I felt the Captain’s shrug. “We have far to ride today, and we must be doubly careful now. We shall leave the road on the outskirts of Tierrce-di-Arbon.”
Jierre nodded. “So be it.” He wheeled his horse around and trotted for the head of the Guards, who were waiting patiently. They fell into line behind him, Tristan taking a place three-quarters of the way back. They were silent, the more-or-less half-dozen, now my only defense against…what?
A shiver jarred me when I thought of the Duc d’Orlaans’s ring-laden, manicured hands on my flesh.
I would kill myself before I let that happen. And after yesterday, I might well consider it a mercy. Sometimes a noblewoman’s only avenue was to take refuge in the Blessed…but that was a terrifyingly bleak thought.
Instead, I turned my mind to methods. I wondered if I would have the strength to use a knife — or a hatpin, like the Lady di Courcenne in the courtsongs. I was no Tiberian, and the idea of opening my veins turned me decidedly weak in the knees.
Yet a knife was not the only way. I could mix a poison draught; any hedgewitch worth the name could do so. And I was a fairly good hedgewitch, even if I was a very bad Court sorcerer. All I would need was a moment’s freedom in a garden and a few moments more in a stillroom. Or, were I pressed even further, a window high enough and the open air, and a stone paving below. That would require no hedgewitchery. Nothing but enough momentary courage to fling myself to freedom.
If I had strength enough to wait in the North Tower for darkness and creep into the donjons to free a captive, of what else might I be capable? I had done so many impossible things in the past two days I was fast losing count.
Tristan waited until we were farther into the small woods before speaking again. “I misjudged you. Your pardon, d’mselle.”
“Misjudged me?” I could hardly believe my own senses. When did Captain d’Arcenne misjudge anything? And then a hidden meaning to those words arose, and cold sweat suddenly bathed me. Misjudged me — and was I now superfluous?
If I was, what would be done to me?
But he perhaps took my sudden silence for anger, for he spoke again. “Twas wrong of me to think you would cry out to the Duc’s men, even for a moment, for any reason. Forgive me.”
The sound of Tristan d’Arcenne begging my pardon again was gratifying, but less gratifying than it would have been a week ago at Court. I sighed and took my hand away from the pommel to rub delicately at my aching eyes, even if it would ruin my looks. Relief threatened to unstring my nerves. “Forgiven, Captain. Do not trouble yourself further.”
“Why so formal today, Vianne?” As if we were not fleeing for our lives, riding double on a Guard horse because a palfrey could not be bought or stolen. The absurdity of the situation rose up to choke me, and I had to wrestle down the pained sound seeking to escape my lips. Leaf-dappled sunlight made the line of horses and men a very pretty painting, one I would have passed without thought in a gallery or at the yearly Salonne.
How could I answer him? Formality was my refuge, and he would not cease using my name so freely I had all the more reason to use it. “You watched me at Court.” I felt him tense again.
He reached up with one gloved hand as if he needed to scratch at his cheek, and I leaned away from him. He replaced his hand on the reins, and I relaxed slightly.
“I did,” he admitted. Did I imagine him tensing again?
“To see if I showed any sign of ambition, to see if I was a danger to Lisele.” You do not know me. She was my only anchor. My Princesse.
“Is that what you think?” Thoughtful, as if I had just posed him a riddle.
I watched the sunlight move fluidly between leaf-shadows. Twas a beautiful day, but Lisele’s eyes would never see it. Had they laid her in the Royal Tombs under the Ladytemple, the Great Dama? She would have wanted black velvet sewn with pearls, and I had not even been able to braid her hair one final time. Instead, I had left for my early-morn digging in the garden with a jest, lightly and laughingly promising to return with an armful of stinkcabbage for a nosegay.
I brought myself back to the present with an effort. Even the small spots of sunlight jabbed at my tender head through my burning eyes. “I have no doubt it fits neatly into your plans for revenge to have a bastard royal with the Aryx at your side, no matter how unsatisfactory she may prove to be. I further have no doubt you would kill me, King’s Captain, if I showed any sign of second thoughts.”
He had no easy reply, and there the matter lay. Tears rose again, and I denied them. I would weep no more. I swore it to myself, as I rode in front of the Captain with my heart aching and my throat full of terror and grief. Court had held few friends, but I had Lisele’s protection; the open friendship of the Heir not something to be derided. Now…
Now I was adrift, and who knew what I would be required to do in order to merely survive?
Chapter Six
We left the Road after a hurried lunch of bread and cheese near the blue-roofed town of Tierrce-di-Arbon, famous for the quality of its woven cotton cloth, and struck out across fields and rolling plains toward the great forest of Shirlstrienne. The small stands had begun to run together in larger groves, and there was one large enough to shelter us from sight.
I was too exhausted to care by the time the Captain lifted me down from the horse’s back. My feet met solid ground and I stumbled, but he righted me gently and led me to the fire one of the younger Guards had started by flintstrike. I collapsed to my knees, then eased gratefully down to sit, biting back a small moan. Tinan appeared, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. A cup of sweet red traveling wine was deposited in my hands by a whip-thin Guard with dark eyes and a neatly cut mop of light brown hair. I searched for his name — Jai di Montfort — to thank him, and he swept me a bow the envy of any courtier. I took off di Rocham’s hat and let my braid down, sighing in relief.
I sipped at the wine and watched the Guard make camp, thanking the Blessed I did not have to find a convenient tree to serve as a privy yet. The Captain would probably insist on setting a guard over me while I did so, and that potential embarrassment seemed a final, ultimate humiliation. Why having to relieve myself in the woods was such a horrifying prospect after all I had so recently endured I have no idea, but so it seemed at that moment.
I finally settled myself with my legs to the side, on dry leafmould with no skirts to worry about and the weight of them sorely missed. I drew the blanket about me, cupping my hands around the wine. Even though twas late spring, the night would be chill.
I wondered where I would sleep that night and gazed at the fire, just now taking its form as a merry blaze. One of the Guards set a tripod over it, and another brought a cauldron filled with water from the brook just to the south. I gazed into the flames and took a deep breath, finding my hands shaking again. Tears welled up.
Woodsmoke, horse and leather and males, spring greenery and the flat tang of mineral water from the brook — it was very pretty, and had we been a Court party out for a firefly fête or a night picnic, I would have no doubt enjoyed myself immensely.
I was occupied trying to swallow treacherous tears when Jierre di Yspres approached me carefully, and swept his hat off. He made a graceful movement and ended up sitting next to me, far more lightly than I had collapsed.