If he was, dear gods, how could I stand it? “Oh, no.” I pulled at his shirt, a tiny tug as if to make the fabric hang aright. “Tristan? Please.”
He tore away from my touch, bolting to his feet. Stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the fire, his broad back to me. The Aryx rang under my skin, distress and an electric pain spilling from warm metal into my bones.
Or perhaps mine was the pain, and I shared it with the Seal.
I watched, pulling my knees up under the blankets, a lump blocking my dry throat, all thoughts of intrigue fled. “Captain,” I whispered. How do I make this right? I do not know, and yet I must. “I need your strength. If you cease now, I do not…I do not know what I shall do. Please, Tristan.”
“How can you trust me?” The shout took us both by surprise. He rounded on me, his bootheel grinding sharply into the sweet-fairthwell Risaine scattered on her floor. His cheeks were wet, his blue eyes blazing. “I sent you to the Princesse, and almost caused your death. I was caught and you—you—had to come down into the donjons and fetch me like an errant child. And I have done nothing but make mistake after mistake. I almost cost you your life. That is not the worst. I am a traitor, Vianne!”
You hold yourself to such a fierce standard, Captain. It will break you, unless I hold you back somehow, like a horse that will run itself to death. I do not know how to rein you.
Yet rein him I must. For as little as I liked the idea of his casting me aside the instant I did not serve his revenge, I found I liked the sight of his grief and shame even less.
My hands turned to fists, and my heart gave a painful shiver inside me. “You saved my life,” I pointed out calmly enough. “If you had not sent me to Lisele, d’Orlaans would have the Aryx at this very moment. If you had not given me the keys, I could not have hidden in the North Tower…and if not for you, your lieutenant would have left me behind on the Mont. You have kept me safe so far, and I—” Tears rose to choke me. Oh, Vianne, calm him. He is fearfully upset, and likely to do some damage to everything. “Please, Tristan!”
I did not say what I wished to say. I am frightened, I longed to shout. I am frightened, and I do not know what I have become. You are the only safe thing in this madness, even though you are more dangerous to me than you can possibly know.
He tipped his head back, his jaw working, his cheeks powder-white.
Come, Vianne. Tell him. Give him some hope, and stop being such a dimwitted frippet.
When I could speak over the tears seeking to force their way out, I found I knew what to say. There was only one possible avenue to take. “You are the Captain of my Guard. And my Left Hand — and future Consort. I need you.”
That managed to get his attention, at least. His chin came down, his jaw dropped slack, and he stared at me gape-mouthed, like a Festival fool.
“How do you not know?” I tried again. “If there is one man in Arquitaine I can trust, Tristan d’Arcenne, tis you.” I held his gaze, willing him to understand. My heart twisted afresh. Give him strength. If he feels aught for you at all, use it to help him! “I need you,” I whispered. “Please, do not leave me adrift.”
Tristan laughed bitterly. “What makes you think I would leave you, Vianne? Leave the only woman I have ever—” Maddeningly, he shut his mouth so quickly I was amazed his teeth did not take a piece of his tongue. But his cheeks were no longer so pale, and he was no longer shoulder-slumped and desperate. Instead, his fists clenched at his sides and his gaze blazing, he looked far more like the man I knew.
Or thought I knew, enough to save him from himself. At least, for the moment.
I smoothed the blanket over my knees, as if it were a silken skirt. I do not think you are the kind to give an empty promise. My heart throbbed painfully. Do not let me embarrass myself, gods, please. “Is it that you do not wish to be my Consort?”
It seemed to be exactly the right thing and the wrong thing to say. It broke him free of his silence — but it also drove him to a fury.
“You — you—” His fists shook, but I felt a curious comfort. He would not harm me just now. Of that much, I was certain. “How can you trust me?”
If he was this angry, at least he was not sunk in dangerous apathy. A furious Tristan d’Arcenne was a formidable ally, while an apathetic one was no use to anyone, least of all himself.
And this conversation, however it ended, would strengthen my hand in the coming time, when I set myself to doing what I must.
Now for the soothing — but not until you rough his waters a tiny bit more. “I can understand,” I continued softly, smoothing the blanket. “I am only the di Rocancheil oddling. Tis miraculous that the Aryx has not fried me for insolence. You perhaps do not prefer a Court dame more suited to peasant magics and dry books?”
“Will you shut up?” he snarled. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever known!”
Well, that, at least, is something. “Do you wish to be my Left Hand and Consort, or not?” The Aryx rang softly under my words.
“I would give everything I own and sell my soul in the bargain to do so,” he said through gritted teeth. “I cannot, Vianne. The game of politics would require you to appear free. And I am—”
“I care nothing for the game of politics,” I cried, dropping my pretense of calm. “If the Aryx wishes me to be Queen of Arquitaine, very well. If you wish to be my Consort, very well. If you do not — very well. But I will not be forced any further, Tristan!”
While I had almost certainly uttered words I would regret — for if I held the Seal I must care for the game of politics deeply enough that I was not hoodwinked — the last part was, at least, unvarnished truth. I was free of fever and on the mend, my wits had returned, and I was prepared to do my wretched duty once again. Another baton was ruling the musicians and the dance had changed, but I was required to follow the steps as prettily as possible, and not blunder.
But I would dance in my own fashion, and I would do all I could to take charge of the tune. My first step was wresting the lead from the Captain of the Guard, and his reaction was such I could hardly believe my good luck.
He did care for me. Perhaps it was only that we had traveled together, and that I represented his revenge. But he did care, and he did not think clearly at the moment.
He stared at me for a long moment, jaw working, eyes blazing. Then he gifted me with a single nod. “I would be honored to do aught you asked, Vianne.” Clenched teeth, clenched jaw, clenched hands. “You are the Queen, and I shall redeem myself in your service.”
Let us hope those are not empty words. “Then I shall decide how to dispose of myself.” My pulse hammered thinly in my throat and wrists. “So we must find a temple, and contract you as my Consort as soon as possible. We must also leave this place. They have been kind to us; we cannot bring di Narborre upon them.” I trust Risaine’s skill more than I would trust mine, but tis a chance I do not wish to hazard.
My decisiveness calmed him. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, and his tone became more businesslike. “You are not hale enough for the kind of hard riding we must do to reach Arcenne quickly. It would kill you, Vianne.”
I have no intention of dying just yet. Before, I might have, just to spite the Duc. But now…I cannot die. I have accounts to settle. I let out a short, sharp breath, the same sound I would make before a grand entrance at Lisele’s side, echoed by hers. The small sigh was our private signal, a Court lady’s battle call. “I will see what Risaine and I can do together, with the Aryx.”