“True. Forgive me.”
“Perhaps.” I fell into stiff silence. Why would you crave my forgiveness? It will do you no good, and me even less.
After a long while there was another low whistle, and we moved out onto the road again. Jierre di Yspres rode back, brought his horse next to Tristan’s. “We could have slaughtered them, Captain.” But there was no heat to it.
Nor was there in the Captain’s reply. “And warned the Duc of our exact direction? We shall strike off the Road soon enough.”
“How does she?” Jierre’s dark eyes moved over me. “You look pale, d’mselle.”
“I am extremely unhappy, chivalier. I wish I were home in my herb garden.” It was impolitic, though, to anger them. So I let the corners of my mouth curl up into a bright Court smile. “But if I am to be pursued the length of Arquitaine, I cannot think of better company than the King’s Guard.”
Di Yspres blinked, and swept me a correct little half-bow over his pommel. “We are glad of your company, d’mselle.” His eyes met the Captain’s. Meaningless, Court-pretty words, and if they thought me a liar, well, they were half right.
I felt the Captain’s shrug. “We have far to ride today, and we must be doubly careful now. We shall leave the road on the outskirts of Tierrce-di-Arbon.”
Jierre nodded. “So be it.” He wheeled his horse around and trotted for the head of the Guards, who were waiting patiently. They fell into line behind him, Tristan taking a place three-quarters of the way back. They were silent, the more-or-less half-dozen, now my only defense against…what?
A shiver jarred me when I thought of the Duc d’Orlaans’s ring-laden, manicured hands on my flesh.
I would kill myself before I let that happen. And after yesterday, I might well consider it a mercy. Sometimes a noblewoman’s only avenue was to take refuge in the Blessed…but that was a terrifyingly bleak thought.
Instead, I turned my mind to methods. I wondered if I would have the strength to use a knife — or a hatpin, like the Lady di Courcenne in the courtsongs. I was no Tiberian, and the idea of opening my veins turned me decidedly weak in the knees.
Yet a knife was not the only way. I could mix a poison draught; any hedgewitch worth the name could do so. And I was a fairly good hedgewitch, even if I was a very bad Court sorcerer. All I would need was a moment’s freedom in a garden and a few moments more in a stillroom. Or, were I pressed even further, a window high enough and the open air, and a stone paving below. That would require no hedgewitchery. Nothing but enough momentary courage to fling myself to freedom.
If I had strength enough to wait in the North Tower for darkness and creep into the donjons to free a captive, of what else might I be capable? I had done so many impossible things in the past two days I was fast losing count.
Tristan waited until we were farther into the small woods before speaking again. “I misjudged you. Your pardon, d’mselle.”
“Misjudged me?” I could hardly believe my own senses. When did Captain d’Arcenne misjudge anything? And then a hidden meaning to those words arose, and cold sweat suddenly bathed me. Misjudged me — and was I now superfluous?
If I was, what would be done to me?
But he perhaps took my sudden silence for anger, for he spoke again. “Twas wrong of me to think you would cry out to the Duc’s men, even for a moment, for any reason. Forgive me.”
The sound of Tristan d’Arcenne begging my pardon again was gratifying, but less gratifying than it would have been a week ago at Court. I sighed and took my hand away from the pommel to rub delicately at my aching eyes, even if it would ruin my looks. Relief threatened to unstring my nerves. “Forgiven, Captain. Do not trouble yourself further.”
“Why so formal today, Vianne?” As if we were not fleeing for our lives, riding double on a Guard horse because a palfrey could not be bought or stolen. The absurdity of the situation rose up to choke me, and I had to wrestle down the pained sound seeking to escape my lips. Leaf-dappled sunlight made the line of horses and men a very pretty painting, one I would have passed without thought in a gallery or at the yearly Salonne.
How could I answer him? Formality was my refuge, and he would not cease using my name so freely I had all the more reason to use it. “You watched me at Court.” I felt him tense again.
He reached up with one gloved hand as if he needed to scratch at his cheek, and I leaned away from him. He replaced his hand on the reins, and I relaxed slightly.
“I did,” he admitted. Did I imagine him tensing again?
“To see if I showed any sign of ambition, to see if I was a danger to Lisele.” You do not know me. She was my only anchor. My Princesse.
“Is that what you think?” Thoughtful, as if I had just posed him a riddle.
I watched the sunlight move fluidly between leaf-shadows. Twas a beautiful day, but Lisele’s eyes would never see it. Had they laid her in the Royal Tombs under the Ladytemple, the Great Dama? She would have wanted black velvet sewn with pearls, and I had not even been able to braid her hair one final time. Instead, I had left for my early-morn digging in the garden with a jest, lightly and laughingly promising to return with an armful of stinkcabbage for a nosegay.
I brought myself back to the present with an effort. Even the small spots of sunlight jabbed at my tender head through my burning eyes. “I have no doubt it fits neatly into your plans for revenge to have a bastard royal with the Aryx at your side, no matter how unsatisfactory she may prove to be. I further have no doubt you would kill me, King’s Captain, if I showed any sign of second thoughts.”
He had no easy reply, and there the matter lay. Tears rose again, and I denied them. I would weep no more. I swore it to myself, as I rode in front of the Captain with my heart aching and my throat full of terror and grief. Court had held few friends, but I had Lisele’s protection; the open friendship of the Heir not something to be derided. Now…
Now I was adrift, and who knew what I would be required to do in order to merely survive?
Chapter Six
We left the Road after a hurried lunch of bread and cheese near the blue-roofed town of Tierrce-di-Arbon, famous for the quality of its woven cotton cloth, and struck out across fields and rolling plains toward the great forest of Shirlstrienne. The small stands had begun to run together in larger groves, and there was one large enough to shelter us from sight.
I was too exhausted to care by the time the Captain lifted me down from the horse’s back. My feet met solid ground and I stumbled, but he righted me gently and led me to the fire one of the younger Guards had started by flintstrike. I collapsed to my knees, then eased gratefully down to sit, biting back a small moan. Tinan appeared, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. A cup of sweet red traveling wine was deposited in my hands by a whip-thin Guard with dark eyes and a neatly cut mop of light brown hair. I searched for his name — Jai di Montfort — to thank him, and he swept me a bow the envy of any courtier. I took off di Rocham’s hat and let my braid down, sighing in relief.
I sipped at the wine and watched the Guard make camp, thanking the Blessed I did not have to find a convenient tree to serve as a privy yet. The Captain would probably insist on setting a guard over me while I did so, and that potential embarrassment seemed a final, ultimate humiliation. Why having to relieve myself in the woods was such a horrifying prospect after all I had so recently endured I have no idea, but so it seemed at that moment.
I finally settled myself with my legs to the side, on dry leafmould with no skirts to worry about and the weight of them sorely missed. I drew the blanket about me, cupping my hands around the wine. Even though twas late spring, the night would be chill.
I wondered where I would sleep that night and gazed at the fire, just now taking its form as a merry blaze. One of the Guards set a tripod over it, and another brought a cauldron filled with water from the brook just to the south. I gazed into the flames and took a deep breath, finding my hands shaking again. Tears welled up.
Woodsmoke, horse a
nd leather and males, spring greenery and the flat tang of mineral water from the brook — it was very pretty, and had we been a Court party out for a firefly fête or a night picnic, I would have no doubt enjoyed myself immensely.
I was occupied trying to swallow treacherous tears when Jierre di Yspres approached me carefully, and swept his hat off. He made a graceful movement and ended up sitting next to me, far more lightly than I had collapsed.
“D’mselle?” Cautious, he did not glance at me while he spoke. “May I have a word?”
I stared into the fire, kept a sob suppressed in my chest, and could only give him a nod.
It was not polite, but he accepted it. “I know I cannot be your favourite person right at the moment, Your Majesty.”
I managed to speak. “Oh, for the sake of every god that ever was, address me as Duchesse, or even Vianne. Please.” Majesty was Lisele’s title, and I would not wear it. Not unless forced.
He paused. A tear trickled down my cheek, but I dashed it away and swallowed the rest with a gulp of wine. I would not cry. “Vianne, then. If I may.” It was the first time I ever heard him sound anything other than disdainful of me. “I must beg your pardon, d’mselle. The world has turned upside down for all of us, and we know not whom to trust. I did not seek to make you my enemy, I merely wished to help Tristan. He is a fine Captain.”
“No doubt.” I stared at the blurring fire. The urge to weep retreated; I was simply too tired to sustain it. “I keep no grudges, sieur chivalier. I have had too many held against me.” I offered my hand. “A truce between us, then?”
He nodded gravely and bent over my fingers. “As you say, d’mselle. Might I offer you counsel?”
I took my hand back, decidedly. Ah, so he has a purpose. Caution, Vianne. “If you like.” Someone made a comment on the other side of the camp, and there was laughter — raucous but well-disciplined.
“The Captain seems harsh.” Jierre seemed to search for proper words. “He has had a strict duty since he was a boy, and takes it seriously. He has sworn you his oath and means to keep it, d’mselle di Rochancheil. If his method of keeping it is not to your liking, I beg of you to remember that he has…well…”
I watched the flames twist as Jierre paused. I finally sighed, taking pity on him. I almost laughed at the turn events had taken. Truly the world had tipped sideways, like a smashed orrery.
“Lieutenant,” I said, with all the gentleness I could scrape together, “tis not necessary to make apologies or excuses for the Captain. He is merely doing his duty to the King. Such loyalty is to be commended.” There. I took a sip of the wine. Foul, too harsh, and unwatered, but what could one expect while fleeing? Now will you leave me alone? That is my only wish.
“Tis not his duty to the King now, d’mselle Vianne. Tis his duty to the Queen. Like it or not, you are the sole blood royal left not tainted by regicide. The rest have been assassinated.”
The meaning of his words penetrated a fog of exhaustion. I stared at his lean dark face, my jaw suspiciously loose. “What?”
“For the last four years, the…ah, hidden branches of the King’s line have been falling prey to unfortunate accidents.” Jierre dropped his voice and leaned close to me. I felt my fingers grow even colder. “Simeon di Rothespelle fell from his horse — someone cut his saddlegirth. Trecie di Colbreux et Vantcienne and her brother were both poisoned; killspells were suspected. Marquisse di Faintroy fell from a casement to a stone bailey — and she had a visitor that day none can identify.” Jierre nodded as I felt comprehension cross my weary face. “There were others, but that was enough to convince me — and convince the King, too. Tristan has been hunting this conspiracy for years now, and had a watch set over you at Court, lest an attempt be made on your life.”
My jaw no longer threatened. It had dropped, but I closed my mouth hurriedly. It did not do for a lady to gape as a fish. What else? The Moon will surely turn to cheese in the sky, and pigs begin to sing. Yes, impossible things were coming thick and fast now. “But I never saw—,” I whispered.
“Of course you never saw.” Jierre’s low voice turned dark. “Do you think the Captain that inept? And everyone knows he—”
I do not wish to know. “What more could everyone know, that I do not? No, do not tell me. Please, sieur. I can stand no more.”
“I am sorry, d’mselle.” I do believe he was. “I beg you, and it please you, to be kind to him.”
Kind to him? “I loosed him from the Palais donjon. He requires more kindness from me?” I had not meant to say as much aloud. Attending Court does mean one is required to do much one would rather not; I knew my duty and had always performed it to exaction. What more could di Yspres want? What more did any of them want?
“True.” Jierre shifted closer, his voice dropping still further. “Yet there is another donjon holding him, d’mselle. And you hold the key to that one.”
What, the man is playing riddlesharp with me? I am not the opponent I once was at that game, sieur. But, miserably, I knew what he meant. Jierre sought to tell me d’Arcenne would kill himself avenging the King’s death or seeking to put me on the throne — and his faithful lieutenant did not like the thought.
I did not blame him. The thought of d’Arcenne’s death sent a strange panicked bolt through me. I had to find a way to loose the Captain from the chains of his own sworn oath. And not so incidentally, loose myself from this nightmarish conundrum.
Dear blessed gods, what am I to do now? But I am well used to planning; one cannot sponsor a fête or an entrance at the Salonne without overcoming some practical obstacles. One furthermore cannot hunt an intrigue, manage a small independence, or stock a stillroom without overcoming obstacles and stumbling-blocks, either. Or deal with a fractious Princesse.
I calculated swiftly and cast my dice. “Then I will need your help, Lieutenant,” I whispered. “Can you make a horse ready for me, not tonight…Mayhap tomorrow night?”
Jierre gave me a strange look. His eyes narrowed.
“I do not seek d’Arcenne’s death, either.” I could swear his jaw dropped at my words. We were trading surprises, the lieutenant and I. “He will kill himself for what he thinks is duty. I think I can free him of it — but I need your help to do so. I can give you the Aryx and ride south for the ports, draw off pursuit and buy you time to take the Seal elsewhere.”
He stared at me as if I were mad. “D’mselle—”
“Your Majesty?” It was Pillipe di Garfour, looming over me with a bowl in his hand. “Tis stew, and hot, even if it is not Court fare. Tinan is not a very good cook, but he is better than some.”
“Damn me with faint praise,” Tinan called from the fire. “You had half the cooking of this, di Garfour, if tis gone wrong you share the blame.”
Rudely recalled, I reached up. Di Garfour almost jerked his hand back, as if my touch singed him.
Jierre di Yspres made it to his feet. He stared down at me with something like astonishment. It struck me di Garfour and di Rocham sought to make me smile, so I dutifully gave them my bright, interested Court expression. “I am sure tis well enough. I am hungry, I did not have my chai yesterday.”
My stomach flipped. I tasted the stew, and found it was hot and probably nutritious. That was all that could be said for it. But I took a few bites, and they all crowded around and began their sup, loosely grouped around the fire, some of them sitting on their saddles.
The Captain appeared at my side. “Blessed gods.” A rare bit of humor lightened his beaten face. “You must be brave, d’mselle Vianne, to eat Tinan’s cooking.”
A general shout of laughter rose. The young Guard flushed, and I pitied him. “Well,” I managed diplomatically, “tis not the worst I’ve had. Amys was preparing eels yesterday.” I bit my lip, remembering the cook. I set my bowl aside, and tried to put a bright face on it. The art of conversation requires making oneself agreeable, amusing where possible, instructing gently other times. “I loathe eels, but I would always have to try them. She wou
ld always ask me how they were, if they needed more salt or chivin. Imagine my surprise when I found she thought I loved eels — someone mischievous had told her they were my favourite delicacy.”
That caused more laughter, and di Rocham grinned at me gratefully. My heart lightened. The boy was charming, and he would have quite a career…if there was ever a Court he could return to.
The Captain settled next to me; I leaned away as subtly as I could. For some reason di Rocham hurriedly glanced away, his face falling as if he had seen something amiss.
I had done my duty and they did not look to me to amuse now. So I pulled my knees up and let their conversation drift around me. It was the closest to merriment I had heard from them, and with good reason. But they seemed easier now, and if I stayed silent and looked into the fire they might forget my presence a little.
“Tis not to your liking?” The Captain’s hand fell to his side. Had he been about to touch my shoulder?
Startled, I did not flinch only with an effort. “What?”
“The stew. I will admit Tinan needs practice, but tis not so bad. Not like Jierre’s cooking.” His blue eyes were shadowed, and firelight made the sharp planes of his face softer. You could almost miss the marring from the beating he’d been gifted.
“Tis well enough.” I touched the bowl with two fingers, decided I could not force myself to do more. “I simply have little appetite, Captain.” My voice broke on the last syllable, and I cursed myself. This was no time to be a blithering idiot. “My life has taken a rather surprising turn, of late.”
He nodded thoughtfully, looked down into his own bowl. “Try to eat, Vianne. You will need your strength.”
I nodded. Hunger is the best sauce for any stew, but even hunger could not force me to swallow more than I already had. “I beg your pardon, Captain. I do not mean to be a burden.”
Did he wince? It was impossible to be sure, dusk was gathering rapidly between the trees. “You are no burden, d’mselle. You’ve borne up with far more grace than any other Court dame would have.” He raked his dark hair back from his face with stiff fingers, and I saw the shadow of stubble along his chin. Of course, he had not had time to shave. A few of the Guard sported mustaches in honor of the King, but Tristan was clean-shaven.
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