Jierre di Yspres led the file, and he turned onto the road that pierced the wood. The sound of the quays faded slowly behind us. The horses picked up their pace to a steady trot.
I had thought I could lean away from the Captain all day, but I was simply too tired. By the time we reached the woods I had begun to sink. Besides, the saddle was too small, even if its back was low enough to perch on.
“Ease yourself, Vianne,” he said in my ear. “We have a long way to go, and twill tire you. Best just to rest.”
I did not believe he cared if I rested or not, but if I dropped dead of exhaustion it would slow him further and cost him his pretender to the throne. And there was little harm in it now, surely. The world had ended like a carriage overturning; we were merely wandering through the wreckage.
So I sank back ever so slightly and watched the countryside of Arquitaine pass on either side. We had been riding for perhaps an hour when a low whistle trilled from somewhere behind us.
As if by Court sorcery, the Guard faded back into the trees on either side of the road. The Captain took our horse to the side, behind a screen of sprawling lauryl bushes going wild. The horse stayed absolutely still, and I drew in a deep breath, held it until the world turned to a painted screen splotched with whirling colors.
“They will not see us.” He sounded so sure, and I caught a whiff of Court sorcery, blending with the hedges to screen us from view. The charm was so slight it would escape notice, unless our pursuers were going slowly and using a showing-spell.
I strained my ears, heard nothing.
Then, hoofbeats.
They came down the road at a gallop, and at their head rode thin, hungry Garonne di Narborre, angular and intent in a blue doublet. They wore the embroidered surcoats of King’s Messengers though any fool could see they were not, for they wore swords. The surcoats held black braid meaning a King had died, and gold braid meaning a new King had been crowned.
But the Duc does not have the Aryx. At the coronation, he will have to produce it. Ah, that is why they gallop.
I touched the hard warm pulsing of the Aryx, pushed under my shirt as an afterthought. It gave a double beat, and I felt an odd shifting inside my head. I was only a hedgewitch, not a well-practiced Court sorcerer like di Narborre, who was rumored to have dueled more than one man with Court sorcery and killed him. The King had been angered after one particular duel, but had not done anything except put Garonne in the Duc’s service instead of his own, since the Duc was such a Court sorcerer himself.
Now I wondered what more there was to the tale of di Narborre and murder, and what else the King might have done that rumor spoke not of.
The women of the Court were sometimes cutthroat ambitious, and the dancing for station never ceased. Some of the ladies even played Court men against each other, for privilege and position. I had been drawn into more than one game and usually acquitted myself well. Not only that, but twas my duty to catch intrigues meant to trip my Princesse, and I did a fair job of it.
There had been a particular affair involving my Princesse, the Lady Courceline Maritine, a batch of silly love letters, and a Duc’s Guard named Arrebourne. The letters could have forced a scandal, and Lady Maritine was merely misled instead of overambitious, but it had still taken much thought and care to retrieve the letters from Arrebourne’s clutches. Of course, there had been an odd thing or two about that affair, and now I wondered who Arrebourne had been reporting to. I had consigned that question to the realm of mystery and Kimyan’s Riddles long ago, and been well rid of it. But now…had there been a deeper intrigue I had saved Lisele from, all unknowing?
I took in another deep, jagged breath, and the Captain’s hand clapped over my mouth.
My temper snapped. How dare he? I forgot myself entirely, and I suppose only the shocks of the previous day could have made me do what I did next.
I bit the Captain of the King’s Guard. I sank my teeth in and worried like a trained terrier.
His arms tightened, silently. He whispered, a breath of air brushing my cheek. “Do you truly wish to be dragged back to the Duc, wedded and bedded in less than a night? Being d’Orlaans’s Consort might make you wish you had stayed in the North Tower, Duchesse.”
I sank my teeth in harder, past caring. How dare he? I had gone straight to the King instead of planning to blackmail the Captain, though twould not have mattered an hour later what I had seen and whyfor. I had even rescued him from the donjon, by the Blessed. And he accused me?
How could I have thought he fancied me?
The Duc’s Guard passed us by, and Captain d’Arcenne took his hand from my mouth. I had not broken the skin, but I had come close, and on his bruised hand besides. “Now, what was that, Vianne?” Very softly.
“What did you think I was about to do?” I whispered back fiercely, turning my head, suddenly very aware of his arm around my waist holding the reins. “Scream for rescue from the Duc’s hired murderers? They killed my Princesse, Captain, and I am afraid they will do the same to me — or worse, if I can believe your warnings. And yet you think — you think I would—” I was almost too furious to speak, though I whisper-hissed.“You swear me obedience, you give me your oath, and then you act thus? Some Captain you are, no more loyal than—”
“Careful, d’mselle.” The same quiet tone, even and without temper. “Be careful what you brand me as.”
I subsided into silent seething, so furious tiny red speckles danced a pavane before my eyes, but long years of Court training made me loosen my limbs, seeking control. A lady should be languid even in anger, I heard the Comtesse Rochburre say in her low, adamant tone. If you are angry, you cannot plan your revenge.
I schooled my face and my trembling hands, and forced my shoulders down. A fine tremor ran all through me. “I should have left you in that donjon,” I muttered, unwilling to let him have the final word.
“Your pardon, d’mselle.” The low conversational tone was gone. Did he now sound surprised? I was past caring. “I have no doubt of your loyalty — I simply thought the sight of di Narborre would be a shock to you.”
Speak softly, Vianne. You need this man’s protection. “You thought aright. But if I cried out at every shock I would not have lasted long at Court.”
“True. Forgive me.”
“Perhaps.” I fell into stiff silence. Why would you crave my forgiveness? It will do you no good, and me even less.
After a long while there was another low whistle, and we moved out onto the road again. Jierre di Yspres rode back, brought his horse next to Tristan’s. “We could have slaughtered them, Captain.” But there was no heat to it.
Nor was there in the Captain’s reply. “And warned the Duc of our exact direction? We shall strike off the Road soon enough.”
“How does she?” Jierre’s dark eyes moved over me. “You look pale, d’mselle.”
“I am extremely unhappy, chivalier. I wish I were home in my herb garden.” It was impolitic, though, to anger them. So I let the corners of my mouth curl up into a bright Court smile. “But if I am to be pursued the length of Arquitaine, I cannot think of better company than the King’s Guard.”
Di Yspres blinked, and swept me a correct little half-bow over his pommel. “We are glad of your company, d’mselle.” His eyes met the Captain’s. Meaningless, Court-pretty words, and if they thought me a liar, well, they were half right.