The Bandit King

the ferment while she was trapped in Merun.

“We must only hold a short while. Have faith.” She said it many times, in many ways, and those who sought her command or decision welcomed the certainty. They went on their way heartened. Twas impossible not to believe, when she turned that burning gaze upon you.

Yet I did not hear what relief she expected. Was she merely heartening them to stave off the inevitable?

Then we shall see what it is to die like men. How very Pruzian of him. Would he dare say such a thing to her?

The Harbormaster, broad-shouldered and weathered, stinking of tar, appeared. Not quite peasant, but definitely not noble, his unease in the face of her quality was marked. Vianne actually smiled—a tight, thin grimace, but still lovely. “What news?”

“Two days. Then, Your Majesty, you must consider—”

“What of the wounded? Can more ships be brought upriver from the Citte? I do not know much of the Marrenne and the ways of ships, nor do my counselors.”

I know some little, but I have not been here to ask. I kept the words behind my teeth. I did not know enough to be helpful, though I suspected the Citte would not send ships upriver. Twas too much of a risk, and why should they if they might need them soon to flee down the Airenne, away from Damar’s advance? The Maelstrom itself might be preferable to the pillage the Damarsene would wreak.

The Harbormaster spread his hands, a gesture of helplessness. Unshaven and red-eyed, the deep weathering of his skin and his squint marking him as a riverman of long standing, he looked surpassingly ill-at-ease. His city was sieged and his ships in danger; twas enough to make any man blanch.

“The Marrenne is low. Which is good to bring the ships back—less current. But bad, because they must hold to the bank opposite. Not much room to maneuver, and upriver… well. The Damar could send rafts down, I suppose. So we’ve a watch, but…”

“Yes.” She considered this. Jierre handed her a paper, she glanced at it. “Here is a list of hedgewitches among the wounded. Two on each ship, for greater safety. Damar does not like our hedgewitchery; they are the best protection we can offer. The Citte will do what seems fit to them as far as more ships, no doubt. Your captains are brave, sieur, and you set them a fine example.” She paused. “Continue evacuating the children and elderly. Make certain the younglings have their mothers, should they be too young. Should there be… difficulty, with men who doubt our strength, notify Chivalieri di Sarciere and di Montfort immediately.”

In other words, should there be a panic and men seek to storm the ships, Antolan and Jai are to restore order. Di Sarciere is too young to do such things, but he may hold if di Montfort does. And di Montfort is not a man who forgives cowardice easily. Very canny of you, my Queen.

The man nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. Please listen. Consider a ship for yourself. The Citte is better guarded; we may have you safe in less than—”

He halted in confusion, for her face changed. Twas not the almost-pained expression she had been using for a smile, but an honest smile like sunrise. It shone through the weariness and dishevelment on her. “Here is where I am needed, sieur Kaeth.”

The man mumbled, his fingers working at the brim of his hat—lacking a chivalier’s feather, an imitation of a nobleman’s like so many of the trading classes—and his weathered cheeks suddenly stained with red. “Arquitaine will need you at the Citte, Your Majesty. If I may be so bold.”

You may not, sieur. But I happen to agree with you. “He has a point,” I offered mildly.

Jierre shot me a glance I found I could read with little difficulty. Twas profoundly grateful, and without meaning to, I found my mouth stretching in the half-smile that would mean rueful acceptance of the responsibility of an unpleasant truth spoken to royalty.

I had never asked what di Yspres thought of Henri. Perhaps I should have.

“He does,” Jierre agreed.

“Here is where I am needed, sieurs.” Her smile did not falter. “Thank you, sieur Harbormaster. Go now, and waste no time.”

He did.

So she was determined to stay. I caught Jierre’s glance again, and found with some relief that he and I were in accord on one question, at least. She should not be allowed to persist in this folly.

The trouble would lie in convincing her so.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“There is nothing more to do at the moment.” Jierre took the quill from her fingers. “Should there be an emergency, I will send for you.”

Her mouth turned down, doleful and weary at once. “Tis all an emergency. The walls are—”

“They have held so far, they shall continue to do so for a short while. Di Chatillon and di Vidancourt are working wonders in your name, d’mselle. Go and rest, so you may be ready for the dawn serenade.”

Another face, her nose wrinkling. She swayed, and I was up from the chair in a heartbeat, my hand around her arm. Jierre had caught her too, from the other side.

“I am well enough.” She sought to free herself of Jierre’s clasp first, and that sent a flush through me. The reclaiming of her arm from my hand was just as decided. “Cap—ah, d’Arcenne.” She did not flush, nor did she glance directly at me. “My thanks for your company. I shall send for you anon.”

“Vianne.” I could not help myself. “I shall go with you.” Twas difficult to strike the right tone—firm but not commanding, asking but not pleading. I wondered too late if outright begging, perhaps on my knees, would be more likely to secure me a measure of forgiveness.

“I require you for the Aryx, sieur. That is all.” Coolly, as she might address an overbearing swain at Court. Jierre had averted his gaze, studying the mess of paper on the table. The room was not quite quiet—Adersahl was at the door, and beyond that barrier there was much shuffling and murmuring. I could not tell what hour it was. Late, I suspected, and the Damarsene gathering their strength for tomorrow. Should they send scaling-parties, twould be knifework and grapple-sorcery on the walls. Dark work, requiring much nerve and wit.

My temper all but broke. “Do you plan to reduce me to begging? I wish to be at your side; do you not understand?”

“I suppose if I sent you away I would merely wake to find you looming over me again.” More trembled on her lips, but she pulled the words back with a visible effort. “I do not have the strength for this, d’Arcenne.”

“Then use mine.” Memory threatened to choke me. I had told her this before.

“Yours carries too high a price, chivalier.” She slid past Jierre, her skirts brushing his knees. He did not move. “Do as you please. You will in any event; I cannot gainsay you. Jierre, my thanks.”

“D’mselle.” His cheeks were red, too. But he offered nothing more as I made it to my feet and followed her. The pain in my chest was not merely the wound.

Still, I followed as she brushed past Adersahl. He fell into step behind her, and the swelling whispers through the crowd outside her door mocked me. She looked neither right nor left, her hands at her skirts to keep them free of her feet, and such was her air of royalty that even those desperate for audience gave way.

* * *

The Keep was drafty and ramshackle; Merun’s liege was di Roubelon, and he had spent most of his time at Court. He was perhaps in the Citte, either writhing at the thought of the damage to his rents and tithes, or glad he was not enduring the discomforts of war. Either was equally likely. He would no doubt present a bill to the Crown if the miraculous occurred and Arquitaine freed herself of the Damarsene. Otherwise, he would turn himself to being agreeable to the conquerors.