“You and I shall come to a disagreement someday, bandit.” He did not move, and the fading light fled even faster from the chill in his voice.
“Is that so.” Adrien’s shoulders were tense, yet his tone was calm, without its usual mocking edge. I breathed out softly in relief, but caught myself anew when he continued. “Not today, then?”
“I would not stain my honor by dueling a man who has none.” The words were clipped, the cut direct. My hands turned to fists, rubbing against the velvet of my skirts. I had drawn back, instinctively seeking the deepest shadow, the same instinct warning me to stay unseen. It was as if I were in the passage again, my skirts held back and the Minister Primus choking.
Adrien was silent for a long moment, and the sharp unsmell of violence drifted in the gallery’s warm air. The pops and crackles of a building settling itself for the night began to tick softly, and I wondered if I should step through the arch, cough, or make some noise to distract them, and avert the brewing storm. I peered into deepening gloom, the Sun having fled, full dusk settling in the sky. Glowlamps hung along the gallery began to diffuse their light, but it would take an hour for them to reach full strength.
“What honor do you have left, Captain? And if you challenge me to a duel, there is a dark-eyed lady who will not think kindly of it.” The suddenly-regained mockery in Adrien’s voice took my breath away. I leaned against the wall, my hot forehead longing for the touch of cool stone.
Tristan’s reply was not mocking. Instead, it was quiet, conciliatory, and utterly dangerous. “Go carefully, di Cinfiliet. If you threaten her — or if it seems likely to me that you will—I will not hesitate.”
Adrien’s laugh was a knife to the chest. “I am no threat to her, vilhain. You would do well to be cautious yourself. You are not such a secret to me as you are to our d’mselle.” He laid particular stress on the our, and pushed past Tristan, their shoulders striking. “Besides,” he said as he walked away, his bootheels clicking, “I look forward to the day all is revealed.”
He vanished into the darkness at the other end of the gallery. There was a soft sound as the door to the bailey opened, his gaunt figure silhouetted for a moment against the purple dusk outside.
Jierre relaxed a trifle, his shoulders dropping. I drew back further, behind the arch, and prayed they would not notice me.
“It can be arranged,” di Yspres said after a long silence. “Captain?”
What can be arranged? Are you asking what I think you are, Lieutenant? Another long pause. My heart was bitter in my throat. Be logical, Vianne. They do not like each other at all. Yet there is somewhat else here. What am I to think of this? I am spying in a corner, and I do not know what occurred before I came along.
It could not have been much; I had run to catch Adrien. What had I missed?
“He is useful enough.” Tristan’s tone had taken back some of its wonted warmth. He did not sound so furious now. “For now. Our concern is d’Orlaans, not a backwoods bandit.”
“The Queen?” I heard faint sounds, their boots on stone. Were they coming toward me, or away?
“She has worries enough.” Now Tristan sounded heavy, and weary. “I would not add one more.”
Are they coming toward me, or going away? Please, gods. The Aryx cooled against my skin, its muted song threading through my head. I reached up, clutching at the Seal and the velvet of my bodice, one hard supple curve against my thumb.
“I do not think she will break,” Jierre said.
Away. They were moving away. I slumped against the wall. Tristan’s reply was almost too far away to be distinguished, but I strained my ears.
“She may not break, but I would shield her from all I can. Come, I am due at dinner.”
I stood there trembling, the chill of stone seeping through my dress. Copper filled my mouth.
I must take care to keep them apart. For if the man I loved and my only remaining kin came to blows, what would I do? True, I had just discovered my kinship with Adrien, and I could not weigh him against my Consort.
Still, they had both sheltered me, in their fashion.
I would shield her from all I can. The words made my heart turn warm and soft inside my chest. Men flung harsh words at each other sometimes, and they were both weary and strained.
You are not such a mystery to me as you are to our d’mselle.
It meant little, for Tristan was not a mystery to me. Or if he was, he was the mystery of a man I wished to spend my life decoding. He was my Consort.
All the same, I wished the Aryx had chosen Adrien. If I let it take me, if I wandered through those doors of sorcery, could I find the one that would teach me how to shift this burden from my shoulders?
And onto his? You would wish this on anyone?
Perhaps not, but certainly he was better fit for it. Why the Seal persisted in this folly was beyond me.
I gathered myself as best I could and retraced my route to the turning that would take me to Sílvie’s sitting room. I could not speak of this, and there would be no need to, as I suspected Tristan would not, either. I would merely resolve to keep him and Adrien separated. It should not be too hard.
An uncomfortable thought remained. Were I called to intervene, I suspected I would choose my Captain. I had lived without kin before.
I did not wish to live without my Consort.
I was right. Two weeks passed, and Tristan made no mention of Adrien. I was glad of it, and held my own peace.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The door flung itself open, banging against the wall with a violence that gave my heart an ugly shock. Jierre di Yspres strode into the room, a scroll clutched in his fist. “Your Majesty. News.”
“Dear gods. What?” I gained my feet, paper shuffling on the tabletop. Tristan’s hand eased itself from his swordhilt, and I noticed how he was suddenly between me and the door. How quickly had he moved to set himself there?
“A message.” Jierre strode grimly through a square of sunlight from the open window. Tristan’s father had offered me the use of Arcenne’s library, a pleasant book-walled room that looked out onto the garden, once it became apparent the study was far too small. I was glad of it, for every day seemed filled with nothing but paper and unpleasantness — dispatches, reports, decisions to make, Councils to attend. It was small wonder the King had only rarely attended to his daughter — if he had been choked with this much paperwork I did not much blame him. “From the traitor himself, d’mselle, and addressed to you.”
What now? At least tis a scroll and not an army. I took the offending article with numb fingers and looked at Tristan. “I think your father had better hear of this.”
“Aye. Take word to my father, Jierre. Tell him to bring who he sees fit. Where is the one who brought this?” Tristan’s eyes were hard and cold as late-winter frost.
“A Messenger. Held under Guard, awaiting the Queen’s pleasure.” Jierre’s eyes were as cold as Tristan’s.
“Offer him no violence. Be as courteous as you can; I shall wish to speak to him.” I held di Yspres’s gaze for a few moments, measuring him. “Feed him, stable his horse, and tell him he will spend the night at our hospitality. Not one hair of his head is to be harmed, di Yspres, but keep him under guard.”