With a sudden joyous light in his eyes, le comte took her hands in his. “Thank you, dear child.” To her surprise, he released her without any uncomfortable kissing, for which she was grateful.
Yet as Alyneri made her way back to her rooms, she still felt uneasy, for something le comte said made no sense: Why would Ysolde have written to the comtesse about their journey?
Perhaps it was at Morin’s behest, another means of propagating his rumors?
But the explanation was out of keeping with Morin’s usual wont. Would the spymaster really have thought it prudent to alert a foreign dignitary with questionable loyalties to Ean whereabouts? Wasn’t it safer for them all to simply disappear on a nebulous ‘pilgrimage’ without a set agenda or path?
Anyone could assume we’d be passing through Chalons-en-Les Trois, she reminded herself. The comte had been correct—if brazen—in his declaration that all roads south passed through his city. Still, why would Ysolde have written to Claire about it? It seemed a risk the Queen’s Companion surely would not have taken.
Perhaps he meant only to detain me in the name of his wife’s health. This explanation at least made more sense than Ysolde writing to Claire, but then why the subterfuge?
And who told them we were coming?
What’s more, if they knew of Alyneri’s pilgrimage, did they also know Ean was traveling among her company?
She thought of sending word to Ean—perhaps calling up her captain as she’d told the comte she would do—but it occurred to her that whatever suspicions she harbored, whatever concerns troubled her, Ean was sure to have the same and was better equipped to deal with them. The realization gave her a measure of ease.
Alyneri paused at the foot of the grand staircase absently, seeing only recent memories instead of the wide gilt and marble advance. In the past few weeks, she’d witnessed so many of Ean’s better characteristics. It was becoming a trial to be angry with him for anything and an even greater strain upon her emotions. Why can’t I just love and admire him without this awful need to make him mine?
Heading upstairs, she sighed, lamenting how things would be so much easier if she didn’t so wish for the gift of Ean’s heart.
To Alyneri’s surprise, she found Bastian waiting on the landing when she gained her floor. The young lieutenant pushed off the wall where he’d been relaxing and straightened to receive her, looking ever the proper soldier even in his muted brown traveling clothes. “Bonsoir, Your Grace,” he said, smiling. “If I may be so bold as to comment,” he added, blushing slightly, “you look…very beautiful tonight.”
Alyneri beamed at him. “Thank you, lieutenant. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“The captain wanted to be sure of your welfare.”
“The captain?” she returned with surprised laugh—it just seemed too strange that Rhys would care about her at all.
Bastian looked hesitant. He glanced around the passage. “Well, I mean—”
Alyneri finally caught on. “Oh, of course,” she interrupted, giving him an apologetic look. “Yes, that’s so kind of the captain. Le comte has been quite pleasant. Please reassure him.” She motioned for Bastian to accompany her as she headed down the hall toward her rooms. “And what…of your quarters?”
Bastian smiled as he walked at her side. “The same, Your Grace. Le comte’s men are well fed and housed modestly but comfortably. We have been treated with gracious regard.”
Alyneri let out her breath, only then realizing she’d been holding it. “That’s reassuring,” she murmured. “I…promised the comte I would speak with Rhys about lingering here another day or two on behalf of the comtesse. Perhaps the captain could see me in the morn?”
“I will relay your request, my lady,” Bastian said as they gained her doorway. He gave her a nod of farewell, a gentle smile, and withdrew.
Alyneri sighed as she gazed after him. Why couldn’t she love someone safe, like Bastian val Renly, instead of a succession of val Lorian heirs who broke her heart? Lamenting her fate, Alyneri entered her rooms and—
Sandrine du Préc turned from the mantel to receive her. The wielder had changed into a deep blue-violet robe worn over a silk dressing gown of fuchsia. “Ah, Alyneri,” she said, smiling in a way that seemed more predatory than welcoming, “I do apologize for intruding. I thought I heard a call to enter when I knocked. Imagine my embarrassment when I realized you weren’t here at all.”
Alyneri slowly closed the door behind her. “I was with le comte.”
“Of course. And did he explain his actions to your satisfaction?”
“His concern seemed quite genuine,” Alyneri replied, knowing it was true in regards to the comtesse at least.
“Well then,” Sandrine replied amicably.
Alyneri slowly crossed the room. “Sandrine, forgive me if this seems unkindly, but why are you here?”
She gave a little laugh. “For your lesson, of course.”
Alyneri frowned. “But…it must be after midnight.”
Sandrine opened her hands in a gesture of acceptance. “At dinner you seemed quite urgent to learn the skill of Healing which you mentioned to me. I thought surely you meant to begin tonight.” Her blue eyes swept the duchess, and that smile returned. Alyneri did not like that smile. “Come,” Sandrine murmured. “Let me help you with your gown at least. The maids are already abed.”
“No, thank you—really, I can manage—”
But the woman was already undoing the laces at the back of her dress. Alyneri felt Sandrine’s fingers touching her skin, and each time her touch gave her goose-bumps. When the other woman was finished, she slipped her hands beneath the fabric and caressed Alyneri’s shoulders as she helped her slide her arms from the sleeves. “There, she whispered, bringing her lips close to Alyneri’s ear. Sandrine placed her hands on Alyneri’s shoulders then and rubbed gently, her fingers sliding this time toward Alyneri’s silk shift.
The duchess was not so young that she missed understanding the woman’s intentions. She spun to face her, clutching her gown to her bosom. “I think—” she managed, though her heart was racing, “I beg forgiveness, Sandrine, but I do think I am too tired to attempt learning a Healing tonight.” She took a few steps away from the woman.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Sandrine remitted. She gave Alyneri an admiring look. “Tomorrow, then. I will call upon you in the morn.”
Alyneri nodded and forced a smile.
Sandrine glided across the room and let herself out.
Only when she was well and truly gone did Alyneri suck in her breath and shudder. She’d never considered lying with a woman before, but she was certain that if she ever did, it would not be a woman like Sandrine du Préc.
Better to lie with the Valdère viper. At least then one knows the fate that awaits.
Forty-two
‘Garlic is a powerful ward against golems, but ten cloves taken by the mouth are also efficacious in fending off colds and ill-mannered suitors.’
– The Hearthwitch’s Handbook
The Avieth Gwynnleth nach Davvies walked the peaked slate rooftop as surefooted and silent as a bobcat stalking a meal. Her long auburn hair blew wildly around her shoulders as it was caught and stirred by the rising morning breeze, surrounding her in a diffuse red-gold halo that mirrored the sunrise over Chalons-en-Les Trois. She perched on the edge of the roof and let her booted feet hang over the side, three stories down to the dark alley below, and gazed with tawny eyes over the Veneisean city, watching idly as the townspeople began to stir.
She didn’t mind the city so much when it was quiet and peaceful, but she knew that soon enough the entire Eidenvale would reverberate with the cacophony of Chalons-en-Les Trois. Sometimes she swore she could hear the noise of the city all the way in her home on Mount Pisah, though her uncle claimed she was just being dramatic.
Now…where are you…?
She watched for two men of different natures that morning. They didn’t know each other, but they were
intimately connected. She knew she had only to find the one and the other would soon appear, and if he didn’t? Well…it was for the best, though she always enjoyed a good fight. Her uncle claimed she enjoyed it too much, but he was wrong about her. Some matters just needed settling, and some men—no matter their race—just needed gentling.
Gwynnleth felt it was a tribute to her inherent good nature that she let them all live. Surely that proved she wasn’t fighting just for the sake of a good time. Ask the elders! If she’d had her druthers she’d have run them all through—what were a few human men more or less to her? It wasn’t like the realm had any grave shortage of them.
Still, she’d been slightly affronted when her uncle Seth made her promise not to harm the val Lorian prince—as if she was completely wool-brained! Raine D’Lacourte sent her to help the man, so obviously his life was important. It rankled that Seth thought her so lacking in self-control as to require an oath on the matter.
I know how you dislike humanity, Gwynnleth, Seth’s voice floated to her as if from a great distance. The Third Vestal could sense every Avieth’s mind, but he rarely intruded on their private thoughts, especially when they weren’t in their avian form. Gwynnleth was a special case to him, however. Since her mother died, Seth had become her quite-unwanted, overprotective, hovering, harping and immensely annoying surrogate father.
Go away, Gwynnleth returned vexedly. I am nearly a hundred years old. I believe I can think without your assistance.
Ignoring her desires, as was his wont, Seth returned, any sign of him yet?
Gwynnleth sighed. I only just arrived in the Eidenvale, Uncle. I may need a few hours to search him out.
Raine says the prince should be in Chalons-en-Les Trois by now. His exit from Acacia did not go unnoticed, and it was well known that the Healer in whose party he travels was heading south. It only follows that the company will pass through Chalons-en-Les Trois. No doubt the Tyriolicci who hunts him will expect this also.
Gwynnleth gritted her teeth and kicked her boot heels discontentedly against the side of the gable. They’d gone over all of this before she even left Mount. Pisah.
Fine, Seth remarked belligerently.
A moment later, she knew he’d left her alone with her own mind.
Gwynnleth smiled to herself and stood up on the edge of the roof. The wind whipped at her short cloak, urging her to follow its twisting, capricious path. The sun was just clearing the Eidenglass, casting a brilliant flood of daylight upon the world. She threw her arms out and caught the wind, feeling it pull and tug upon her body in the same way that the call of the form enticed her away from her human self.
It was time to start searching.
***
Ean woke in the early morning as the comte’s men rose to begin their day. Le comte had given them adequate quarter with his own men and treated them with respect, but when Fynn had tried to leave in the night, he’d been told that all the men were required to stay within the walls. When pressed, the guards had given some excuse about a disturbance in town. Fynn had later remarked, “That lie holds about as much merit as le comte’s ‘explanation’ that his wife received a letter from the Queen’s Companion.” He’d snorted, adding critically, “As if the infinitely savvy Ysolde Remalkhen would ever be so foolish!”
Ean agreed with his cousin. Ysolde would never have written to anyone about Alyneri’s plans, knowing as she did that Ean traveled among the Healer’s company. So the question remained, how did the comte know of Alyneri’s coming through Chalons-en-Les Trois, and why did he really detain them?
Rhys found Ean as he was breaking his fast with the comte’s men. “Just saw the duchess,” the captain grunted as he took a seat on the long bench beside Ean and served himself some pear and sausage pie that was still steaming from the ovens. “She says the comte asked her to stay a few days more. The comtesse is carrying twins, and the comte requested Her Grace’s presence at the birth.” He gave Ean a look that spoke volumes, clearly wondering if this might be the real reason the comte was on the lookout for their party.
“Zee Lady Claire ’as been abed for two moons now,” offered one of the comte’s men, who sat across the scrubbed wooden table. He was a clean-shaven man of Rhys’ age, with a jutting chin and bright blue eyes beneath a shock of wavy auburn hair.
“Zat’s why zee queen sent one of ’er Healers to attend ’er,” added another man from Ean’s left, his accent strong. “’Er name is Sandrine du Préc.”
“But she treats zee comtesse like an insult,” noted a third man in a scathing tone. His heavy moustache wiggled as he sniffed indignantly. “Looks down ’er nose at everyone in Chalons-en-Les Trois. Calls our city ‘zee fringes of civilization’ and claims we’ve only zee ‘barest’ comforts.”
“Salope,” cursed a fourth man by way of agreement. “They say she eez a sorceress. Like as to curse a man as to heal ’im.”
“Prétentieuse,” announced the man across from Ean, shaking his head.
“Très vaniteuse!” agreed the other three men, speaking as one.
“But your duchesse,” said the auburn-haired man across from Ean, addressing Rhys with a smile, “she is so young to be serving your king, an ingénue.”
“Her mother died in service,” Ean said soberly.
“Ah yes, the famous tragédie,” said the man. “And now they say she will be betrothed to zee young Prince Ean. You do not think zees a problem?” He leveled a suggestive look at Rhys, adding concernedly, “Perhaps zee mademoiselle is accursed. Is she not from ze dezairt lands?”
“Her late father was a Nadori prince,” Ean said, then added in a tone made all the more ominous for its quiet delivery, “but it’s the royal family who is cursed, not the Duchess d’Giverny.”
Rhys turned the prince a reproving look, while the man across the table eyed Ean speculatively.
“And does Her Grace wish to stay and assist the comte, Captain?” Ean asked Rhys after a moment, returning them to their original conversation.
Rhys eyed the comte’s men, who were all ears for his answer. “She thinks it would be best.”
Ean just nodded, whereupon the man across the table seemed to change his mind about where the balance of power rested. His gaze lingered on Ean thereafter.
It was still early when the comte’s men cleared out to attend their various duties. Upon invitation, Ean accompanied the first man on his patrol of the grounds, both eager for a chance to see the lay of the comte’s lands as well as to probe for information. As it turned out, Matthieu was an officer in the comte’s household guard and was privy to quite a lot.
“Your men mentioned Sandrine du Préc,” Ean said as they patrolled a lane that fed between the manse’s high stone wall and an apple orchard whose rough, barren limbs seemed a graveyard of gnarled bones. A carpet of brown and gold leaves crunched beneath the morning frost as they walked. “What do you know of her?”
Matthieu eyed him knowingly. “A bit of sowing zee wild oats, eh? She is a beauty, Sandrine, but thorny as zee briar towards zee men. Better to cast your eye on zee comtesse’s ladies—they are more amenable to dalliances with zee opposite sex.”
Ean’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I see.”
Matthieu laughed. “Yes, I can tell that you do. Sandrine had ’er eye on zee little duchesse last eve, yes? Perhaps to send zee captain to watch out for ’er?”
Ean almost worried more for Sandrine. He didn’t believe the duchess was quite as fragile as Matthieu imagined her.
The two men continued following the little lane, which snaked slowly up the hillside past orchards and fields, until around midmorning they reached the highest point on the property and an unparalleled view. The scene before them was of a massive earthen wedge—the far side of the Eidenvale—where the mountains carried on again westward toward the sea. The Mondes River wove in and out of view in the basin between the cliffs, but the river port was clearly visible along the far western edge of Chalons-en-Les Trois, which seemed a hillside of slat
e spanning up to the water’s edge. To the south of the city lay the great forest of Verte L'eau, nestled against the foothills of the snowbound Eidenglass range, while a long line of snowy peaks formed another crescent to the north.
“Ahh…c'est une vue de toute beauté, no?” sighed Matthieu.
“Yes, it is a beautiful view,” Ean agreed.
“’Tis a quiet posting here in the service of le comte,” Matthieu confessed, “but a good life. Le comte, ’e is not interested in the intrigue, the court rivalries your Sandrine spins like zee spider webs. For a man such as myself, zees is this perfect position. Being in le comte’s household brings certain—how do you say?—benefits…” he paused to give Ean a wink and a knowing grin. “For one such as me, ’tis better to be zee big fish in zee small pond, no?”
As they walked on, heading downhill to continue their patrol, Matthieu glanced at Ean as he observed, “But you, mon ami…you are zee big fish in zee big pond.”
Ean slowed, for it had not seemed a question.
“Yes, I know who you are,” Matthieu said in response to Ean’s wary look, “but I ’ave told no one. My men, zey suspect nothing.”
Tense now, Ean murmured, “How do you know me?”
Matthieu waved airily. “I observe, I watch. I see the way zee captain looks at you for zee answers, and I ’ear the rumors of you and zee duchesse. I am like you, no?” Matthieu added, elbowing Ean in the arm. “I would not have my betrothed travel zee kingdoms without me at ’er side.”
When Ean still looked chary, Matthieu laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You can trust me, mon seigneur. Your secret is safe.” Matthieu started them walking again as he explained, “My sister, Lucie, married a man from Bolton, in your Dannym near zee ’ighlands, yes? His family, zey have zee rivalry with zee neighboring lord, who raids my brother-in-law’s estate for his sheep. Always is zee terrible fights between the two lords, and my brother-in-law, he killed a man during a raid, a son of the other more powerful lord.” Matthieu paused to give Ean a solemn look as he offered, “A lesser king may ’ave chosen in favor of his crony, but your father, ’e ruled in favor of my brother-in-law, against the other family.” Matthieu stopped and turned to Ean. “Gydryn val Lorian gained my loyalty that day, and I extend it now to his son.” He dropped to one knee and pressed his fist to his heart.
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 69