The Hedgewitch Queen

“I do not know, and it will take some time to find out.” Tristan now sounded calm, the furious killing calm of revenge.

I halted, and he stopped short as well. “I need your wit, not your anger, Tris.” The footsteps behind us drew nearer, we had outpaced the Guards.

“Aye.” His eyes were near incandescent, and if his jaw clenched any harder he might well injure his own teeth. “Give me a few moments to compose myself, m’chri.”

“I need your wit now,” I said, inflexible. For I was badly shaken, and I steered myself by his northneedle. I understood that if I let him go much further into rage he might well swear an oath he would regret. And something about his fury perplexed me, obliquely frightened me.

Something was not right.

He slanted me one flaming-blue glance. “You sound like Henri,” he murmured, and was the Tristan I knew again, his fury reined, his face smooth and interested.

I shall choose to view that as a compliment. I blew out between pursed lips. “Good.” You almost frighten me, beloved.

The Guards and the Messenger rounded the bend in the corridor, and we had to hurry to stay a stride ahead. But Tristan walked more slowly, and by the time we reached the library he had regained control of his temper. Barely, but enough.

I pointed the Messenger to a chair. “Sit, an it please you.” I motioned the Guards away. “You may leave him with us. I will be safe enough.”

The Guards for once did not glance at Tristan, simply obeyed me. I picked up the parchment from d’Orlaans and smoothed it on the table. “Your name, sieur?”

“Divris.” The Messenger’s throat worked. “Divris di Tatancourt.” His cheeks were pale, and from the way he sweated and glanced at Tristan, I guessed he was uncertain of his survival.

Still, he is alive. The killspell was meant for him, too. “Get him some wine, Tris, to bolster him.”

“As you like.” Tristan crossed the room to the sideboard, but kept the man in sight. His hand strayed near his rapier’s hilt more than I liked, but he seemed in control of his temper, at least.

“Di Tatancourt.” I mused over his name, threading it through my memory. “Your younger brother was in the King’s Guard, on duty the day Princesse Lisele di Tirecian-Trimestin was murdered.”

Di Tatancourt’s gaze flicked toward Tristan, flinched away. “The tale is that the Captain of the King’s Guard caused the Princesse and her ladies to be slaughtered in a rebellion against the King. After he slew the King himself.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Tristan was with me that day, chivalier. I myself witnessed Garonne di Narborre and his men moving from body to body in the Princesse’s quarters, making certain Lisele and her ladies were slain.” The memory rose, taunting me. I closed it away with an effort. “You have seen me use the Great Seal of Arquitaine. Do you doubt me?”

He shook his head, running his fingers back through his thick dark hair. “No, Your Majesty.” Quietly, but with great force. “I do not doubt you. I know a plot when I see one. And I have been asking inconvenient questions of the manner of my brother’s death.”

Hence, the killspell. Two birds netted in one snare. I swallowed bile. “I wish I could have saved him, sieur. I truly do. He was courting Lady Arioste.” And not having any luck with it, I might add, for she was after bigger prey. Or at least, prey with deeper pockets, for she had expensive tastes.

Di Tatancourt’s mouth twitched, amusement and bitter memory combining. “Aye. That he was.”

Tristan handed him a cup of wine, his other hand resting a-swordhilt. “Here, chivalier. Drink, and be welcome.”

The door banged open, and I whirled, my hip striking the table. Baron Perseval d’Arcenne strode into the room, and I found where my Consort had gained his cold fury from.

“A killspell!” the Baron raged. “Does Timrothe d’Orlaans never tire of seeking to murder my son?” His blue eyes flamed, and my mouth was dry.

Well, d’Orlaans killed the King, blamed Tristan for it, is still seeking to kill him and turn me against my Consort. It is enough to unsettle even Jiserah.

“Baron,” I said, calmly enough, “I present to you to Messenger Divris di Tatancourt, sent to die because he was asking inconvenient questions about his brother’s death. His brother was assigned to guard Princesse Lisele’s door the day I left Court. Would you be so kind as to draft a reply to Timrothe d’Orlaan’s recent missive?” My fingers found the parchment, held it up. “I wish to inform the Duc d’Orlaans that he is stripped of his titles and styles forthwith, and that he shall remand himself to my justice immediately. I wish a proclamation drafted, and diplomatic letters sent to Navarrin.” It seemed someone else was speaking through me, someone with a voice as crisp and clean as new steel. “And I wish to know exactly where Garonne di Narborre is, or as near as we may,” I added, as an afterthought.

The Baron’s jaw set. “As you wish, my liege.” He took the parchment from me. “I will have a proclamation and the letters drafted in a matter of hours.”

“Good.” I looked at Tristan. “Fetch me a scribe, as well. There are other letters to write.”

“D’Orlaans will know his killspell failed.” Tristan folded his arms, but his tone was not combative.

He will. “He will only know it did not kill anyone, not a whit else. It is the more imperative we move quickly. I will hold a Session this afternoon, Baron, of all members of my Council that are here. We may fill the vacancies later.”

The Baron nodded. The crackling anger in his tone had smoothed. “I will send a scribe and gather the Council. Is there aught else, my liege?”

“Not at this moment. My thanks.”

He turned on his heel, nodding to his son, and was gone just as swiftly as he’d entered.

Tristan took a long gulp of wine, perhaps to bolster himself.

I settled myself down in my chair, forcing calm. “Now, Chivalier di Tatancourt. Tell me of Court, and of d’Orlaans. You are a Messenger, so you will know what is of import.”

He nodded, and took a swallow of wine. His cheeks were still flour-pale, and he trembled just the slightest bit. “My thanks, Your Majesty.”

“No thanks necessary,” my new, brittle voice told him. Who am I? Who have I become? I no longer knew. “Now, we shall start with the Court. Tell me, what is the latest gossip?”

* * *

Tristan opened the door, and I leaned on his arm, stepping inside his sitting room. “Gods above. Another day like that, and I may save everyone the trouble by retiring to a convent.”

He laughed, then kicked the door shut and took me in his arms, resting his chin atop my head. I fell into the safety of his body, sliding my arms around him. He moved slightly, restless, and I felt his readiness, a hardness against my lower belly. He looked almost giddy with relief. “I seem to always be thanking you for saving my life, demiange.”

That made me shiver. “Do not name me so — it might attract the attention of one.”

“Which would not be a bad thing — you seem to need more protection than I can provide.” He buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. “My darling Vianne. Do you have any idea how utterly magnificent you are?”

“I thought Lord Siguerre was going to pop when I told him to hold his tongue, and that I shall have no war before spring. He is a disagreeable old stoneshell turtle.” I could have picked many another term for the man, but none were fit for a noblewoman’s mouth.

“He is tactics-wise, and organized. And he holds the adjoining province. Enough of business.” He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, then crushed me to him again. “I wish to hold you.”

“You could comb my hair.” I laughed, a weary chuckle, as his fingers fumbled with the pearls the Baroness had insisted I wear. He swore good-naturedly, and the pearls finally came free. He threaded his fingers in my hair, kissed me deeply. I turned to water against him. He picked me up and twirled me once, then twirled me again as if he could not help himself. Yet a thought struck me, and I had to voice it. “Tristan, why did your father say Navarrin is no true ally? I thought you always planned on seeking help from Navarrin.”

He groaned. “Must you always speak of business, Vianne? I am beginning to think you torment me for