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 you 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.
I held myself in readiness, watching d’Arcenne. Waiting for him to indicate what dance he intended to lead us into, since he had gone to such trouble to clear the floor.
Tristan shoved one hand back through his hair. It rumpled him most fetchingly. “Vianne—”
Answer me, Captain. Why is this so difficult? “Is it?”
His words spilled out in a rush. “Tis true. You hold the Aryx, you must be wed in person. The law dates from the Angoulême’s time.”
Relief so intense it curdled my stomach made me sag against the pillow. I chose my next words carefully. “Good. I think tis time I made some decisions. Jierre said twas time for me to use my sharp wits to keep us all alive, and perhaps he is right.” Come, Captain, perhaps I should do the leading in this pavane. You are not as graceful as is your wont today.
“Jierre is a fool.” Tristan dropped his head forward into his hands. “Vianne, I…”
It frightened me, seeing him thus, his shoulders bowed, holding his head as if he was mazed with grief. Did he not wish to take me to task, then? What game was he playing?
Perhaps there is no game. I hardly dared credit it. Hesitant, I touched his shoulder, and he leaned into my hand. The bed creaked slightly.
He is accepting comfort, at least. My throat was still sand-dry. “He’s a sharp-witted fool, to have chosen you for his Captain.”
“Mistake after mistake, I have been so blind.” His voice was muffled, choked. Was he weeping?