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.

“D’mselle?” Cautious, he did not glance at me while he spoke. “May I have a word?”

I stared into the fire, kept a sob suppressed in my chest, and could only give him a nod.

It was not polite, but he accepted it. “I know I cannot be your favourite person right at the moment, Your Majesty.”

I managed to speak. “Oh, for the sake of every god that ever was, address me as Duchesse, or even Vianne. Please.” Majesty was Lisele’s title, and I would not wear it. Not unless forced.

He paused. A tear trickled down my cheek, but I dashed it away and swallowed the rest with a gulp of wine. I would not cry. “Vianne, then. If I may.” It was the first time I ever heard him sound anything other than disdainful of me. “I must beg your pardon, d’mselle. The world has turned upside down for all of us, and we know not whom to trust. I did not seek to make you my enemy, I merely wished to help Tristan. He is a fine Captain.”

“No doubt.” I stared at the blurring fire. The urge to weep retreated; I was simply too tired to sustain it. “I keep no grudges, sieur chivalier. I have had too many held against me.” I offered my hand. “A truce between us, then?”

He nodded gravely and bent over my fingers. “As you say, d’mselle. Might I offer you counsel?”

I took my hand back, decidedly. Ah, so he has a purpose. Caution, Vianne. “If you like.” Someone made a comment on the other side of the camp, and there was laughter—raucous but well-disciplined.

“The Captain seems harsh.” Jierre seemed to search for proper words. “He has had a strict duty since he was a boy, and takes it seriously. He has sworn you his oath and means to keep it, d’mselle di Rochancheil. If his method of keeping it is not to your liking, I beg of you to remember that he has…well…”

I watched the flames twist as Jierre paused. I finally sighed, taking pity on him. I almost laughed at the turn events had taken. Truly the world had tipped sideways, like a smashed orrery.

“Lieutenant,” I said, with all the gentleness I could scrape together, “tis not necessary to make apologies or excuses for the Captain. He is merely doing his duty to the King. Such loyalty is to be commended.” There. I took a sip of the wine. Foul, too harsh, and unwatered, but what could one expect while fleeing? Now will you leave me alone? That is my only wish.

“Tis not his duty to the King now, d’mselle Vianne. Tis his duty to the Queen. Like it or not, you are the sole blood royal left not tainted by regicide. The rest have been assassinated.”

The meaning of his words penetrated a fog of exhaustion. I stared at his lean dark face, my jaw suspiciously loose. “What?”

“For the last four years, the…ah, hidden branches of the King’s line have been falling prey to unfortunate accidents.” Jierre dropped his voice and leaned close to me. I felt my fingers grow even colder. “Simeon di Rothespelle fell from his horse—someone cut his saddlegirth. Trecie di Colbreux et Vantcienne and her brother were both poisoned; killspells were suspected. Marquisse di Faintroy fell from a casement to a stone bailey—and she had a visitor that day none can identify.” Jierre nodded as I felt comprehension cross my weary face. “There were others, but that was enough to convince me—and convince the King, too. Tristan has been hunting this conspiracy for years now, and had a watch set over you at Court, lest an attempt be made on your life.”

My jaw no longer threatened. It had dropped, but I closed my mouth hurriedly. It did not do for a lady to gape as a fish. What else? The Moon will surely turn to cheese in the sky, and pigs begin to sing. Yes, impossible things were coming thick and fast now. “But I never saw—,” I whispered.

“Of course you never saw.” Jierre’s low voice turned dark. “Do you think the Captain that inept? And everyone knows he—”

I do not wish to know. “What more could everyone know, that I do not? No, do not tell me. Please, sieur. I can stand no more.”

“I am sorry, d’mselle.” I do believe he was. “I beg you, and it please you, to be kind to him.”

Kind to him? “I loosed him from the Palais donjon. He requires more kindness from me?” I had not meant to say as much aloud. Attending Court does mean one is required to do much one would rather not; I knew my duty and had always performed it to exaction. What more could di Yspres want? What more did any of them want?

“True.” Jierre shifted closer, his voice dropping still further. “Yet there is another donjon holding him, d’mselle. And you hold the key to that one.”

What, the man is playing riddlesharp with me? I am not the opponent I once was at that game, sieur. But, miserably, I knew what he meant. Jierre sought to tell me d’Arcenne would kill himself avenging the King’s death or seeking to put me on the throne—and his faithful lieutenant did not like the thought.

I did not blame him. The thought of d’Arcenne’s death sent a strange panicked bolt through me. I had to find a way to loose the Captain from the chains of his own sworn oath. And not so incidentally, loose myself from this nightmarish conundrum.

Dear blessed gods, what am I to do now? But I am well used to planning; one cannot sponsor a fête or an entrance at the Salonne without overcoming some practical obstacles. One furthermore cannot hunt an intrigue, manage a small independence, or stock a stillroom without overcoming obstacles and stumbling-blocks, either. Or deal with a fractious Princesse.

I calculated swiftly and cast my dice. “Then I will need your help, Lieutenant,” I whispered. “Can you make a horse ready for me, not tonight…Mayhap tomorrow night?”

Jierre gave me a strange look. His eyes narrowed.

“I do not seek d’Arcenne’s death, either.” I could swear his jaw dropped at my words. We were trading surprises, the lieutenant and I. “He will kill himself for what he thinks is duty. I think I can free him of it—but I need your help to do so. I can give you the Aryx and ride south for the ports, draw off pursuit and buy you time to take the Seal elsewhere.”

He stared at me as if I were mad. “D’mselle—”

“Your Majesty?” It was Pillipe di Garfour, looming over me with a bowl in his hand. “Tis stew, and hot, even if it is not Court fare. Tinan is not a very good cook, but he is better than some.”

“Damn me with faint praise,” Tinan called from the fire. “You had half the cooking of this, di Garfour, if tis gone wrong you share the blame.”

Rudely recalled, I reached up. Di Garfour almost jerked his hand back, as if my touch singed him.

Jierre di Yspres made it to his feet. He stared down at me with something like astonishment. It struck me di Garfour and di Rocham sought to make me smile, so I dutifully gave them my bright, interested Court expression. “I am sure tis well enough. I am hungry, I did not have my chai yesterday.”

My stomach flipped. I tasted the stew, and found it was hot and probably nutritious. That was all that could be said for it. But I took a few bites, and they all crowded around and began their sup, loosely grouped around the fire, some of them sitting on their saddles.

The Captain appeared at my side. “Blessed gods.” A rare bit of humor lightened his beaten face. “You must be brave, d’mselle Vianne, to eat Tinan’s cooking.”

A general shout of laughter rose. The young Guard flushed, and I pitied him. “Well,” I managed diplomatically, “tis not the worst I’ve had. Amys was preparing eels yesterday.” I bit my lip, remembering the cook. I set my bowl aside, and tried to put a bright face on it. The art of conversation requires making oneself agreeable, amusing where possible, instructing gently other times. “I loathe eels, but I would always have to try them. She would always ask me how they were, if they needed more salt or chivin. Imagine my surprise when I found she thought I loved eels—someone mischievous had told her they were my favourite delicacy.”

That caused more laughter, and di Rocham grinned at me gratefully. My heart lightened. The boy was charming, and he would have quite a career…if there was ever a Court he could return to.

The Captain settled next to me; I leaned away as subtly as I could. For some reason di Rocham hurriedly glanced away, his face falling as if he had seen something amiss.

I had done my duty and they did not look to me to amuse now. So I pulled my knees up and let their conversation drift around me. It was the closest to merriment I had heard from them, and with good reason. But they seemed easier now, and if I stayed silent and looked into the fire they might forget my presence a little.

“Tis not to your liking?” The Captain’s hand fell to his side. Had he been about to touch my shoulder?

Startled, I did not flinch only with an effort. “What?”

“The stew. I will admit Tinan needs practice, but tis not so bad. Not like Jierre’s cooking.” His blue eyes were shadowed, and firelight made the sharp planes of his face softer. You could almost miss the marring from the beating he’d been gifted.

“Tis well enough.” I touched the bowl with two fingers, decided I could not force myself to do more. “I simply have little appetite, Captain.” My voice broke on the last syllable, and I cursed myself. This was no time to be a blithering idiot. “My life has taken a rather surprising turn, of late.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looked down into his own bowl. “Try to eat, Vianne. You will need your strength.”

I nodded. Hunger is the best sauce for any stew, but even hunger could not force me to swallow more than I already had. “I beg your pardon, Captain. I do not mean to be a burden.”

Did he wince? It was impossible to be sure, dusk was gathering rapidly between the trees. “You are no burden, d’mselle. You’ve borne up with far more grace than any other Court dame would have.” He raked his dark hair back from his face with stiff fingers, and I saw the shadow of stubble along his chin. Of course, he had not had time to shave. A few of the Guard sported mustaches in honor of the King, but Tristan was clean-shaven.

I wondered what that roughness would feel like under my fingertips. Surely it did no harm to wonder, as long as I remembered he would not, did not, care for me. “My thanks for the compliment. I feel a burden and a fool. If I had not been in that passage—”

Did the smoke sting his eyes as it stung mine? For he blinked, quickly. “Twas luck, Vianne. Or fate. Had you not happened along, you would have been with the Princesse, and taken or killed.”

“If I had not been in that corridor, mayhap I could have saved Lisele.” I touched the bowl again, running my fingers along the metal rim.

“One unarmed woman against men who slew two of my Guard, then killed the Princesse and her ladies? You will drive yourself mad if you think such a thing.” Shadows now leapt away from the firelight. Night falls swiftly with no candle or witchlight to hold it back, even in spring.

“I wonder if madness might not be a comfort,” I said bitterly. My feet ached; the boots, however sturdy, were not made for this abuse. Nor was the rest of me. “I was not with Lisele when she needed me.”

“You could not have saved her. You rescued the Aryx, and freed me from an iron cell.”

Did he seek to ease my conscience? It was gallant of him, but I did not wish any comfort from his quarter. Still… There is another donjon holding him, d’mselle. And you hold the key to that one. “I would free you from your oath, and you could find service with another Court. Navarrin, perhaps, or even Badeau. They would be glad of you.” And their borders would keep you safer than most. The Damarsene would not take you, the Pruzians would kill you, and the Torkai, barbarians that they are, who knows what they would do? The image of d’Arcenne in the turbaned Court of Torkai, spreading himself on the floor to bow to their King, would have been highly diverting once. Now it merely irritated me.

“A man accused of killing his own King?” His mouth drew into a firm line. “What folly are you speaking?”

It is not folly if it saves a life, Captain. I gathered myself. “Think practically, Captain. There is no hope of success. The Duc has been laying his plans for years, if what sieur di Yspres says is true—”

An almost-violent start bumped his shoulder against mine. “What else did Jierre tell you?” he broke in, rudely.

I pulled the blanket closer. The night would be cold, a coolness already touched my cheeks. “He told me those with royal blood, however begotten, have been dying for four years now. It does not take a bludgeon to make me see truth. If you arrive at a foreign Court, you can find a position for yourself and your men. If I may find a safe place to leave the Aryx I can perhaps trade on my smile and my knowledge of riddles and charming companionship to make my way in the world until I find a means to make the Duc pay. In any case, his rule will founder of its own weight without the Aryx. I am asking you to be released of your oath, and to cease your determination to throw your life away.”

I had not realized my voice had risen dangerously until I finished, and heard the ringing silence around the campfire. All eyes were on us. “Look well upon me, sieur d’Arcenne,” I continued. “Do I look anyone’s idea of a Queen? Court protocol stifles me, games of politics and rumor disgust me even when I must play them for my Princesse’s safety. I was taught to have no ambition. The lesson’s held well enough everyone who conspired to teach it should be proud. An accident of blood—so my grandmother dallied with a King? What of it? Plenty of ladies have done both more and less; tis not my fault or failing. I do not want this—and I care not if you do kill me; it would be a blessing to die after what I’ve seen.”

My voice broke, and I was perilously close to another fit of weeping. Instead, I rose blindly to my feet, dropping the blanket. “Look upon me!” I cried, and they did to a man. “Do I look a Queen? Nonsense. Am I dignified? Regal? I caught you at your game in that passageway because I was covered in mud, Tristan, is that a very queenly picture? And I crept down to the donjon to free you because I believed a King’s idle jest. Very well, I am a fool, a provincial little fool, punish me for it! I have spent my life smoothing and covering the mistakes others have made and I am sick to death of it!”

Now I was weeping, after swearing not to. My eyes were blind with hot water, and I restrained the urge to stamp my feet with an effort that left me trembling yet more violently. “I should have died in her place!” I cried, aware only of the silence cloaking the firelit group of men. “My only friend—my only friend—and I was not there to save her! She gave me the Aryx by accident—and you call me a Queen. Queen of fools, perhaps. Queen of idiots.” Twas as if all the words I had ever refrained from were rising up to betray me, a torrent of what should not be said. A breeze blew smoke from the fire, made the branches sough. “Now you ask me to be responsible for the death of you and your men. You could have left me to the Duc’s tender mercies, and no doubt most of you wished to. But you did not, and I am most grateful, it would be poor indeed to repay you thus.”

The effort not to scream left me gasping. I turned on my heel, stalked to the edge of the firelit circle and sought to master myself. My fingers clutched as if I still possessed skirts and could use them to hide my fists. I addressed the night beyond the circle of fireglow. Here was as good a place as any to cease this madness.

“I will not be the cause of your deaths. The Duc cannot rule without the Aryx. All I must do is keep the Great Seal from his hands for long enough and his rule will crumble, and there will be no need of any more death. I have seen far too much of death already.” I shuddered at the thought. Make certain. The wet, crunching noises. The blood. The smell. “I will not be the cause of more.”

“Vianne.” Tristan’s voice.

You presume great familiarity, chivalier. “Hold your tongue, Captain d’Arcenne,” I snapped. “I will not be the cause of more death. I refuse.”

Silence, except for the crackling of the fire. I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped at my streaming cheeks, wished I had a kerchief. I could have thought to bring one instead of a comb, twould have been more useful.

I took a step, another. A third.

“Where will you go, then?” It was not the Captain, it was Jierre di Yspres. “Tonight is no night for traveling, d’mselle. Stay with us, an it please you. Morning will make things look less bleak.”

“Aye.” Tinan di Rocham, grave and quiet. “We are all stunned at the death we’ve seen, d’mselle Vianne. We laugh and banter to keep from weeping. There is no shame in it.”

Oddly enough, the words salved some of the aching in my chest. I dropped my head into my hands and stood, wishing the earth would open and swallow me, lightning would strike from the heavens and incinerate me. I should not have said even a quarter of what I had just flung at d’Arcenne. The black fit of sobbing threatened to drown me again, and I wondered if I would ever learn to be strong, and not such a sodden mess of weeping.

Like a heroine in a courtsong. Dark, unhealthy amusement rose at the thought. I will dissolve in a puddle of salt, and there will be no more discussion of Queen this and Aryx that and the Fate of Arquitaine the other.

“Then why do I feel so ashamed, Tinan di Rocham?” Muffled by my hands, I was amazed he heard me.

“Because you are breathing, and one you love is not.” At least he was truthful. “Tis a common thing, to feel shame at surviving. I felt it when my brother died, and near it killed me. My mother pleaded with me…” He trailed off, uncomfortably. “Please, d’mselle. Do not do something rash now. There’s time enough between here and Arcenne—if we reach the mountains whole, that is—to decide with clear heads what to do next. We are proud to have you with us. At least I am.”

“And I.” This from di Yspres. “It was no mean feat to rescue our Captain, d’mselle, or to hide in the Palais itself when you knew the Duc was searching for you. You are as brave as any Guard.”

“Aye to that,” Pillipe di Garfour echoed. There was a murmur of assent that fair threatened to break my heart in its well-meaning eagerness.

“Braver than any one of us,” someone said—perhaps Luc di Chatillon.

I do not need empty words, sieur. I need a hole in the earth wide enough to swallow me. The strength ran out of my legs, and I dropped down again, put my head on my knees. It was no use. I had nowhere to go. I sat like that until someone brought the blanket, wrapped it around me, and sat near enough I could feel a friendly warmth.

There was not much talk after that. At least, I did not hear much before I fell asleep sitting up, leaning into someone’s shoulder with my face buried in my knees.

I half-woke in darkness. Someone had removed my boots, and the ground was hard though I lay on something that sought to cushion it a trifle. There were two blankets over me. It felt very late, and the fire had burned down to a low glow.

“…garrisons,” Jierre said softly.

“Or we risk bandits in the forest, yes,” Tristan replied, and sighed. A faint rasping, as if he rubbed at his face. “Tis no pretty choice.”

“The bandits will likely do us less harm. We are well armed, and can travel swiftly.” This was Adersahl di Parmecy et Villeroche, the stocky one with the fine mustache.

“What of the d’mselle?” Jierre, now. “Her strength may not hold if we ride much harder.”

“True,” Adersahl said. “Have you ever seen such spirit, though?”

Mock me, I thought sleepily. I have no means of stopping you. Do as you please. I care little. A stone dug into my hip, but I did not chance moving.

“Aye to that.” Jierre sounded anxious now. “Tristan?”

“The question is, the low route, or the road through the forest?” Tristan, oddly sharp. The fire crackled, banked and low. I longed for my own soft bed, a servant closing my door and taking away an empty glass of wine; I longed for the two leather-bound tomes on Tiberian history I had been reading and the small jeweled statue of Jiserah at my elbow as I dimmed the witchlight and settled back with a sigh, the door to Arioste’s closette and the other door to Lisele’s sleeping chamber wide open so my Princesse had only to call and I could attend. Most nights she would steal past Arioste’s narrow bed—Lady Wintrefelle rarely woke, and for all her beauty she snored like a pig—and we would fall asleep in my bed, giggling or quiet with the silence that comes only after you have known someone since childhood.

I stirred uneasily. They were mute for a long while, and I had almost fallen back into sleep’s black softness. The darkness behind my eyelids held shapes I did not care to examine too closely. Crumpled shapes in bloody dresses, lying so still.

So, so still.

“I would say through the forest.” Jierre, finally. “Bandits are a lesser danger to us at the moment.”

“I agree.” Tristan sighed. “Did I go amiss, Jierre?”

There was another long, uncomfortable silence. “I would not presume, sieur,” Jierre replied. “You acted honorably. I was wrong to doubt you.”

“Tis not what I meant.” Tristan sounded amused now, and bootleather creaked. “Gods above, this is a mess.”

“Aye,” Adersahl coughed, but it did not cover his laugh. “I never thought I would live to see this turn.”

“Many thanks, Adersahl,” Tristan said drily.“You are enjoying this courtsong?”

“Of course not,” the older man returned. “I wish you luck, tis all.”

Tristan cursed, but it was good-natured, and they all three laughed softly, so as not to wake the others. It was shared merriment, and I envied it.

Stealthy footsteps, going to different parts of the firelit clearing. Someone settled next to me, and I could not hold my peace. “Is something wrong?” Slow and sleepy, as if I dreamed.

“No,” Tristan d’Arcenne said very softly. “Sleep, Vianne. We are standing watch.”

“Captain?” I wished him to speak again. For when I heard him, the ugly visions faded somewhat.

“Try to rest,” He did not sound angry.

Say something diplomatic, Vianne. My tongue was thick with fatigue. “Your pardon, Captain. I was not kind to you.”

“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.