The Hedgewitch Queen h-1

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “Say no more, then.” He moved about, and poured me a small cupful of dark ruby syrup. I recognized the smell — hart’s-fleet and fevrebit, the Feversbane. I wondered why she had thought to dose me with such a strong tisane. I could not be that ill.

  But I was so cold. The warmth from the hedgewitch’s charming had fled. My body was not my own, weak and numb. I hoped I had not soiled myself; the embarrassment—

  He propped me up on the pillows and held the cup to my lips, then fetched me a cup of cool water. I began to wake my dozing wits.

  “Did I do anything foolish?” I asked wistfully, and was surprised. I did not think Jierre di Yspres capable of giddy laughter. He tipped his head back, seeking to master himself, and his chuckles rang against the roof.

  Eventually he calmed. “No, d’mselle.” He lowered himself onto the chair by my bedside. “We were the fools, to think you an empty-headed Court dame. You did nothing foolish. In fact, you tried to insist we take the Aryx and leave you behind, until Tristan told you in no uncertain terms we could not think of leaving you and to stopper your mouth. Then you insisted we bypass the town and go into the forest, and you tried to prove you were well and hale by reciting Tiberian verbs. You showed great valor, d’mselle di Rocancheil.”

  His dark eyes gleamed with merriment, and the lines were gone completely. I bit my lower lip, thinking he was mocking me but unable to decide just how good-naturedly. “I beg your pardon. I do not mean to be any trouble, in such a dire situation.”

  “Your Majesty.” Now he was dignified, drawing himself up, every inch the Guard. He would never be considered handsome, but later in life when his face settled on his bones he would be thought of as severe and dignified. His features would hold up well. “Tis an honor to serve you, and I mean every word of my oath. I spoke in haste once, out of anger and pain and grief. Please, do me the honor of forgetting that outburst and accepting my apology. I offer it in good faith.”

  My eyelids turned heavy, great weariness swamping me. “Really, chivalier. I am the least queenly person I have ever met.”

  “To yourself, mayhap.” He folded his arms across his chest, his leather belt creaking slightly. “The Aryx would not accept your touch if you were not at least capable of becoming such. Why else did the Blessed gift it to us? Now rest, d’mselle, an it please you. Tristan should be returning soon, and he will wish to speak with you.”

  Oh, no. That thought made me sigh again. I had no desire to speak to the Captain. “What, to scold me?” I closed my eyes. “I am merely a silly Court girl with too-noble feelings.”

  That wrung another chuckle from di Yspres. He seemed very merry. Perhaps his wits were touched.

  Then there were footsteps, and his laughter ceased as if cut by a knife.

  Two knocks sounded on the door, a pause, then a third. The door was unbolted, and Jierre murmured something. The door closed again, and the bolt shot home.

  “Well enough. How is she?” D’Arcenne, a heaviness to the words. Relief bloomed secretly in my chest, and I kept my lips pressed tight over it.

  “The hedgewitch said we dare not move her for three days more, charmed her again, and left a different tisane. She will return tomorrow. The d’mselle was awake and seemed lucid, for a short time. Now I think she sleeps.” There was a short pause as their footsteps crossed to the table. “She asked for you.”

  “Hm.” It was the same noise I had heard before from the Captain, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, a noncommittal reply. Someone approached the bed.

  I opened my eyes to see Tristan d’Arcenne gazing down at me, his blue eyes dark and thoughtful. His bruised face looked much better, but his mouth turned down at the corners, and his eyebrows drew together. He was pale. “D’mselle.” There was a strangeness in his tone. “How do you fare?” He lowered himself gingerly into the chair while Jierre busied himself with something at the table.

  “I beg your pardon.” My voice sounded thin and fretful, a thread in the room’s quiet. “I will be better tonight — we must make haste to escape.”

  He shook his dark head. His voice was gentle, and I finally could think of the strangeness in it. I had never heard his tone so temperate. “I will not risk your death by traveling while you are feverstruck. Why did you not tell me you were so ill?”

  I blinked at him, sinking into the bed — a real bed, such a luxury after the past few days. “I am not ill.” I searched for words. “I was simply so tired.”

  “Unused to hard riding, and exhausted by grief,” Tristan said. “I was thoughtless, Vianne. Forgive me.”

  The Captain himself, asking forgiveness? “What could I forgive you for?” I was honestly amazed. “Nobody craves my forgiveness, chivalier. It has been long since anyone asked it of me.” It was not quite true — di Yspres had just asked my forgiveness, too. I knew of women who feigned illness to force such declarations, and it irked me to possibly be counted among them. There was nothing wrong with me, save exhaustion that could be staved off if I exercised will and wit enough.

  A yawn took me captive. I covered my mouth, reflexively, surprised by how heavy my arm was, weighted with lead.

  D’Arcenne said nothing for a few moments. He leaned forward. “Well enough. Will you promise to rest, so we may leave here as soon as possible? I need you to regain your strength, d’mselle, not waste it. Help me. I do not know how else to ask.”

  If he had leapt onto the table in a set of skirts and announced his desire to join the barbarian hordes of Tifrimat or Torkai, I would have been less amazed. As it was, I stared round-eyed at him for a long moment before remembering that he did ask me a question.

  My wits were sorely blunted. Come, Vianne. Sharpen yourself. “You truly need my help?”

  “Absolutely.” He even looked serious, sharp mountainfolk face set. Then again, he always did. When he was older he would not look like di Yspres. No, d’Arcenne would retain his looks for a long time, the bones under the skin preserving a certain beauty. “Please. Promise me you will rest, and stop insisting on being taken from here so quickly. Let me worry about the Duc d’Orlaans. Let me believe I am still capable of performing my duty.” Here he gave a bitter little laugh.

  It was so unlike him, I thought perhaps I did have a fever, and it had strangled what wits I had left. “I will promise to rest, if…” If you will not kill anyone on my account was what I wished to say, but I could not make myself utter it. If I voiced the bargain, it would be admitting the murders had happened.

  A noblewoman should not say such things. And I did not wish to. I hoped never to think on it again. I was so, so tired. If they did leave me in this room, I would be perfectly content. I would sleep, and the rest of the world could do what it would without my help at all.

  D’Arcenne hovered, leaning close and watching me closely. “Anything you like. Set me your task, d’mselle.”

  As if this were a silly courtsong, tasks set and a lady to die for. I shook my head, my hair moving against the pillow. Fresh sheets, how luxurious; could I simply not stay here forever? “I shall rest.” To prove it, I closed my eyes.

  “Good.” D’Arcenne did not move. He simply tarried in the chair, and I could feel his gaze upon me like sunlight.

  There was a long silence, and my breathing evened out. I relaxed, but sleep would not come.

  Finally di Yspres spoke, soft and respectful. “Eat something. She is safe enough now. What of the supplies?”

  “We have more than enough,” d’Arcenne replied heavily. There was no sound of movement. Did he still watch me? “I almost cost us everything.”

  “She’ll need you strong, not starved. How much coin have we?”

  Most interesting. They are planning. Listen well, Vianne. Keeping my ears open at Court had served me well; this was not eavesdropping, for I was seeking to sleep. I told my conscience to leave me be.

  “Four or five purses. Enough to last through the next winter. Arcenne will shelter us, too, pay us through trade with Navarrin so d’Orlaans cannot
trace it. I am more worried about the peasantry, and sorcery. The killspell on Simieri was well-laid, and powerful, d’Orlaans has been practicing. What might he cast at Arcenne?”

  “Or at her? Do not borrow trouble just yet, we have enough.”

  “What did she say, Jierre? Tell me.”

  I heard a liquid sound. Wine, poured into a cup. “She thinks you mean to scold her, Captain.”

  “Does she.” I heard them settle down, and smelled something heavy and rich. Mince pies. It made my stomach tighten into knots. I was not hungry.

  I turned onto my side and burrowed under the covers, sighing. They were quiet. I curled around myself and hugged the pillow. The linens smelled of lavender.

  “The hedgewitch thinks you her betrothed.” Jierre sounded strained.

  D’Arcenne said nothing.

  “Twas easy enough to let her think so,” Jierre continued. “Tristan, my Captain, you are hopeless.”

  “Indeed. A fine word for it.”

  From there the talk turned to the rest of the Guard, camped in the Shirlstrienne. They were worried but still in good spirits, and Tristan had delivered supplies to them. We would be ready to traverse the forest toward Arcenne in a few days’ time.

  If I could shake free of the fever, that was. I closed my eyes more tightly and resolved to do all I could.

  Chapter Ten

  The hedgewitch Magiere was a broad, red-faced woman, her graying hair caught in a snowy kerchief. She felt my pulse, peered into my eyes, and declared me much better. “But you must rest,” she said firmly, her dark gaze skipping over my face, as if afraid to settle. I must have been a sight. “No riding for two more days, and mind you go slowly after that. Where are you bound, d’mselle?”

  I knew not what lie to tell, but di Yspres smoothly intervened. “We are bound for Avignienne to visit distant family.” He leaned against the mantel, a fine sight in his feathered hat with his sword at his side, slim and dark as the hero of any courtsong. “We have not much left, but we are lucky all the same to have each other.”

  Her back was turned, so she did not see the wink he tipped me. If I had not felt so slow and stupid I might have betrayed the game, but as it was I merely fixed my eyes on the hedgewitch and tried to look vapid.

  It was no large feat. My wits simply would not answer me, and I sorely missed them.

  She beamed, pouring another small cup of the syrupy tisane. “Such a devoted brother!” she clucked, and held the cup to my lips. I suffered it, drinking obediently, and accepted a draught of water while she rinsed the smaller cup from the pitcher. Her skirts whispered and rustled in the room’s quiet. I heard footsteps in the halls outside my door and sounds from the street below, but it was surprisingly peaceful inside this room.

  Pale pearly sunlight flooded through the windows. The sky had clouded, and it smelled of rain, a green odor filtering through doors and halls and windows to reach my own sensitive hedgewitch nose. I wondered about the Guard, sheltering in the forest, and bit my lip so I would remember not to ask di Yspres about them in m’dama Magiere’s hearing.

  “Excuse me, m’dama,” I said politely, and she preened under my respectful tone. “I have some small knowledge of tisanes, and could not help but notice you’ve mixed me a strong draught. Am I truly that ill?”

  She fussed over me, taking the empty cup and smoothing the blankets. “Oh, aye, d’mselle. Fever’s a risk, especially for such a gentle lady as yourself. Why, two of the women in the town have died, and it not even summer yet. And a rumor of plague, too, but I do not believe it. You were fair taken when I saw you, d’mselle; and your betrothed white with fear.”

  Di Yspres made another smothered sound, and I glanced curiously at him. He examined a vase on the mantel with great interest, and I thought sourly that he had a very strange sense of humor indeed, calling the Captain my betrothed. But still, it explained why he rode with us, and it deflected suspicion. “He was?” I tried to sound pleased.

  “Oh, aye. Tis clear to see how he fancies you. Now, you must have some broth and bread, and another cup of tisane before bed. I shall charm you now, d’mselle, an it please you.” Magiere’s apple-red cheeks crinkled as she smiled at me. I nodded.

  “Many thanks for your trouble, m’dama.” You have made the same jest a King did. I hope it repays you more kindly.

  She preened again, and laid her work-roughened hand against my forehead. The charm she used was simple, but she had some power. I closed my eyes, feeling the same warmth stealing up from my toes to flush my entire body with its healing. When it was finished, I opened my eyes, smiling at her.

  She gasped. What did I do? Puzzled, my sudden happiness drained away. “Your pardon. Is aught amiss?”

  “No.” She took her callused hand away, suddenly shy. “You’re very pretty, d’mselle.And when you smile, tis a wonder.”

  She sought to flatter me, hoping Jierre would hear and add to her fee. I wished her joy of it, for she did her job well. “My thanks for the compliment,” I answered with good grace. “And for your care, m’dama.”

  She fluttered away. Di Yspres paid her — I did not look to see how much — and she sternly reminded him that I must not be moved, and I should not ride hard for another week. The lieutenant agreed and accompanied her to the door. Their small talk held very little information, but I still noted everything in it, out of long habit.

  It pays to remember such trifling conversation, and in good coin too. Once I had pieced together an intrigue from a single word, and moved to shield Lisele from it. It had only been a trivial one, involving dresses and jewels, but I was still rather proud of how neatly I outdid di Valancourt. Her face when Lisele appeared in a simple gown and put her beribboning to shame had been priceless, though I suspect I was the only person to see the flash of anger — and only because I had been watchful for it.

  But you were not watching when it counted, Vianne.

  I had other business now, so I did my best to ignore that thought. I slid my hand under the cover and found the pocket of my linen shift. The emerald ear-drops I had carried all the way from Palais D’Arquitaine bit into my palm as I brought my hand out.

  I sighed as soon as the hedgewitch had quit the room. “Lieutenant? Chivalier? Here, I have summat to say.”

  He approached the bed cautiously. I had not asked where the Captain was — gone when I awakened; I told myself I did not feel the lack.

  “D’mselle?” Di Yspres’s tone was a great deal softer than his wont.

  I opened my hand. The ear-drops, heavy silver and glittering green stones, lay obediently in my palm. “I was wearing these the day the Princesse…died.” I heard the queer dullness in my tone; I was not sprightly in conversation today. “I know it costs coin to engage a hedgewitch. Perhaps you could…”

  He gazed at the ear-drops, then at my face. Heat rose in my cheeks.

  “Your pardon, d’mselle di Rocancheil, but if we sold them, it would cause comment. Maybe in the Citté we could do so without attracting notice, but here we cannot. And besides, we have enough coin for now. Keep those, an it please you.”

  I nodded, my cheeks hot. A well-bred lady would normally never discuss such a thing with anyone but a solicitor or a majiorduomo. I bit the inside of my cheek and folded my fingers over the ear-drops.

  “I beg your pardon.” I gazed at the blue-and-white quilt. “I only thought to help.”

  “Much appreciated, d’mselle.” He scratched his cheek. Twas a good thing we were both dark-haired and dark-eyed; still, I wondered if anyone truly mistook us for brother and sister. “Tristan went to see if he could buy a horse for you — a palfrey, perhaps, something with an easy gait.”

  “Oh. I must remember to thank him.” Prim and unhelpful, giving him no purchase did he seek to embarrass me.

  The lieutenant settled his hat on the table and dropped into the chair by the side of the bed. His lean face broke into a wide, unaffected smile. “I remember Tristan set a watch over you at Court. Once or twice I took
a shift. He would always ask what you had done that day, if you seemed happy, who had spoken to you. We often discussed that you sought to minimize your lineage.”

  I sensed danger in this conversation, but could not tell what quarter it would arrive from. “You mean, I did not act like a bastard royal? I heard the rumors, but the rest of Arquitaine is—was—full of other nobles that could lay claim to a larger share. It mattered little to me.”

  “You had the benefit of blood from both sides of your family tree, and it may have mattered to the other ladies-in-waiting,” Jierre noted, reasonably enough. “I think perhaps some of the…ah, the small troubles you had at Court were a result of this. It was known you were the King’s ward, and under Princesse Lisele’s protection. Who would have dared to slight you openly? But you could be snubbed in countless little ways — and the fact you seemed not to care only added fuel to the flames.”

  “Oh.” I watched the squares on the quilt rise and fall as I breathed. Yet I did not say more. And you are not simply making conversation to ease me. You have some purpose in mind. Until I knew what that purpose was, best I keep my lips sealed.

  “Tristan watched over you,” Jierre prompted.

  I gathered myself. Now was as good a time as any for me to chance a throw. “He was commanded to by the King. Chivalier, I know you do not wish Captain d’Arcenne to throw his life away for what he thinks is his duty any more than I do. I thought if I could give him the Aryx and ride south, I might draw some attention and leave you time and space to reach Arcenne safely.” And I may hide myself quite handily as a hedgewitch, or starve to death in Marrseize. “The Captain seems determined to do himself some harm,” I added delicately.

  Di Yspres shrugged. His face had shut itself most firmly, all amusement fled. “You hold the Aryx, and are of royal blood. You cannot relinquish it, Your Majesty, as much as you may wish to. Arquitaine law says the Aryx chooses its holder.”