secret in his ear, and he looked as if he had only nodded and pressed on.

I was about to rise, wishing to be on my feet to meet this new challenge, but the Baroness caught my hand. “Do not, child,” she said quietly. “It is not meet.”

She was correct — a lady does not rise; tis a nobleman’s duty to gain his feet when she enters. And there was the Aryx, as well.

“There you are, bossing everyone about,” Tristan’s father said drily. “I trust you have rested, Your Majesty.”

I suppressed a guilty start at hearing the title applied to me. “Well enough, sieur. Rest has been hard to gather of late, and I suspect that state of affairs shall continue.”

The Baron examined me for a long moment. “Well.”

“That’s Pere’s way of saying you look weak and pale, Vianne,” Tristan said from his shadowed place. Why on earth did he stand there? “Pere, m’Mere sent the guards away again.”

“So I see.” When the Baron gazed at his wife, his face changed. The austere lines relaxed into an infinitely tender expression, his blue eyes softening. “Silvie, you must think of your safety.”

“I am in the middle of Arcenne, Perseval, what could possibly happen? Especially with the city closed, the Citadel closed too, and your son stalking the corridors daring anyone to step out of line.”

“Well, if you will not think of your safety, think of hers.” The Baron lowered himself into a chair opposite me. “Your pardon, d’mselle, but my bones ache. It has been a busy day.”

“Please. Do not trouble yourself for me.” I found my gaze could not stay away from Tristan, still watching out the window. His shoulders were stiff. “I have been traveling with the R’mini for months. Tis a treat to sit on a chair not in a moving wagon.”

“I can imagine.” The Baron settled, steepling his fingers before his long nose. “I must know, d’mselle, what your intentions are.”

That must be a habitual pose with him, he thinks and hides his mouth at the same moment. “My intentions?” Is he asking if I mean to wed his son? Blessed, they are direct in the mountains.

“Hellsfire,” the Baroness broke in, “give the lady some time to rest, at least, before you start questioning her!” She tapped my knee, a sharp deft gesture. “Do not answer him. Let us speak of something easy first. Look at how pale she is, Perseval!”

“I am well enough,” I said, as gently as I could. “Truly, Baroness. I simply wish to finish whatever duty I have now so I may go back to sleep. I must confess I am extremely weary.” I brought myself up to sit straight, instead of sinking into the chair. “Now, sieur Baron, what do you mean when you speak of my intentions?”

“I must know if you intend to field an army before or after the winter.” His eyes half-lidded, an inward- turning expression. “We must also turn our attention to a provisional Council for you, and the best way to publicize your survival — and your possession of the Aryx.”

My fingers leapt to touch the medallion. It thrummed under my fingers. The serpents shifted slightly, and the Baroness gasped, her curls shaking. Soft and wondering, her hazel gaze was a burden. “The Seal. Blessed, I never thought to see it.” Her hand lifted, as if she would seek to touch it.

Oh, how I wished her luck.

“Careful, Silvie.” The Baron’s sudden tension did not go unremarked, for Tristan stepped forward, just to the edge of the bar of sunshine. “It sparked last night.”

She stopped. There was a sapphire-and-silver signet on her left hand, and a copper marriage band too. “Oh.”