Unfallen
Page 7
“Aye, sieur.” A lieutenant—I think it may have been Gregoire di Champforte.
“Have they found the di Rocancheil girl yet?”
I started violently, tasted bitterness on the back of my tongue. Bit my lower lip, hard, to stop any betraying noise from my treacherous, dry throat.
“No, sieur. She was in the gardens this morn, has not been sighted since.”
“Well, perhaps Simieri caught her; he was waiting in the passage. And d’Arcenne?”
Simieri was part of this, and meant to catch me in the passage? Why? My heart pounded in my ears, and I swayed.
Do not dare faint now, Vianne. Do not dare!
“Taken to the donjons, sieur. Executed come morning, the orders are being drawn up now.” The men were stepping among the bodies. I heard a crunch, and a wet stabbing sound.
They were making certain no woman survived.
My gorge rose again, and I trembled. Whatever Lisele had closed in my nerveless hand was still there, pulsing.
“Look, sieur. On the Princesse.”
“Hedgewitchery,” someone breathed. “The di Rocancheil girl has been here.”
A tense, indrawn breath. “Find her. Search the Palais and the gardens. She wanders about in the gardens and the kitchens. Find her! Bring her to the Duc. He needs her.”
What? I am of no account, and I have not done anything!
Yet I knew even an innocent could be caught in a net at Court. I hesitated. Should I announce myself, and be taken to the Duc? But they were making certain the women were dead.
They had not said aught of “rescue.”
The Duc is next in line to the throne, with Lisele…gone. It was the only answer that made any sense at all. And yet…
My wit, weak and weary as it was under these successive shocks, began to work again. I must hide. But where would they not find me? I cast about frantically, taking care not to lean on the door—varnished wood, and suddenly thin as an eggshell. Such a fragile, flimsy shield.
The North Tower. Tis locked, and none have used it for a hundred years or more. My wits began to work, racing inside my head with little pattering feet, rather like a collection of cats chasing about in my skull. Stunned and witless, with my Princesse’s blood on my fingers and something in my hand she had entrusted to me, I closed my eyes and forced myself to think.
You must find food, and clothing, and you must wait for nightfall.
Then what do I do? I wailed silently. My eyes squeezed themselves shut, and had I been more pious I might have begun praying again. Instead, something horrible occurred to me.
Tristan d’Arcenne is in the donjons, and they will take him to the Bastillion and behead him. The fingers of my free hand crept into my pocket, found the cold metal ring. Among them would be keys to a donjon door, perhaps?
But there will be many guards, and the whole length of the Palais between you and him.
It does not matter. He will know what to do.
Footsteps echoed. Boots, approaching my sanctuary.
Oh, dear gods. I rose, silently, and backed away from the door. My mouth gapped open so my breathing would not betray me, and tears trickled hot down my cheeks, dripping onto my collarbones.
“We must find the di Rocancheil girl.” Di Narborre sounded very close, and the door rattled as he tested it. Had I left a trace of blood on the knob on the other side? “Let us go. Our lord the Duc will be crowned tonight.”
I let out a soft, shapeless breath, dropped the key that had held the door closed between me and di Narborre, and fled.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Lilith Saintcrow
Excerpt from The Hedgewitch Queen copyright © 2011 by Lilith Saintcrow
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First eBook edition: November 2011
ISBN: 978-0-316-20980-9