“Kind enough.” He sounded amused. “You needed to lance that wound. I was beginning to worry.”
“You never worry.” I sought to wake myself. He laughed, catching the sound back as if it pained him somewhat. “D’Arcenne?”
“Hm.” An affirmative sound. I watched the fire’s glow through my heavy, heavy lashes.
I wanted to ask him so many things, but I could not seem to make my mouth work. Instead, I fell back into the darkness of sleep. Before I did, someone’s fingers smoothed back a loose strand of my hair. It was a gentle touch, and I welcomed it.
The Captain
Chapter Seven
The floor of the Sculpture Hall echoed underfoot as I hurried along, trying the doors. Each was locked, rattling like rusted chains, and I wept with frustration and fear. Behind me, they came — the Duc’s Guard, with lean, black-eyed Garonne di Narborre at their head, coming for me to make certain, make certain, make certain.
“Vianne?”
Behind one of the doors was my Lisele, and she was bleeding. The blood washed under the doors, rising around my ankles, so much of it, and the walls between the doors were festooned with broken harpstrings. I knew the hedgewitch charm to save my Princesse but I could not remember it, and I could not remember which door she was hidden behind, and all of them were bleeding. I tried them all, and my hands slipped on the doorknobs. My hands slipped because they were sweating, and covered with blood as well, Lisele’s blood, for I was to blame—
“Vianne!” Someone had my shoulders, shook me. “Vianne, wake. Tis a dream, nothing more.”
I woke fully in one terrified lunge, the scream dying on my lips. Swallowed the last half of the cry and looked up at d’Arcenne while I clutched the blanket to my chest as if it could shield me.
It was early morn, and thick fog hung between the trees. One of the Guard doused the fire, but d’Arcenne gave me a cup of hot chai. “Here. Take this. Twas merely a dream. You are safe.” He folded my hands around the cup, his warm callused skin against mine. My hands shook, but he held them steady for a few moments until I could draw a breath. My mouth tasted foul, and the sudden urge to tear my hands from his and examine them for traces of blood shook me.
He had shaved, and his face looked better too. The bruising and swelling was going down; perhaps one of the Guard had some skill at healing. Had I thought, I would have offered to charm the bruises for him myself, though it was faintly improper.
My breath came harsh and ragged. Was there blood on my hands? I could not tell. All I could feel was the warm metal of the cup, just on the edge of scorching.
The Guard moved about the camp, jostling each other, rolling up sleeping pads. I wondered whose I had occupied so thoughtlessly. I felt incredibly rumpled, and as the last vestiges of sleep fled I longed for morning chocolat and a hot bath. D’Arcenne still knelt at my side, his fingers warm and solid.
If my hands were bloody, he would not hold them so. The idea came and fled in less than a moment.
“Captain.” I searched for something to speak of to push the dream away. Anything. “I never asked what happened to you, after you left me in the passageway.”
He almost flinched, gave me a sharp look, his fingers tightening. Of course, who would wish to speak of something so awful?
His careful examination of my face made me blush, and when he finally spoke it was not in his usual calm tone. No, his words turned lame and halting, as if he chose them with care, blue eyes dark-shadowed and his mouth tight with distaste. “I found my way to the Rose Room. The King was dying. The pink petitte-cakes, they were poisoned. The Duc’s Guard burst in, and I killed four of them before they took me down. And carried me to the donjons in chains, then beat me until the Duc paid the honor of a visit.” His gaze had turned steely.
Now I was sorry I had asked. It could not have been pleasant to remember. “I beg your pardon. I do not mean to wound you.” Poison? I sensed no poison. There were scentless poisons, though, even if a hedgewitch tended to be sensitive to the slightest breath of toxins. I had not been at my best in the Rose Room.
And yet…
He shrugged, loosed his fingers from mine. “I know, Vianne. Do not trouble yourself. The King asked if you were safe, and Lisele.” D’Arcenne ducked his dark head, examining the ruin of the sleeping roll I had been tossing upon. “I lied. I told him I knew you and the Princesse were safe. I told him I would watch over you. That, at least, is true, and I shall see it remains so.”
“Oh.” Furious heat stained my cheeks, I wished I could stopper it. It was merely the King’s jest. You must be wary, this man may turn on you. You have no protection here.
“I do not wish to wound you, either.” Quietly, as he settled his knee more comfortably on the damp ground.
I gazed at the blankets and the rumpled sleeping pad. Something else to speak of, Vianne. Quickly now. “Whose are these?” The fog made the morning eerily quiet.
“Mine. Three stand watch at a time, so there are a few to spare.”
Oh, dear gods. “My thanks, Captain.” I found enough presence of mind to sip the chai. It was hot and sweet with stevya, and I was grateful. I felt queerly light and drained, as if the dream were still happening around me. The predawn hush was immense; even our voices seemed not to break it. “I feel I am dreaming still.”
Why did he examine me so? “Break your fast, d’mselle. We have a few sweet rolls, and some cheese. We shall stop in Tierrce d’Estrienne for supplies before we enter the Shirlstrienne.”
I shivered. The forest had a dark name as a haunt of bandits and thieves, and Lisele and I had thrilled to the dangers of the wood in the romances and songs. High adventure, lovers in disguise, honorable thievery and less-honorable menace. Rescues by chivalieri of fair ladies distressed by bandits, always in the very nick of time.
It did not seem so thrilling now. Then again, with some few of the King’s Guard, I was perhaps safer than I had ever been at Court. I had not even known danger was stalking me, except for the familiar peril of rumor and politicking. “Through the forest.” I sought to sound as if I considered it merely a maying-party.
“If we take the other way to Arcenne, we go through provinces with garrisons loyal to the Duc.” Brisk now, he moved as if he would straighten, paused. “The forest only has bandits, and we may deal with them easily enough. Rest easy.”
The chai’s warmth and sweetness helped, though my skin held the damp chill of morn outside. I had never spent the night out-of-doors before. “Am I slowing your journey?”
He showed no further inclination to move. “I told you I would not leave you. Drink your chai, d’mselle. We will break our fast, and then another hard day’s ride. I am sorry for it, but there is no other way.” The small clearing did not seem a camp anymore; it was, instead, merely an anonymous dirtpatch with a ring of scorched stones in the middle. It took so little to erase the signs of our passing.
“I know.” And I did. “I shall keep my mouth closed in the future, Captain.” If I can only remember what chaos ensues when I forget myself and open it. My reputation for discretion is suffering awfully.
“That would be a shame. We would miss your voice.”
It took every ounce of my self-control not to make a face. I settled for finishing the chai. It was still too hot, but they were in a hurry — and I had no desire to be caught by the Duc’s men. Then I pushed back the blankets, and Tristan helped me to my feet, deftly subtracting the cup from me. “That way.” He pointed, a swift gesture. “None of the Guard will bother you there.”