The Hedgewitch Queen

uneasy. I hear of foreigners in general and Damarsene in particular. He may seek to bring their fine army to Arquitaine, and if that happens…”

If that happens the land will run with blood, Aryx or no. The strength ran out of my legs and I sat down, hard, in a happily convenient chair. My wits raced. “He would not risk it. No man who means to hold Arquitaine as a King would risk that. We cannot fight d’Orlaans and the Damarsene at the same time, no matter how the Baron rattles his sword. It would be madness. The entire country will tear itself apart.” Breathless, I halted.

But you may not be dealing with an opponent who cares for the damage to what he sees as his possession, Vianne. Some men will mar a thing so no other may hold it, and count the cost small. I swallowed dryly, glanced longingly at the empty wineglass. A draught would certainly bolster me now.

Adrien shrugged, a supple movement. “Still. It does not strike me that d’Orlaans would balk at more blood, having already spilled his share and more. In any case, he may contract corps of mercenaries to fill his ranks, and think of paying for such an act much later, when his grasp on power is secure.”

When I am dead or force-wedded to him, you mean. And I had not thought of it in that fashion. “Dear gods.”

“I would not worry just yet. As you say, it is madness. Yet the mere thought makes me uneasy.” He turned from the window to face me, his silvery eyes glowing as the Sun’s dying bloodied the entire casement, gilding his hair and the buckle on the leather bowstrap crossing his chest. “Should the situation become dire, I stand ready — and every man who owes allegiance to me, few as they are, stands ready as well — to take you over the border into Navarrin. There, at least, you will not be in danger of losing your life in a fool’s gambit.”

It was good I was already in the chair, for I could not feel my legs. My hands also seemed numb. “I thank you for the offer, m’cousin. But Tristan…I do not think I could flee without him.” And taking the Aryx from the borders of Arquitaine…who can tell what may happen, if I perform such a feat?

Would I even survive the experience? The Seal has never left the land since the Angouleme received it from the joined hands of Danshar and Jiserah. Or so the legends say.

Adrien shrugged. “Ah, well. He is welcome to come along. If he prizes you as he should, it will not give him much pause to place your safety above his own games.” He folded his arms. “I leave as soon as dark truly falls. There is still work to be done outside the walls, and di Narborre to watch for.”

“You will not tarry? I would speak more with you, Adrien.” And I would hear you speak more of Tristan. What ill will do you bear him? “I like not the idea of losing a cousin so soon after finding him.”

“Tis safer for me among my men, especially if your Captain has guessed my blood. I do not put it past him to consider me a threat.” His half-smile chilled me a little, and I could not find the words to protest. Still, I made a soft, inarticulate sound, and he shook his dark head. “Soft, lady Riddlesharp. I do not speak against his honor. I would not, to save you discomfort.” He studied me as shadow deepened in the casement, and I heard the bell clang sharply in the South Tower as the changing of the Guard was announced.

He was much taller than I and spare of frame, but I hazarded that in a certain light I might bear a small resemblance to him. At least, I hoped so.

“I do not like it.” My voice startled me, I spoke as if in a dream. “Each toss of the dice worsens this game.”

“You are still alive.” He left the window, his boots clicking on the stone floor. “I shall take my leave of you now. If you need aught, send for me. I shall keep scouts waiting for your word.”

I nodded. “I will send for you, or await your next visit. Take care with yourself, Adrien.” If I could have made my legs work, I would have forced myself to my feet to perhaps embrace him, as improper as that might be. Still, my heart ached.

“And you, with your sharp wits. Take care yourself.” He gave me a Court bow, and I was startled into a thin little laugh.

“You do that as if you were born to it.”

His smile surfaced, then just as quickly was lost as he glanced to the door. “I was, was I not? And so were you. Between us we shall find a way, Vianne. I have no doubt of it.”

With that he left, without looking back. The door closed and I heard his footsteps, reached blindly up to feel the hot salt water on my cheeks. I smoothed the tears away, over and over again, wishing I had a kerchief in my skirt-pocket.

You cannot let him leave thus. The thought spurred me and I rose on numb feet, held to the table for a moment to brace myself. You must say something else, Vianne. Something kind, perhaps. He is all the kin you have left, no matter how tenuous the connection. At the very least give him something.

My fingers crept from my tear-wet cheek to my ear, where a familiar weight dangled.

My emerald ear-drops.

I ran for the door.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I ran on slippered feet, took a wrong turn at the end of the hall. No Guard stood outside my door, for Silvie’s sitting room was merely down a winding stair and along a pleasant garden path from the study. I doubled back, noiseless except for the swishing of my skirt, and took another set of stairs — those leading to a gallery that would take me to the bailey — in a rush. I heard voices ahead and ran down a torchlit hall, slowing as I approached the open arch to the gallery and stopping short, for the tones had turned harsh.

Court-bred instinct froze me on one side of the arch, and I peered around it to see the gallery, brightly lit with a reflected sunset, and three men in a tableau that made my breath catch.

Jierre di Yspres stood in quarter-profile to me, his hand resting on his swordhilt and his entire posture betraying tension. Yet that was not what made me draw back into shadow, sensing danger.

Tristan d’Arcenne faced Adrien di Cinfiliet in the gallery. I could not see his face, for it was shadowed, but the gleam of his eyes was soft and deadly. Soft and deadly too was his tone, the quiet perilous voice that turned my hands cold.

“You and I shall come to a disagreement someday, bandit.” He did not move, and the fading light fled even faster from the chill in his voice.

“Is that so.” Adrien’s shoulders were tense, yet his tone was calm, without its usual mocking edge. I breathed out softly in relief, but caught myself anew when he continued. “Not today, then?”

“I would not stain my honor by dueling a man who has none.” The words were clipped, the cut direct. My hands turned to fists, rubbing against the velvet of my skirts. I had drawn back, instinctively seeking the deepest shadow, the same instinct warning me to stay unseen. It was as if I were in the passage again, my skirts held back and the Minister Primus choking.

Adrien was silent for a long moment, and the sharp unsmell of violence drifted in the gallery’s warm air. The pops and crackles of a building settling itself for the night began to tick softly, and I wondered if I should step through the arch, cough, or make some noise to distract them, and avert the brewing storm. I peered into deepening gloom, the Sun having fled, full dusk settling in the sky. Glowlamps hung along the gallery began to diffuse their light, but it would take an hour for them to reach full strength.

“What honor do you have left, Captain? And if you challenge me to a duel, there is a dark-eyed lady who will not think kindly of it.” The suddenly-regained mockery in Adrien’s voice took my breath away. I leaned against the wall, my hot forehead longing for the touch of cool stone.

Tristan’s reply was not mocking. Instead, it was quiet, conciliatory, and utterly dangerous. “Go carefully, di Cinfiliet. If you threaten her — or if it seems likely to me that you will—I will not hesitate.”

Adrien’s laugh was a knife to the chest. “I am no threat to her, vilhain. You would do well to be cautious yourself. You are not such a secret to me as you are to our