The Hedgewitch Queen

sport.”

“Oh, never that.” I traced the line of his jaw with one fingertip. I knew of the first flush of love and hoped it would not fade too soon, and also hoped that we would be friends after the sweetness had passed. “I do not seek to torment you. I would never be so unkind.”

“I know you would not.” He changed between one moment and the next, his face gone serious, his mouth a thin line. He cupped my face in his hand, the pearls his mother had pressed upon me smooth and hard against my cheek. “What are you thinking, m’chri, my beloved? Your eyes are dark, and that is a sign of trouble.”

I am merely curious and unsettled. Something does not seem aright to me. “I am thinking of Navarrin and how I wish my curiosity satisfied. And how do you know my eyes go dark when there is trouble?”

“I have watched you enough to tell, and I shall satisfy any curiosities you care to voice to me. What else?” His thumb stroked my cheek.

I blushed at the entendre. “I am only uneasy.” I would have looked down, but he did not let me. “Truly, Tristan.”

“What of, m’chri?”

Of everything. Of all this madness. “Merely…I thought when I reached Arcenne this would be over. I thought I could give the Aryx up to someone and — I do not know. Go about with…something. My life. I thought I would be free, d’Orlaans would fall, this would make everything right again.” The truth rose to my lips and would not be denied. I could not produce more than a whisper. “I suppose I thought it would bring my Lisele back.”

Tristan kissed my forehead again. He was silent.

“I do not wish this burden.” As if telling him a terrible secret. “I thought Court was so awful, I hated it there. Yet I wish to go back. At least there, I…I do not know.” At least it was familiar. And I am still terrified of you wasting yourself for your duty to a dead King, Tristan. I cannot stand to lose you.

But though I could admit to much, I could not say that to a nobleman. A noble’s honor would make him stubborn as a Scythandrian horse, and Tristan d’Arcenne had more than his share of prickly d’Arquitaine pride. To speak to him of danger would merely make him rash.

He rested his forehead against mine, closed his eyes. “I am sorry. I was too late.”

“You did what you could.” I tried to smile, but it felt unnatural. A mask. “I do not mean to hurt you.”

His mouth tilted up, a charmingly lopsided grin as his eyes came out, surprising me again with their blueness. “Come.” His arms tightened, he picked me up and half-dragged me over the stone floor. I let out a blurt of surprise, and he tossed me carefully on the bed, following me with a sigh. A moment’s worth of rearranging ended with my head on his shoulder, my hair beginning a tangle on the velvet coverlet. Lying down only made me more acutely aware of how weary I was.

“There.” Tristan scooped up my free hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “Better? Speak to me of what you will, m’chri. I do not even begrudge your perpetual obsession with dispatches.”

“I know you would prefer—,” I began.

“I do not think you do. Speak to me, Vianne. Weave me a tale.”

“But you must—” I bit my lip. It was not a thing a lady should say.

“You think I am dragged about by my breechclout, my liege? I am occasionally capable of chastity, am I not? You have no idea what it was like, sharing a saddle with you through half of Arquitaine. I thought I would die of frustration.”

Indeed? “Really?”

“Do you know how lovely you are, dear one?” He raised my knuckles to his lips. “You could make Danshar himself forget his sword and think of bedplay. But tis your quick mind, I think, that makes you so alluring.”

“I do not recognize this picture you paint,” I laughed, and breathed into his shoulder, smelling leather and male and the indescribable that made him. “I rather wonder that you think to court me now.”

“Making up lost time. Now listen, Navarrin is a greedy marketwife, but she does not demand tribute payment from Arquitaine. Partly because the Santciago House of Navarrin is related to Tirecian-Trimestin by both blood and marriage, and also because the Passes Cirithe, not to mention the Thread Pass, are both too narrow to supply an army through without holding the mountain provinces. Besides, Arquitaine menaces Rus and Torkai to the east, acts as a buffer against Damarsene, Pruzia, and Polis, balances against Tiberia for trade interests. And more. So. Were Navarrin to come to our aid, their lines of supply would be stretched thin, and tis no inducement for them unless a weak Arquitaine will no longer hold back Rus and the Damarsene. The tribute payments to the Rus’Zar are bad enough, but Rus knows Arquitaine can field an army at need and come to the aid of any of the client-states, or the Principalities if necessary, and be richly rewarded. But north-and-eastward, closer to our borders than the Rus…that is what troubles me. There was news in that quarter having to do with the conspiracy, but I had not ferreted it all out yet, being too busy seeking the killer of the King’s line before he struck you down.” His tone was careful, almost overly so. I wondered why he chose his words with such delicacy.

“Hm.” I thought of old maps, straining my brain to think of dangers from the east. “Pruzia. And the Sea- Countries, and Haviroen in their mountains. But the Havi are traditionally neutral. Anyway, Pruzia. Oh, and the Damarsene.” A cool finger of dread touched my nape, remembering Adrien’s suspicions. That the two of them would worry over the same country for different reasons was thought-provoking, to say the least.

“Yes, Damar. Where most of the tribute goes, since the King’s Consort died so mysteriously.” Tristan’s lips touched my knuckles again. “Only now that the Aryx is awake, perhaps tribute will become a thing of the past.”

Enough of this. I sighed, settling myself further at ease into his shoulder. “I am glad to have you, Tristan. I pray the Seal will choose someone else eventually.”

“I do not think it will. For good or for ill, you are the Queen.” His tone changed. Was he sad?

“I do not wish to be.”

“I know.” He stroked my shoulder. “My poor hedgewitch darling.”

“Tristan, do you think…” I touched his jaw, felt the roughness of stubble. “After you no longer find me so attractive, will we still be friends?”

“Is that what this is about?” He kissed my knuckles again. “Hmmm.”

Now I had offended him. I trailed my fingers over the plane of his cheek “Well?”

“I adore you, Vianne.” His tone had grown serious, but he sounded relieved. “You think me faithless?”

It scored me to the quick, that he could think so. “Of course not.” Who was loyal to me, if not him?

“Then do not trouble yourself with thinking I will suddenly lose my taste for you. Do you think a man who has watched over you for years, dragged you through half of Arquitaine on his saddle without touching you, and has gone grey worrying about the trouble you fling yourself into will tire of you after a few nights?” He laughed, stroking my hair, except his merriment was not pleasant. “You have such a low opinion of me after all.”

I wondered where his bitterness came from. There was still so much I did not know of him. “Oh, cease. I have a very high opinion of my Consort, I shall have you know.” High enough that I do not ask you what lies between you and Adrien di Cinfiliet. High enough that I have given myself to you.

He still stroked my hair, gently, lifting a few strands, playing with them. I shut my eyes.

“You still surprise me, m’chri. Every time I think I have your mind mapped, it takes another turn.”

“Di Yspres said you have had a hard life,” I found myself saying. Sleep threatened, now that I was abed and motionless, and I could not ask him of Adrien. “Is that true?”

“Jierre said that? No, I am fortunate. Twas hard to leave home and go to Court, but I had reached my Coming-of-Age and it was my duty to do what I could. Father needed someone to make certain the border provinces were heard at Court, and the Guard is a good way for a young man to make himself. And then…”

“Then what?” The sound of him telling a tale soothed me.

“Then I caught the King’s eye and became the Captain, and four years later the Left Hand. It seemed there was nothing I could not do. Except court a King’s half-niece. I tried, but you did not see me, and I doubted Henri would let…then the conspiracy was afoot. I suddenly had no time to worry, being very busy indeed with death in every corner of Arquitaine.” He took a deep sharp breath. No doubt twas unpleasant to think on.