“Tristan watched over you,” Jierre prompted.
I gathered myself. Now was as good a time as any for me to chance a throw. “He was commanded to by the King. Chivalier, I know you do not wish Captain d’Arcenne to throw his life away for what he thinks is his duty any more than I do. I thought if I could give him the Aryx and ride south, I might draw some attention and leave you time and space to reach Arcenne safely.” And I may hide myself quite handily as a hedgewitch, or starve to death in Marrseize. “The Captain seems determined to do himself some harm,” I added delicately.
Di Yspres shrugged. His face had shut itself most firmly, all amusement fled. “You hold the Aryx, and are of royal blood. You cannot relinquish it, Your Majesty, as much as you may wish to. Arquitaine law says the Aryx chooses its holder.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “But it did not choose me. I was late reaching Lisele’s side, and she pressed it on me. Tis not mine.” What of this do you not understand, Lieutenant? I am seeking to save you and d’Arcenne some trouble; I will not go very far on this course without your help.
“But it is.” He was just as merciless as his Captain. “The Aryx is what all Court sorcery flows from. It is the heart of Arquitaine, and tis more than powerful enough to have chosen you instead of d’Orlaans.”
It was perilously close to blasphemy, but I had to say it. “If tis so powerful, why did it not save Lisele? And the King?”
Jierre stopped, pushing his hair back with his fingers. His boots creaked slightly as he shifted, and his rapier tapped the chair. “Who knows, d’mselle? Yet for good or ill, we have sworn our service to you as the Queen.”
“What if I released you from your service, chivalier?” My hand was a fist, wrapped around the ear-drops, but I lifted it and touched the hard lump of the Aryx under the linen shift. I had been able to wash myself that morn, though it had cost me far more effort than such a simple operation should entail, and Tinan di Rocham’s clothes were away to be laundered.
I was grateful for that. The weight of the lump of metal at my throat, however, did no good. My chest could barely rise and fall under such a burden.
A single shrug. My protest was of little account to this man. “If you released us all tomorrow, we would simply take our oaths again. We are bound to this course.”
“You could go over the mountains to Navarrin and take service there.” And you would live. I would not have your deaths on my burdened conscience. I have enough, by the Blessed.
“We are d’Arquitaine.” His chin lifted proudly, shoulders back. “And we are in the right. The Duc killed his brother and his niece. Such a monster is not fit for the throne.”
I could not argue with that. “I wish you could find someone else.” I dropped my eyes back to the quilt.
“So does Tristan. He could court the Duchesse di Rocancheil, but the Queen of Arquitaine is an entirely different tale.”
You jest too much. I stared at Jierre, who leaned forward earnestly. My heart thundered as if I would faint, like any well-bred d’mselle in a silly courtsong. Or is he mocking me? Both are equally likely. I searched for a response that would not lead the conversation into even more dangerous waters. Now that I knew he would not help me, I would be forced to find what I could in another direction. The di Rocham boy. Or di Parmecy et Villeroche — he seemed, perhaps, easily led? I did not know enough about them to begin setting my snares. “Captain d’Arcenne does not seem the courting type.” What would Comtesse Rochburre say? A bright pain pierced my chest. The numbness, my friend, was wearing away, and the truth of the horrors I had seen sinking in. I half-wished we were still riding through Arquitaine, so I could have something other than these memories to torment me.
“Do you not care for him, then?” Di Yspres leaned even further forward, intent. Was it cruelty in his bright dark gaze? “Because, d’mselle—”
“Please. Do not mock me, Chivalier di Yspres, I beg of you. If you will not aid me, leave me be.” My voice broke on the last syllable, and a knock sounded at the door. Rescued, and not a moment too soon. I closed my eyes, sinking into the pillows.
There was a pause, and three more knocks. Di Yspres unlocked the door, and booted feet tramped. Sudden fear turned the taste of the Feversbane on my tongue to copper.
“Good morn to you, Jierre.” Twas Luc di Chatillon’s light, merry voice, and I slumped into the pillows, wishing mightily for anodyne sleep. “How does the Queen?”
“Well enough. How does the Guard?” There was the sound of men greeting one another — the slaps on the shoulder, the creaking of leather.
“Well enough as well.” Di Chatillon gave forth another merry laugh. “Much easier, now that we know she’ll live. We were fair worried.”
“No less than d’Arcenne,” Adersahl di Parmecy et Villeroche said. “May we speak to her?”
It was no use. I could not feign stupor at this point, and it would be unconscionable to waste such an opportunity for setting my wits to discovering which of them would aid me. The three of them clustered near the door, and I pulled my hand back under the covers, slipping the ear-drops back into the small pocket sewn into my shift.
“Take care not to tire her. The physicker says she will be fit to travel soon if we do not ride too hard.”
Luc di Chatillon’s blond head dipped. He approached the bed, Adersahl trailing him. The older man smoothed his fine mustache nervously.
“Good morn to you, Your Majesty.” Di Chatillon’s hazel eyes danced. They did not wear the red sash of the Guard here, but Court was evident in the bow he swept me, his hat’s feather almost brushing the floor. “And a bright Blessed dawning. Glad to see you hale.”
“My thanks for your concern.” I felt real gratefulness, so I smiled as prettily as possible.
He grinned in return. For a first sally, it held promise.
“D’mselle.” Adersahl di Parmecy took my hand, which I had freed from the quilt. He bent over it, his black mustache tickling as it brushed my knuckles. “We feared for you.”
“No need for fear.” I took my hand back after he straightened. “But I thank you for it.” And I will see if you or your partner are easily led. A horse and some time is all I need. That, and to take this metal from my throat.
“What news is there?” the lieutenant asked di Chatillon, drawing him away.
“None. Town is quiet, forest is quiet, and di Narborre is hunting to the south. We have some time.” The blond man’s grin faded a little. “Is the…is d’mselle di Rocancheil truly well?”
We shall not be accusing me of vapors now. “I am well enough.” I tried to sound as firm as Countess Rocheburre. “I could ride today, were it required.” All three men halted and gazed at me, perhaps astonished. I felt a completely reprehensible desire to laugh, suppressed it. “Truly. I do not wish the Guard in any deeper danger. The sooner you reach Arcenne, the safer you are.”
Luc di Chatillon glanced at Jierre, one sandy eyebrow raised. Had Court not taught him to veil such speaking glances? He most patently did not believe me.
Di Parmecy smoothed his magnificent mustache. It seemed a nervous movement, as if he stroked a small furry animal to calm himself. “D’mselle…the fever was very dire. Very dire indeed.”