“My thanks, sieur,” I managed to whisper. You have a prickly pride, and sometimes such men are easily led if one is careful. Well enough.
He left, whistling a tune I seemed to faintly remember. Where was it from? But I was interrupted from pursuing this line of thought.
As soon as the bandit was out of earshot, Tristan claimed my attention. “What songs do they sing of him, Vianne? How did you know?”
I closed my eyes. If I spoke slowly, I could string the words together in a necklace, and grant myself time to think as well. “I knew nothing, Captain. There are no songs. All bandits like to hear about themselves.”
Tristan was still for a long moment. Then he leaned down, kissed my cheek, and I smelled leather, steel, and healthy maleness. A disbelieving laugh brushed my face. “You were wasted at Court, m’chri.”
“Step aside, sieur, an it please you,” the hedgewitch told him. “I’ve to tend my patient now.”
He nodded, straightening and stepping aside — but not very far. “As you like, Marquisse.”
Marquisse? Well, she speaks like a noble. I am unsurprised.
She did not react, simply bent over me, testing my pulse with dry, gentle fingers. This close, I could see the network of fine lines on her face, crow’s-feet fanning at the corners of her eyes, laugh lines around her mouth. Her beauty ran bone-deep, her face simply settling on the framework instead of collapsing with age. The Angoulême’s Companions had gifted us with such beauty, and even diluted it was a wonder to see. “So you guess, do you? And I guess what you are, and what she is. News reaches me even here, in the backwoods of Arquitaine among peasants and bandits; the Blessed know I’ve worked hard enough to stay informed. Greedy d’Orlaans has reached the summit of his dreams and still wants more, of course.” She peered at the whites of my eyes, felt my forehead. “And you. What is the summit of your dreams, d’Arcenne?”
I held my peace. The conversation had taken an extraordinarily interesting turn, and I near held my breath as well, for fear that a sound from me would cause them to cease. Did they know each other? But the Captain had given no sign.
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.