The Hedgewitch Queen h-1

by Lilith Saintcrow

  And what was the summit of Tristan d’Arcenne’s dreams?

  “Duty is a high enough summit for me, m’dama.” His shoulders were stiff. “If I thought you meant her harm I would not hesitate.”

  “Any fool could see as much.” The hedgewitch flattened her hand against my belly under the rough homespun blankets. “Now let me concentrate. I would hate to botch a charm for such an august personage.” Irony dripped acid from every word, and I almost winced.

  This was most interesting, but I would have to wait before I could decipher it. The gray-clad hedgewitch closed her eyes, and a wonderful coolness laved me, washing away the shaky jittering of fever. It was a hedgewitch charm, true — but one of such power and elegant simplicity I longed to learn it.

  When she finished and took her hand away, I felt much better. Still heavy and weary, but free of fever for the first time in weeks. I had almost forgotten what it was like to be warm, dry, and able to rest in a bed.

  I gathered my voice. “A magnificent charm. Would you teach me, m’dama?”

  Her fingers stiffened slightly as she checked my pulse again. “You would seek to learn peasant magic? Of course, you’re a hedgewitch too. Some talent, but not enough practice, I wager. Too busy dancing pavanes.”

  Her tone needled me. And yet, she had the right of it. “It made me laughable, at Court. Yet it does seem to be useful.”

  Her mouth twitched upward into a smile. “A hedgewitch Queen. What a marvelous jest for the Blessed to foist upon us.”

  “I am simply holding the Aryx. In trust.” I struggled to sit up. She pushed me back down, gently but with surprising strength from one so birdlike-thin.

  “The first lesson in sorcery is know thyself. You cannot disregard that simple truth. You hold the Aryx, the Aryx is awake; therefore, you are the Queen.”

  I sighed. Why must I have this conversation with every noble I encountered? Why would they not leave me be? “I did not seek this.”

  “I would rather serve a liege who did not want the Aryx than a liege who killed to possess it,” the hedgewitch Marquisse said briskly. “Now, I’ll be dosing you with fevrebit and dantarais. You will no doubt hate it, but twill make you stronger.”

  I made a face. “No doubt.” I sank back into the pillows. “My thanks for your care, m’dama.”

  “My nephew admires your bravery, Your Majesty.”

  “Tis enough,” Tristan interrupted. “She is wearied to death. Is there a point to this, m’dama Marquisse?”

  “Do not bark at me, d’Arcenne. The point is, Your Majesty, you must accept what you are, or all of Arquitaine will suffer.”

  “Cease.” There was a touch of a growl to the word, and Tristan took a half-step to the side, as if he wished to advance on her. His hands tensed, flexing, surprising me. I did not think he would ever strike a woman. “Later.”

  The white-haired hedgewitch shrugged. “Your wishing it otherwise does not alter truth, chivalier.” She stood and shuffled to the fireplace, dismissing us with an ease that was almost royal.

  “What—,” I began, but Tristan shook his head. Dark hair fell over his shadowed eyes.

  “Rest for now, an it please you.” He settled himself on the bed, taking my hand again, running his fingertips over my knuckles. The touch made a strange warmth, very much like the hedgewitch charm, start at my hand and flood the rest of me. “A few days abed under the Marquisse’s care, and you shall be strong enough to start for Arcenne.”

  There were more questions to ask. “The Guard. When may I see them?” I wish to know they are hale — and there is a plan to set in motion, as soon as I know the map of this province, so to speak.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He settled himself as if he intended to stay a long while. I could not say I minded. “When did you notice the spells laid to trap us?”

  “Not until the Aryx moved to push them aside. I should have noticed…I ask your pardon. Twas foolish of me, and you all suffered for it.”

  He laid his finger against my lips. “No. I did not notice either, and I should have. Tis an old trick, to slow an enemy.”

  “Why slow us, unless they are following? And there was another spell, a darker one. It almost found us that night — when we heard the crashing in the woods, do you recall?”

  He went utterly still, thoughtful. “Another spell? Twould not surprise me in the slightest. D’Orlaans has had much time to practice.” His blue eyes fixed unseeing on my face. He stood abruptly, tall enough he had to duck slightly under a bunch of herbfiet hung up to dry. “I shall return.”

  I obediently closed my eyes and waited for him to leave. He did, and they flew open again. I stared at bunches of drying herbs, moving gently as the breeze from the open door touched them.

  Something is amiss here. I must think, and plan, and—

  But the hedgewitch came with a dollop of tisaine as foul as she had promised, and my worry fled before my fatigue.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The fever resurged over the next three days, fighting for me, but Risaine di Cinfiliet — her name sounded familiar, though I could not think of why — was a skilled healer, and by the third day when the fever broke for the last time in a gush of sweat, I was well on my way to mending. Risaine was marvelously patient, saving her sharp tongue for her nephew and Tristan, whom she disliked intensely — or pretended she did.

  She treated me as an old m’dama auntie might cosset a beloved niece, cajoling me into eating, her voice soft but inflexible. Blotting my forehead, soothing me when I woke from nightmares — for terrible dreams there were, every time the fever crested, and Lisele bled in each of them.

  Tristan visited, but he said little. He was unfailingly calm and polite, but he did not look at my face overmuch. Instead, he gazed at my hands, or at my knees under the blanket, or at the fire.

  I must have looked dreadful.

  By the fifth day, I could sit, shakily, in bed. I was sipping at a cup of broth into which Risaine had crumbled dried pungent fevrebit, grimacing a little at the sharp taste, when Adersahl and Jierre ducked into the low room. Jierre’s forehead was clouded with worry, and Adersahl’s mustache drooped a little, which alarmed me almost more than Tristan’s new policy of distant kindness.

  “Only a moment, mind,” Risaine said sharply, following them into the sudden crowding. This house had only one room and a privy, and I had taken Risaine’s bed. She slept in a wooden rocking chair by the fire with a quilt wrapped around her more often than not, and chided me briskly when I begged her to let me sleep upon the floor. Fine physicker I would be if you caught chill after fever from sleeping on a Shirlstrienne floor. Do not be ridiculous, child. And I meekly bowed my head.

  Jierre ignored her, came straight to the bedside. He gripped his hat in his hands as if afraid it would fly away did he loosen his fingers. “D’mselle. You’re well? Truly?”

  “Not well,” I admitted, offering him my hand. “But much better nonetheless, chivalier. My thanks for your concern. What ails you?”

  “Grim news, d’mselle.” Adersahl spoke as Jierre took my hand and bent over it perfunctorily. “There is word from—”

  “No,” Risaine said sharply, from her position by the fireplace. She was preparing a tisane for woundrot, jars and jars of it. I did not dare ask why. “Let her rest for a little while longer, sieurs, an it please you.”

  The lieutenant shot her a look that could have cut stone. “M’dama Marquisse. I am under my Captain’s orders, not yours.”

  “D’Arcenne is a fool if he worries her now. Look at her, chivalier, this noblewoman you’ve sworn to. Look at how thin she is, and the circles under her eyes, and the way her hand shakes.” Risaine let out a sharp chuff of annoyance, pushing back a white curl. “You will kill her, do you continue in this manner. Then where will you be?”

  The urge to conciliate all but overpowered me. “I am not as bad as all that.” I took my hand back from Jierre with a wan smile. “What has gone wrong? Tristan has been grim for days.” I looked
from Jierre to Adersahl, my wits taking on their accustomed sharpness. I found I could guess where the problem lay.

  “Oh, no.” My heart thumped, sickly, and settled into a high hard gallop. “They have found us. Or are about to.”

  “Not through my spells,” Risaine muttered. “My nephew is merely rash. Excitable. Bloody stubborn.”

  Adersahl shrugged. He was broader in the shoulder than whip-lean Jierre, and his bulk granted some comfort. He slapped his hat idly against his stocky thigh. “The bandit wishes to fight them. This is their village, and we may be tracked here.”

  “Not through my weavings.” Risaine turned to the fire. “Dri is young, but he still listens to my counsel. He merely speaks of it to needle your Captain. Which is far too easy to do.”

  Jierre brushed that aside with a dismissive wave of his hat, his other hand dropping to his rapier’s hilt. “Tell her everything. Tell her about the plague.”

  Oh, sweet Blessed, no. Tis not even summer. Plague will spread far and wide without winter to contain it. And there has not been a plague since before the King’s time. My gaze met Adersahl’s. “There is plague? Where? And how badly?”

  “What is this merry gathering, and I uninvited?” Tristan said from the door. I took a deep breath. The sight of him: blue d’Arcenne eyes, his clothes clean now — they had the means to take baths here, and I sorely wanted one once I could escape the bed — made my heart commence knocking against my ribs. He had found someone to trim his hair, too; slightly shorter than a chivalier’s current fashion, but it made him even more handsome. “Lieutenant?”

  I took another drink of broth, using the time to compose my thoughts. Well. We are about to change the playing field, d’Arcenne. I hope you are unprepared. “What is this I hear of danger and plague, Captain? Is there aught you wish to tell me?”

  “I did not wish your worry.” Tristan shot a sharp glance at Jierre, who shrugged, his lean face shuttering itself with an almost audible snap. “We shall speak of this later, di Yspres.”

  “You shall not,” I disagreed immediately, but mildly enough. “You will speak of it now, and cease whipping di Yspres for my curiosity. I asked him, Captain, surely I have a right to ask for news?”

  I do not know who was more shocked — Tristan; Risaine, who gave me an approving smile; Jierre, whose jaw frankly dropped; or myself. I sounded…

  Well, I sounded like the King, amused and casually confident Tristan would obey my orders.

  Let us pray he agrees, at least at this moment. I may likely pay for any show of independence later. But here, where there were more people, was a fine time for me to start working my own will, instead of being carried along by his. I had a possible ally in Risaine, and something told me she and her nephew were far from the worst friends I could have in the Shirlstrienne.

  “You do.” The Captain nodded slightly, as if to say, proceed. He did not look angered by my sudden authority. Instead, he seemed relieved. “Plague has struck Arquitaine, and struck hard. Citté D’Arquitaine has fallen victim. The plague starts with fever and ends with blood pouring from the nose and mouth until death. Few of those touched by it have recovered. D’Orlaans is seeking the Aryx, though he dares not let anyone know the Great Seal is gone and he carries a false copy. Instead, every garrison and Guard in Arquitaine is looking for you. The tale is that I have kidnapped you and am holding you for ransom to buy my own safety.” A muscle in Tristan’s jaw twitched. “You have been proxy-wed to d’Orlaans in the Chepelle Ste-Mairie.”

  I stared through him, thinking furiously. Perhaps I am not helpless. It was a welcome thought. “Plague and a proxy marriage. Dear gods.”

  “The Blessed have expressed their displeasure with Arquitaine.” Jierre’s eyebrows were drawn together, and under his coloring he was pale. “You carry the true Seal, d’mselle, so we are safe from the plague, at least.”

  “We do not know that,” Risaine interrupted. “She may have just recovered from the sickness. I have not seen this fever before, sieurs, and among this collection of ragtails that is rare indeed.”

  “None of us have fallen victim,” Tristan pointed out. His blue gaze bored into me.

  That is little comfort. And if I were surprised at Jierre di Yspres’s sudden piety, I needed look no farther than the metal at my own throat to find a good reason for it. If the Seal had slumbered and was now awake…but why? Why wake now, and why plague now?

  I could do nothing about the plague for the moment. There were other things I must know. “He proxy-wed me?” He should be seeking to kill me, not still wed me. He has to know I am aware of his conspiracy. “It makes little sense.”

  “It means nothing,” Risaine said fiercely. “You hold the Aryx; you cannot be proxy-wed. It will not hold.”

  Tristan rested his hand on his rapier’s hilt. “He has a copy of the Aryx and enough Court sorcery to make it seem to live. Especially since the Aryx…well. Court sorcery has become much easier in the past weeks. We have all noticed it.”

  “Fools,” Risaine snorted. “All of you, fools.”

  No doubt. But I wonder why you say so, m’dama. I looked down into my cup. Court sorcery stronger? I had not noticed, but then, I am not a Court sorcerer. At least, I was not before this.

  I must think. But first… “Could I be carrying plague?”

  “If you were, one of us would be ill by now. Yet except for di Rocham’s broken heart and Tristan’s scowl, we all seem hale.” Adersahl leaned against the table, examining the herbs piled in neat bundles, the jars standing ready to be scalded. “There is an easy enough solution to all our problems, d’mselle.”

  It is not the problems which worry me, it is the cause, which has acquired another tangle. “Which is?” I contemplated the bits of dried fevrebit floating in the broth.

  “Is it not obvious? Contract a liaison, and make it public knowledge you have the Aryx.” Adersahl picked up a sprig of rosemaire and crushed it between his broad, deft fingers, inhaled the scent. “Still, the nearest problem is di Narborre. We have discovered he was in Tierrce d’Estrienne some days ago.”

  My fingers clenched around the cup. Memory choked me.

  “Make certain none still live.” A crunch, and a wet stabbing sound—

  I swallowed bile. If I were a man, there would be an accounting for that. Dull anger sparked red in my chest, through layers of numbness. There is much I would repay di Narborre and his master.

  “Vianne?” Tristan crossed the room, shouldered Jierre aside, and rescued the cup from my trembling hands. “You are pale.”

  I was not short of breath, but I nodded, tendrils of dark hair falling in my face. “When do we leave?” My voice was a thin thread. It was not fear that made me so quiet. Twas instead a great hot-crimson anger, one I pushed aside. A lady must not ever betray such rage.

  His hands were warm, and I near forgot every other person in the room as he steadied me. “We are at the edge of the Alpeis, in a hidden bandit’s village. Do not fret, Vianne. This is why I kept the news from you a short while, I wish you to regain your strength before we flee to Arcenne.”

  I inhaled sharply. Calm, Vianne. You must be cold as if you are hunting an intrigue meant to catch your Princesse. They caught her, and now you must serve them to their own folly, as quickly and neatly as you may. It will be difficult, but this you must do. “Yet—” I meant to protest that I was fit to ride, that we must be on our way.

  “Yet nothing.” Risaine screwed a jar lid on with a practiced, savage twist of her wrist. “Your task is to mend your health. If you die, the Seal might not have a choice but to land in d’Orlaans’s royal-bloody hands, and that would be a tragedy.”

  Tristan watched me, his mouth a straight line, his cheeks — was he blushing? And what was that glimmer in his eyes? Fear? The world had indeed gone mad. I searched for something appropriate to say, found nothing.

  “An it please you,” Tristan said finally, “I would speak with you privately, Vianne.”

  What now? Do y
ou wish to take me to task, Captain? Why do it in seclusion? Your hand is strengthened by two of your Guard here, one of whom has no doubt told you of my idea of escaping you. I nodded, struck speechless, my wits racing to catch up. Recollected myself with an almost physical effort. “Jierre — my thanks for the news. I think I should speak with the Captain, indeed.”

  “That you should.” Jierre left with a hurried bow, and Adersahl followed him, turning once to glance back at me. It was a meaningful look, but what it meant I could not say.

  Risaine chuffed out a sigh, setting the jar down with a click. Today she wore an overdress of blue, and it suited her pale hair. “I suppose you wish to throw me out of my own house.”

  “Stay and hear a private conversation, as you like.” Tristan did not look away. His eyes were so infinitely blue, I wondered for a mad moment if everything he saw was tinted with skyshade.

  Risaine replied with a cheerful curse she might have heard from a Guard and left, shaking her head. She pulled the door to, and I heard her speaking outside, a low fierce tone — probably scolding Jierre.

  My mouth was dry as sand. “Is this true? And what else, by the Blessed? What now?”

  “Tis as true as I can tell.” He sighed and settled himself gingerly on the bed at my side, setting the cup away. “Di Narborre comes, and the fool of a bandit thinks the woods and a hedgewitch’s muttering will hold him back.”

  I am a hedgewitch too, Captain, and I kept us safe for a short while. Still, that is not the most pressing matter here. “Tis not what angers you. It angers you that the Duc thought to proxy-marry me. You did not anticipate that.”

  Amazingly, he dropped his head. I caught a flash of anger on his face, wondered why I could suddenly decipher his feelings so easily. “True. I should have thought — should have planned—for such an occasion.”

  “Is it true, that if I contract a liaison and make it public, that a proxy marriage will not hold?” I wished suddenly I had spent some time studying Arquitaine law instead of Tiberian verbs. Of course, our legal code is built on the foundation of Tiberia. It took Graeca to make art, and Tiberia to make law, as the proverb went.