“I do not recognize this picture you paint,” I laughed, and breathed into his shoulder, smelling leather and male and the indescribable that made him. “I rather wonder that you think to court me now.”
“Making up lost time. Now listen, Navarrin is a greedy marketwife, but she does not demand tribute payment from Arquitaine. Partly because the Santciago House of Navarrin is related to Tirecian-Trimestin by both blood and marriage, and also because the Passes Cirithe, not to mention the Thread Pass, are both too narrow to supply an army through without holding the mountain provinces. Besides, Arquitaine menaces Rus and Torkai to the east, acts as a buffer against Damarsene, Pruzia, and Polis, balances against Tiberia for trade interests. And more. So. Were Navarrin to come to our aid, their lines of supply would be stretched thin, and tis no inducement for them unless a weak Arquitaine will no longer hold back Rus and the Damarsene. The tribute payments to the Rus’Zar are bad enough, but Rus knows Arquitaine can field an army at need and come to the aid of any of the client-states, or the Principalities if necessary, and be richly rewarded. But north-and-eastward, closer to our borders than the Rus…that is what troubles me. There was news in that quarter having to do with the conspiracy, but I had not ferreted it all out yet, being too busy seeking the killer of the King’s line before he struck you down.” His tone was careful, almost overly so. I wondered why he chose his words with such delicacy.
“Hm.” I thought of old maps, straining my brain to think of dangers from the east. “Pruzia. And the Sea-Countries, and Haviroen in their mountains. But the Havi are traditionally neutral. Anyway, Pruzia. Oh, and the Damarsene.” A cool finger of dread touched my nape, remembering Adrien’s suspicions. That the two of them would worry over the same country for different reasons was thought-provoking, to say the least.
“Yes, Damar. Where most of the tribute goes, since the King’s Consort died so mysteriously.” Tristan’s lips touched my knuckles again. “Only now that the Aryx is awake, perhaps tribute will become a thing of the past.”
Enough of this. I sighed, settling myself further at ease into his shoulder. “I am glad to have you, Tristan. I pray the Seal will choose someone else eventually.”
“I do not think it will. For good or for ill, you are the Queen.” His tone changed. Was he sad?
“I do not wish to be.”
“I know.” He stroked my shoulder. “My poor hedgewitch darling.”
“Tristan, do you think…” I touched his jaw, felt the roughness of stubble. “After you no longer find me so attractive, will we still be friends?”
“Is that what this is about?” He kissed my knuckles again. “Hmmm.”
Now I had offended him. I trailed my fingers over the plane of his cheek “Well?”
“I adore you, Vianne.” His tone had grown serious, but he sounded relieved. “You think me faithless?”
It scored me to the quick, that he could think so. “Of course not.” Who was loyal to me, if not him?
“Then do not trouble yourself with thinking I will suddenly lose my taste for you. Do you think a man who has watched over you for years, dragged you through half of Arquitaine on his saddle without touching you, and has gone grey worrying about the trouble you fling yourself into will tire of you after a few nights?” He laughed, stroking my hair, except his merriment was not pleasant. “You have such a low opinion of me after all.”
I wondered where his bitterness came from. There was still so much I did not know of him. “Oh, cease. I have a very high opinion of my Consort, I shall have you know.” High enough that I do not ask you what lies between you and Adrien di Cinfiliet. High enough that I have given myself to you.
He still stroked my hair, gently, lifting a few strands, playing with them. I shut my eyes.
“You still surprise me, m’chri. Every time I think I have your mind mapped, it takes another turn.”
“Di Yspres said you have had a hard life,” I found myself saying. Sleep threatened, now that I was abed and motionless, and I could not ask him of Adrien. “Is that true?”
“Jierre said that? No, I am fortunate. Twas hard to leave home and go to Court, but I had reached my Coming-of-Age and it was my duty to do what I could. Father needed someone to make certain the border provinces were heard at Court, and the Guard is a good way for a young man to make himself. And then…”
“Then what?” The sound of him telling a tale soothed me.
“Then I caught the King’s eye and became the Captain, and four years later the Left Hand. It seemed there was nothing I could not do. Except court a King’s half-niece. I tried, but you did not see me, and I doubted Henri would let…then the conspiracy was afoot. I suddenly had no time to worry, being very busy indeed with death in every corner of Arquitaine.” He took a deep sharp breath. No doubt twas unpleasant to think on.
“When did you try to catch my notice?” I was suddenly very curious about this, even more curious than I was about Navarrin and Damarsene and the thousand worries outside our chamber door.
He laughed again. This time it was not so bitter, and I was glad of it. “I haunted your steps like a demieri di sorce, Vianne. I finally acquired a habit of leaving you books instead of nosegays.”
Oh? My sixteenth birthday, just before you became Captain. I remember this; it went on for months. “That was you? I thought someone had lost them, and I tried to return them to the Palais library.”
“There was no end to the merriment among the Guard when you did so.” Now he sounded wry. “I finally admitted defeat. It was not safe for either of us. My Guard was loyal, but a man in his cups can speak ill-advised words. I had to pretend not to care.”
“When did you…” Again, not something a lady could ask.
He answered anyway. “I was seventeen, it was my first night at Court as a Guard. You and Lisele played riddlesharp, and after a few games you let her win. Then she wished to dance, so you did with good grace. It was the first time I ever saw you dance, I think I was lost that very moment. You wore green silk, and you looked one of Alisaar’s maidens come to earth. I fell, and have never been free since.”
I barely remembered that dress; I had only been thirteen. “I did let her win at riddlesharp, but I had to be careful not to let her think so.” She was prickly with her pride, my Princesse. She could not know I let her win, but if I looked amiss while doing so she would guess, and then it would be unpleasant.
“Hm. That sharp mind of yours.” His touch was soothing. My head was so heavy, and it ached. “Rest, Vianne.”
Now I could ask; the idea was lain gently in my brain as if the gods themselves had whispered in my ear. “Tristan?”
“What, m’chri?” He stroked my cheek, touched my lips tenderly.
“Why do you dislike Adrien di Cinfiliet?” I sounded half asleep even to myself.
His hand tensed. “It does not matter.”
I fell silent as he stroked my hair, but I did not sleep for a long while. He would not speak of it, and I could not ask. I lay thinking as his breathing deepened, and wondered why I felt so suddenly bereft.
Chaos. Crashing. Tristan’s oath, deadly quiet, as steel chimed.
I sat up, clutching the covers to my chest. Ducked as something came flying, sensing more than seeing it in the blackness; I was lucky whatever it was did not strike me. My skirt slid against the sheets — I had fallen asleep in my clothes.