There were precious few of either sex who would refuse a King.
“Oh, not much. Sired a bastard and banished me from Court when the swelling began to show, so I would not damage the negotiations for his cow of a Damarsene bride. I believed a King’s promise of love, and paid for it like any fool. I was no more than another silly little Court chit to him. And my son…” She laughed, shook her head as if freeing an unpleasant thought from its confines. “No matter. I have my nephew, strong in my old age. He should have been hunting and hawking with the nobles, at the King’s table. Instead, he is a bandit and I am a hedgewitch bandit-woman, binding broken bones and salving wounded peasant hearts.” I heard a rustle of cloth and opened my eyes to find her standing before me, her hands folded. She looked thoughtful, her sharp gray eyes staring across the village’s quiet bustle. “My best revenge is this — I have shown you Henri was too self-centered to be a proper sovereign. He allowed d’Orlaans far too much power and asked no questions. He sired a princess unfit for the throne on his foreign wife, threw away a good Arquitaine heir because freeing us from the chains of paying tribute would require he bestir himself to war or diplomacy.”
I had never heard the dead Queen referred to as a “cow of a Damarsene.” It would have been highly impolitic to say that in Lisele’s part of the Court, since her mother had died in childbirth, and my Princesse often felt the lack. “My thanks for the truth, m’dama.” My voice was barely audible above the village’s tapestry of sound.
She turned to me, her fingers clenched tight against each other. Now I could see the echo of old-fashioned manners in her gestures, and I knew why she stood thus. “Truth is the best revenge, child, and I have had much time to think on the wrongs done, not merely to me, but to others. I shall tell you this further; whatever crimes Henri di Tirecian-Trimestin committed in the name of kingship, his Left Hand committed more. Take care who you keep close to you, Vianne. Tis more important than you think.”
That pricked me. “You mean d’Arcenne.” I almost said Tristan, caught myself just in time.
“Sharp tools are necessary for a sovereign. I simply warn you that you do not cut yourself.” But the spasm of distaste before she smoothed her features spoke much louder than the prettily-phrased warning.
Does she hate him because he reminds her of the King, or does she hate him for his part of the King’s injustice? Tristan would not have lent himself to this misery, would he? And he is too young to be part of her misery. I nodded slowly. Twould not be useful to argue thus with her. “My thanks.”
“Of course.” Risaine dropped her hands to her sides, loosening them with a shake. “I have other patients to physick. I think you are well enough to sit for a bit.”
I agreed, and she left me under the shifting shade of branches. I sat, listening to the song of movement all about me, and thought long and hard. The motion and noise, subtle as it was, reminded me of the bustle of Court. There was always movement in the Palais, the sense of other breathing lives. I thought best with that quiet music enfolding me.
Where was her son now? Had the conspiracy reached even into the Shirlstrienne — or was there a darker reason for her to hate the King?
I found my hand at the Aryx, one thumb stroking the curve of a metal serpent through thin fabric. I ceased with an effort. The Seal purred, a subtle vibration against my skin.
It troubled me.
I watched the small village from my perch. Every thin, haunted face accused me. I could not help but wonder how many of the Court banquets I had been excruciatingly bored through, or had eaten at with good grace, had been bought with a peasant’s blood.
Chapter Twenty
After another few days of Risaine’s constant fussing and dosing with herbal tisanes, I found myself able to bathe in a tub I helped her laboriously fill in front of the fire. It was so delicious to be clean that I stayed until the water grew cool. Afterward, she clucked and fussed over me as she chafed my hair mostly dry and braided it. She hummed as she did so, and I shut my eyes, remembering Lisele performing the same task. A high honor, but we never saw it thus. It was simply what we did — I dressed Lisele’s hair, and she dressed mine, as we had since childhood.
The memory sent a flintstrike of pain through me, yet I swallowed it. The time had come to make myself sterner. I could not hope to keep anyone safe if I did not temper what little steel I possessed.
After the bath, Risaine left me to my own devices. Every day brought more and more wounded souls to this small place, and I heard whispers of other villages hidden in the forest’s vastness. A whole province of the fled and dispossessed, taking shelter in the Shirlstrienne as children will hide behind a nurse’s skirts.
Here at the edge of the darker Alpeis forest, they did not fear the demieri di sorce. Instead, they feared d’Orlaans.
I had set myself to tidying her table of jars and herbs, and when a shadow filled the door I looked up, expecting to see Tristan. Instead, Adrien di Cinfiliet leaned against the door, his half-smile more mocking than ever. “And a good morn to you, my lady Riddlesharp.” His sharp light eyes passed through the room once, the same glance I saw Tristan use so often. Gauging the ground, or searching for enemies.
“Good morn, sieur bandit.” I set down the jar of woundrot, lining it up with the next. “M’dama Risaine went to—”
“—minister to her patients, I know. I thought you might chafe at this small cage, and came to offer my services as jester. Would you care to walk with me?” He delivered the invitation in such a light tone I was hard-pressed not to laugh.
It was, I admit, a pleasure to hear a cheerful voice. Tristan visited me daily, but he did not speak overmuch. Jierre looked in on me briefly every few mornings, and Tinan di Rocham was sober and constrained when he managed to knock on Risaine’s door. I knew not what they did the rest of the time, but I did not imagine it to be pleasant.
“I should be glad of it.” I straightened, smoothing down Tinan’s leather vest. I must have been a sight in boy’s clothes, with my long rope of hair and my fever-thinned face — for I could feel, when I touched my cheeks, the hollows left behind by illness. “If you take care to walk slow, sieur, for I am not in fit condition to dance.”
“I shall seek to avoid dancing.” He stepped out of the door as I approached, and offered his arm as soon as I moved into the open air. “Besides, I have no skill for it.”
I doubt that. “You carry a rapier, do you not?” I took his arm, glad of the support. My legs sometimes decided to tremble like a newborn colt’s.
“Tis not meant for dancing, lady Riddlesharp.” We began to amble, and I sensed he had summat to say. But his tone remained light, though his uneasiness called forth an uneasiness of my own.
For all that, it was pleasant to walk with him and for a moment pretend I was in the formal gardens, perhaps strolling with a chivalier whose witticisms required attention and politeness. “Swordplay is a cousin to dancing, sieur. I do not think you heavy on your feet.”
“Cats must land lightly. I would think dancing a cousin to something else, though.”
The entendre caught me unawares, and I coughed slightly, a hot flush rising to my cheeks. Highly improper. Yet he is a bandit, after all. I gathered my wits, preparing to do battle, and suddenly felt at home. This was a situation I was not at sea upon.
“Of course, it could merely be fear,” I remarked sweetly. “Some men do blanch more at a woman than a drawn blade.”
He acknowledged the cut with a short, barking laugh. “You have a facile tongue, Duchesse.”
“Tis a hazard of Court life, chivalier. What troubles you?” You did not come here to trade petty jests with me, more’s the pity. I could have used the relaxation of a few more moments pretending I was nothing more than a lady-in-waiting again.
Old leaves crunched underfoot, and hard-packed dirt settled under the soft leather-soled clothshoes Risaine had loaned me. Di Cinfiliet was silent until we reached the edge of the village, the swirl of Risaine’s sp
ells hanging shimmering to our right. “I beg your pardon, d’mselle. I do not mean to offend. At least, not you, and not now.”
Interesting qualifications. “No offense taken. You seem uneasy.”
He indicated a fallen log with a nod. “Rest awhile, an it please you. Tis best to be uneasy, so close to the Alpeis. Only a fool goes blithely here.”
And how much of a fool am I, to be so blithe as to walk unaccompanied with you? I settled gratefully on the log, and he sank down next to me with a creak of boot leather and a sigh. The woods smelled of verdant life, the earth fresh from nightly rain.
There had not been a storm since we’d arrived here. That was an uneasy thought. Another followed hard on its heels.
Was it chance that we happened upon a nobleman and his aunt hiding here? Was it chance I saw Tristan in that passage, or chance that I escaped notice in the Palais? It strains the mind to think of so much luck, ill or good. Was the Aryx taking a hand in matters, leading us here unawares?
That was discouraging. Even more discouraging was the thought that gods might be stirring themselves to take an active interest in Arquitaine, as they did in the time of the Angoulême’s children. I do not grudge the Blessed their control of our land — though any good daughter of Arquitaine might wish that they would secure our borders without ado — but I was uncomfortable with the idea of being a pawn in such control. Any sane person would be, no matter how fashionably irreligious and Court-bred.
I had very little reason to doubt the Blessed at the moment. Rather than being a comfort, the thought was becoming a deadly discontent.
I glanced at di Cinfiliet’s profile. He looked much like Risaine, especially at rest, with his long nose and narrow mouth. I dropped all pretense of levity. “Speak, an it please you.”
He pushed a small bit of leaf mould aside with his boot-toe. “What are your plans, d’mselle? Summer is coming, and di Narborre haunts these woods. Our scouts report him moving hither and yon, seeking you. The pathways to Arcenne may be watched.”
My mouth dried and I settled my hands in my lap, as if I wore a skirt. “I had not thought so far ahead,” I admitted. “I have been occupied with becoming fit to ride, so we may not endanger you for longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Well enough.” He did not sound disdainful. “I have a thought, and I pause to lay it before you. You may take offense.”
“What, again? If I did not take offense at your light speech before, why should I now?” I studied the weather-tanned skin and the bright slashes of his eyes. His hair was trimmed haphazardly, and his hands were rough from use. Grime tainted his fingernails.
Still, he had an honest face, and I had no reason to mistrust him yet. He had sheltered us for days now, and if his levity had an edge, I suppose he had reason. My own levity is too sharp for common consumption many a time, and as a woman I am rarely given lee to produce it outside the safe confines of my own thoughts.
He shrugged, pursing his thin lips as if finishing a long conversation with himself. “Then I shall be blunt. I have a cadre of good men and horses. If we go swiftly, there is the thin southron pass to Navarrin. Tis little-used and dangerous, and I would lay my last copper tis not watched as the passage to Arcenne may be. If you have reason to distrust your…current position, remember you have an alternative.”
If he had bothered to look at me he would have found my jaw ajar like a stuck fish’s. Well. That is surprising, my fine bandit. And most welcome, though you cannot know why. I snapped my mouth shut and glanced down, smoothing the fabric of my breeches over my knees. The Aryx lay warm and quiescent under my shirt. “What does your aunt say of this?”
“Am I still in knee-breeches, to ask her? Yet I did seek her counsel. She is unhappy with the thought, yet will not forbid me. I never have taken well to forbidding, in any case. I am a nobleman, though I may not look it, or at least enough of one to help a d’mselle in difficulty. My duty is to see you safe.”
Charming of you, and very chivalrous. Still… “And the Captain?”
“The more to guard you, the better.” But his tone turned cool. They were ill-paired, Tristan and this man, by temperament. And, it seemed, by much more. I wondered at that. “Other men, peasants and petty nobles, have gone through the mountains. Tis a hard journey, but better than what lies behind. The Shirlstrienne holds more than just this village, and some bandits are not so fine as we. There are wolves who would as like to slit your throat as steal your purse, merely for the joy of it. Yet even they fear di Narborre and his hounds. I do not think it safe for you to remain here much longer. Rumor of a band of noblemen with a treasure is already seeping through the trees. Hedgewitch charms are all very well, but I saw the spell was unleashed on you at our first meeting. I like not the thought of witnessing it among these houses, poor as they are.”
In other words, the sooner we leave here, the better. “I will speak to Tristan. I may be able to convince him.” If logic will not work, I shall find some other road.
“The sooner the better, d’mselle. Should you find yourself in a position where your Captain’s will is not yours, remember I place myself at your disposal.”
A pretty choice. What reason have I to trust you overmuch? I did not like the thought, for he had sheltered us. Still, new caution crept into me. Could I but convince Tristan to take this far-southron route, I could perhaps overcome his determination to rout the Duc on the field of battle.
My stomach turned to a hard knot. “Why would you do such a thing, di Cinfiliet? You have no cause to wish me well or ill. We can only be a burden to you.”
He rose, a swift motion I took care not to flinch at. “Perhaps I tire of skulking in the Shirlstrienne like an animal. What better way to regain a place of honor for myself? And my…my Tante R’si grows old, and I yearn for a softer bed for her to spend her age in.” Di Cinfiliet turned to me, offering his hand. “Come, I had best take you back. She will scold my ears off if I overtire you.”
I let him draw me to my feet, his hand warm and hard against mine. He smelled of the woods and smoke, and a faint healthy tinge of maleness. He rested his left hand on his swordhilt as he regarded me, our fingers tangled together briefly.
I recovered my hand and dropped my gaze. “I thank you for your honesty, chivalier.”
He offered his arm again. “You are not an empty-headed woman, Vianne. If I may be so bold?”
It warmed me abruptly, and I slid my own arm through his. “You may, sieur Adrien. I shall speak to the Captain. Between us, we may make an impression on his stubbornness.”
“I do not hope for much. Though if anything can make an impression on that harsh clay, I suspect twill be your speaking and not mine.”
A vote of confidence, perhaps. We returned silently the way we had come, and when we came in sight of Risaine’s house under its huge, spreading willum tree, I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“I shall leave you here.” Di Cinfiliet reclaimed his arm. “Should you have need of me, d’mselle Vianne, simply say the word.” He gave me a bow, considerably more polished than his first — he must have been watching the others — and, turning on his heel, stalked away with his long loping stride.
I watched him. Sunlight fell through the leaves, and he blended into the forest’s green and brown as if he had been born to it.
My cheeks, for some reason, were flaming-hot.
* * *
That afternoon I wore a fresh set of Tinan di Rocham’s clothes as I stepped out of Risaine’s low door, carrying a bundle that was the shift I had worn while bathing and some other bits of cloth Risaine wished taken to the brook to be washed.
I threaded my way slowly through the bandit village and had almost reached its fringes before Adersahl di Parmecy fell into step beside me. “And a good afternoon to you, d’mselle,” he greeted, smoothing his mustache. “Where are you bound?”
I held up the bundle of linen. “Some of the women are doing washing down by the brook. M’dama Risaine’s due along any mo
ment.” I tossed my damp braid over my shoulder. “I would speak to the Captain, though. Where is he?”
“Went with our bandit lordling to view di Narborre’s tracks.” Adersahl grimaced. “Also to lay traps along the approaches to the village. Di Cinfiliet is all but daring di Narborre to come and duel.”
I absorbed this. Adersahl shortened his long strides to match my slow pace. “I do not think it wise. But di Cinfiliet is the leader of this village, I suppose he does what he feels best.” And perhaps he will broach the subject to Tristan himself, and I can add my own thoughts later. Though such a turn of events is likely to make my Captain even more stubborn.
Adersahl nodded. The feather in his hat bobbed. “The Captain did ask me to watch over you today.”
My heart lightened, turned soft inside me. “I thought so.”
One of the many lean dirt-colored dogs trotted past, nose to the ground. I smelled woodsmoke, cooking food, heard a jumping-rhyme. “There are so many children here,” I said. “They do not seem so dangerous.”
“For the most part.” Adersahl took my elbow as I almost tripped over a fallen branch. “Some are criminals, escaping the King’s justice. We have kept careful watch.”
I do not think I have much to fear from them. “I’ve spoken to none but di Cinfiliet and his aunt. They seem to think I am best kept a mystery.” My fingers lifted almost of their own accord to touch the hard lump of the Seal under my shirt.
He smoothed his mustache again. Was he nervous? It did not seem possible, he was so phlegmatic. “I would agree. The less anyone knows of who you truly are, the better.”
“Adersahl.” For a moment I could not find the words I wanted. It was not ladylike to ask, but here I was in breeches, strolling about unescorted with men. Propriety could not be my sole worry. “I would ask you summat of the Captain.”
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