The fever resurged over the next three days, fighting for me, but Risaine di Cinfiliet—her name sounded familiar, though I could not think of why—was a skilled healer, and by the third day when the fever broke for the last time in a gush of sweat, I was well on my way to mending. Risaine was marvelously patient, saving her sharp tongue for her nephew and Tristan, whom she disliked intensely—or pretended she did.

She treated me as an old m’dama auntie might cosset a beloved niece, cajoling me into eating, her voice soft but inflexible. Blotting my forehead, soothing me when I woke from nightmares—for terrible dreams there were, every time the fever crested, and Lisele bled in each of them.

Tristan visited, but he said little. He was unfailingly calm and polite, but he did not look at my face overmuch. Instead, he gazed at my hands, or at my knees under the blanket, or at the fire.

I must have looked dreadful.

By the fifth day, I could sit, shakily, in bed. I was sipping at a cup of broth into which Risaine had crumbled dried pungent fevrebit, grimacing a little at the sharp taste, when Adersahl and Jierre ducked into the low room. Jierre’s forehead was clouded with worry, and Adersahl’s mustache drooped a little, which alarmed me almost more than Tristan’s new policy of distant kindness.

“Only a moment, mind,” Risaine said sharply, following them into the sudden crowding. This house had only one room and a privy, and I had taken Risaine’s bed. She slept in a wooden rocking chair by the fire with a quilt wrapped around her more often than not, and chided me briskly when I begged her to let me sleep upon the floor. Fine physicker I would be if you caught chill after fever from sleeping on a Shirlstrienne floor. Do not be ridiculous, child. And I meekly bowed my head.

Jierre ignored her, came straight to the bedside. He gripped his hat in his hands as if afraid it would fly away did he loosen his fingers. “D’mselle. You’re well? Truly?”

“Not well,” I admitted, offering him my hand. “But much better nonetheless, chivalier. My thanks for your concern. What ails you?”

“Grim news, d’mselle.” Adersahl spoke as Jierre took my hand and bent over it perfunctorily. “There is word from—”

“No,” Risaine said sharply, from her position by the fireplace. She was preparing a tisane for woundrot, jars and jars of it. I did not dare ask why. “Let her rest for a little while longer, sieurs, an it please you.”

The lieutenant shot her a look that could have cut stone. “M’dama Marquisse. I am under my Captain’s orders, not yours.”

“D’Arcenne is a fool if he worries her now. Look at her, chivalier, this noblewoman you’ve sworn to. Look at how thin she is, and the circles under her eyes, and the way her hand shakes.” Risaine let out a sharp chuff of annoyance, pushing back a white curl. “You will kill her, do you continue in this manner. Then where will you be?”

The urge to conciliate all but overpowered me. “I am not as bad as all that.” I took my hand back from Jierre with a wan smile. “What has gone wrong? Tristan has been grim for days.” I looked from Jierre to Adersahl, my wits taking on their accustomed sharpness. I found I could guess where the problem lay.

“Oh, no.” My heart thumped, sickly, and settled into a high hard gallop. “They have found us. Or are about to.”

“Not through my spells,” Risaine muttered. “My nephew is merely rash. Excitable. Bloody stubborn.”

Adersahl shrugged. He was broader in the shoulder than whip-lean Jierre, and his bulk granted some comfort. He slapped his hat idly against his stocky thigh. “The bandit wishes to fight them. This is their village, and we may be tracked here.”

“Not through my weavings.” Risaine turned to the fire. “Dri is young, but he still listens to my counsel. He merely speaks of it to needle your Captain. Which is far too easy to do.”

Jierre brushed that aside with a dismissive wave of his hat, his other hand dropping to his rapier’s hilt. “Tell her everything. Tell her about the plague.”

Oh, sweet Blessed, no. Tis not even summer. Plague will spread far and wide without winter to contain it. And there has not been a plague since before the King’s time. My gaze met Adersahl’s. “There is plague? Where? And how badly?”

“What is this merry gathering, and I uninvited?” Tristan said from the door. I took a deep breath. The sight of him: blue d’Arcenne eyes, his clothes clean now—they had the means to take baths here, and I sorely wanted one once I could escape the bed—made my heart commence knocking against my ribs. He had found someone to trim his hair, too; slightly shorter than a chivalier’s current fashion, but it made him even more handsome. “Lieutenant?”

I took another drink of broth, using the time to compose my thoughts. Well. We are about to change the playing field, d’Arcenne. I hope you are unprepared. “What is this I hear of danger and plague, Captain? Is there aught you wish to tell me?”

“I did not wish your worry.” Tristan shot a sharp glance at Jierre, who shrugged, his lean face shuttering itself with an almost audible snap. “We shall speak of this later, di Yspres.”

“You shall not,” I disagreed immediately, but mildly enough. “You will speak of it now, and cease whipping di Yspres for my curiosity. I asked him, Captain, surely I have a right to ask for news?”

I do not know who was more shocked—Tristan; Risaine, who gave me an approving smile; Jierre, whose jaw frankly dropped; or myself. I sounded…

Well, I sounded like the King, amused and casually confident Tristan would obey my orders.

Let us pray he agrees, at least at this moment. I may likely pay for any show of independence later. But here, where there were more people, was a fine time for me to start working my own will, instead of being carried along by his. I had a possible ally in Risaine, and something told me she and her nephew were far from the worst friends I could have in the Shirlstrienne.

“You do.” The Captain nodded slightly, as if to say, proceed. He did not look angered by my sudden authority. Instead, he seemed relieved. “Plague has struck Arquitaine, and struck hard. Citté D’Arquitaine has fallen victim. The plague starts with fever and ends with blood pouring from the nose and mouth until death. Few of those touched by it have recovered. D’Orlaans is seeking the Aryx, though he dares not let anyone know the Great Seal is gone and he carries a false copy. Instead, every garrison and Guard in Arquitaine is looking for you. The tale is that I have kidnapped you and am holding you for ransom to buy my own safety.” A muscle in Tristan’s jaw twitched. “You have been proxy-wed to d’Orlaans in the Chepelle Ste-Mairie.”

I stared through him, thinking furiously. Perhaps I am not helpless. It was a welcome thought. “Plague and a proxy marriage. Dear gods.”

“The Blessed have expressed their displeasure with Arquitaine.” Jierre’s eyebrows were drawn together, and under his coloring he was pale. “You carry the true Seal, d’mselle, so we are safe from the plague, at least.”

“We do not know that,” Risaine interrupted. “She may have just recovered from the sickness. I have not seen this fever before, sieurs, and among this collection of ragtails that is rare indeed.”

“None of us have fallen victim,” Tristan pointed out. His blue gaze bored into me.

That is little comfort. And if I were surprised at Jierre di Yspres’s sudden piety, I needed look no farther than the metal at my own throat to find a good reason for it. If the Seal had slumbered and was now awake…but why? Why wake now, and why plague now?

I could do nothing about the plague for the moment. There were other things I must know. “He proxy-wed me?” He should be seeking to kill me, not still wed me. He has to know I am aware of his conspiracy. “It makes little sense.”

“It means nothing,” Risaine said fiercely. “You hold the Aryx; you cannot be proxy-wed. It will not hold.”

Tristan rested his hand on his rapier’s hilt. “He has a copy of the Aryx and enough Court sorcery to make it seem to live. Especially since the Aryx…well. Court sorcery has become much easier in the past weeks. We have all noticed it.”

“Fools,” Risaine snorted. “All of you, fools.”

No doubt. But I wonder why you say so, m’dama. I looked down into my cup. Court sorcery stronger? I had not noticed, but then, I am not a Court sorcerer. At least, I was not before this.

I must think. But first… “Could I be carrying plague?”

“If you were, one of us would be ill by now. Yet except for di Rocham’s broken heart and Tristan’s scowl, we all seem hale.” Adersahl leaned against the table, examining the herbs piled in neat bundles, the jars standing ready to be scalded. “There is an easy enough solution to all our problems, d’mselle.”

It is not the problems which worry me, it is the cause, which has acquired another tangle. “Which is?” I contemplated the bits of dried fevrebit floating in the broth.

“Is it not obvious? Contract a liaison, and make it public knowledge you have the Aryx.” Adersahl picked up a sprig of rosemaire and crushed it between his broad, deft fingers, inhaled the scent. “Still, the nearest problem is di Narborre. We have discovered he was in Tierrce d’Estrienne some days ago.”

My fingers clenched around the cup. Memory choked me.

“Make certain none still live.” A crunch, and a wet stabbing sound—

I swallowed bile. If I were a man, there would be an accounting for that. Dull anger sparked red in my chest, through layers of numbness. There is much I would repay di Narborre and his master.

“Vianne?” Tristan crossed the room, shouldered Jierre aside, and rescued the cup from my trembling hands. “You are pale.”

I was not short of breath, but I nodded, tendrils of dark hair falling in my face. “When do we leave?” My voice was a thin thread. It was not fear that made me so quiet. Twas instead a great hot-crimson anger, one I pushed aside. A lady must not ever betray such rage.

His hands were warm, and I near forgot every other person in the room as he steadied me. “We are at the edge of the Alpeis, in a hidden bandit’s village. Do not fret, Vianne. This is why I kept the news from you a short while, I wish you to regain your strength before we flee to Arcenne.”

I inhaled sharply. Calm, Vianne. You must be cold as if you are hunting an intrigue meant to catch your Princesse. They caught her, and now you must serve them to their own folly, as quickly and neatly as you may. It will be difficult, but this you must do. “Yet—” I meant to protest that I was fit to ride, that we must be on our way.

“Yet nothing.” Risaine screwed a jar lid on with a practiced, savage twist of her wrist. “Your task is to mend your health. If you die, the Seal might not have a choice but to land in d’Orlaans’s royal-bloody hands, and that would be a tragedy.”

Tristan watched me, his mouth a straight line, his cheeks—was he blushing? And what was that glimmer in his eyes? Fear? The world had indeed gone mad. I searched for something appropriate to say, found nothing.

“An it please you,” Tristan said finally, “I would speak with you privately, Vianne.”

What now? Do you wish to take me to task, Captain? Why do it in seclusion? Your hand is strengthened by two of your Guard here, one of whom has no doubt told you of my idea of escaping you. I nodded, struck speechless, my wits racing to catch up. Recollected myself with an almost physical effort. “Jierre—my thanks for the news. I think I should speak with the Captain, indeed.”

“That you should.” Jierre left with a hurried bow, and Adersahl followed him, turning once to glance back at me. It was a meaningful look, but what it meant I could not say.

Risaine chuffed out a sigh, setting the jar down with a click. Today she wore an overdress of blue, and it suited her pale hair. “I suppose you wish to throw me out of my own house.”

“Stay and hear a private conversation, as you like.” Tristan did not look away. His eyes were so infinitely blue, I wondered for a mad moment if everything he saw was tinted with skyshade.

Risaine replied with a cheerful curse she might have heard from a Guard and left, shaking her head. She pulled the door to, and I heard her speaking outside, a low fierce tone—probably scolding Jierre.

My mouth was dry as sand. “Is this true? And what else, by the Blessed? What now?”

“Tis as true as I can tell.” He sighed and settled himself gingerly on the bed at my side, setting the cup away. “Di Narborre comes, and the fool of a bandit thinks the woods and a hedgewitch’s muttering will hold him back.”

I am a hedgewitch too, Captain, and I kept us safe for a short while. Still, that is not the most pressing matter here. “Tis not what angers you. It angers you that the Duc thought to proxy-marry me. You did not anticipate that.”

Amazingly, he dropped his head. I caught a flash of anger on his face, wondered why I could suddenly decipher his feelings so easily. “True. I should have thought—should have planned—for such an occasion.”

“Is it true, that if I contract a liaison and make it public, that a proxy marriage will not hold?” I wished suddenly I had spent some time studying Arquitaine law instead of Tiberian verbs. Of course, our legal code is built on the foundation of Tiberia. It took Graeca to make art, and Tiberia to make law, as the proverb went.

I held myself in readiness, watching d’Arcenne. Waiting for him to indicate what dance he intended to lead us into, since he had gone to such trouble to clear the floor.

Tristan shoved one hand back through his hair. It rumpled him most fetchingly. “Vianne—”

Answer me, Captain. Why is this so difficult? “Is it?”

His words spilled out in a rush. “Tis true. You hold the Aryx, you must be wed in person. The law dates from the Angoulême’s time.”

Relief so intense it curdled my stomach made me sag against the pillow. I chose my next words carefully. “Good. I think tis time I made some decisions. Jierre said twas time for me to use my sharp wits to keep us all alive, and perhaps he is right.” Come, Captain, perhaps I should do the leading in this pavane. You are not as graceful as is your wont today.

“Jierre is a fool.” Tristan dropped his head forward into his hands. “Vianne, I…”

It frightened me, seeing him thus, his shoulders bowed, holding his head as if he was mazed with grief. Did he not wish to take me to task, then? What game was he playing?

Perhaps there is no game. I hardly dared credit it. Hesitant, I touched his shoulder, and he leaned into my hand. The bed creaked slightly.

He is accepting comfort, at least. My throat was still sand-dry. “He’s a sharp-witted fool, to have chosen you for his Captain.”

“Mistake after mistake, I have been so blind.” His voice was muffled, choked. Was he weeping?

If he was, dear gods, how could I stand it? “Oh, no.” I pulled at his shirt, a tiny tug as if to make the fabric hang aright. “Tristan? Please.”

He tore away from my touch, bolting to his feet. Stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the fire, his broad back to me. The Aryx rang under my skin, distress and an electric pain spilling from warm metal into my bones.

Or perhaps mine was the pain, and I shared it with the Seal.

I watched, pulling my knees up under the blankets, a lump blocking my dry throat, all thoughts of intrigue fled. “Captain,” I whispered. How do I make this right? I do not know, and yet I must. “I need your strength. If you cease now, I do not…I do not know what I shall do. Please, Tristan.”

“How can you trust me?” The shout took us both by surprise. He rounded on me, his bootheel grinding sharply into the sweet-fairthwell Risaine scattered on her floor. His cheeks were wet, his blue eyes blazing. “I sent you to the Princesse, and almost caused your death. I was caught and you—you—had to come down into the donjons and fetch me like an errant child. And I have done nothing but make mistake after mistake. I almost cost you your life. That is not the worst. I am a traitor, Vianne!”

You hold yourself to such a fierce standard, Captain. It will break you, unless I hold you back somehow, like a horse that will run itself to death. I do not know how to rein you.

Yet rein him I must. For as little as I liked the idea of his casting me aside the instant I did not serve his revenge, I found I liked the sight of his grief and shame even less.

My hands turned to fists, and my heart gave a painful shiver inside me. “You saved my life,” I pointed out calmly enough. “If you had not sent me to Lisele, d’Orlaans would have the Aryx at this very moment. If you had not given me the keys, I could not have hidden in the North Tower…and if not for you, your lieutenant would have left me behind on the Mont. You have kept me safe so far, and I—” Tears rose to choke me. Oh, Vianne, calm him. He is fearfully upset, and likely to do some damage to everything. “Please, Tristan!”

I did not say what I wished to say. I am frightened, I longed to shout. I am frightened, and I do not know what I have become. You are the only safe thing in this madness, even though you are more dangerous to me than you can possibly know.

He tipped his head back, his jaw working, his cheeks powder-white.

Come, Vianne. Tell him. Give him some hope, and stop being such a dimwitted frippet.

When I could speak over the tears seeking to force their way out, I found I knew what to say. There was only one possible avenue to take. “You are the Captain of my Guard. And my Left Hand—and future Consort. I need you.”

That managed to get his attention, at least. His chin came down, his jaw dropped slack, and he stared at me gape-mouthed, like a Festival fool.

“How do you not know?” I tried again. “If there is one man in Arquitaine I can trust, Tristan d’Arcenne, tis you.” I held his gaze, willing him to understand. My heart twisted afresh. Give him strength. If he feels aught for you at all, use it to help him! “I need you,” I whispered. “Please, do not leave me adrift.”

Tristan laughed bitterly. “What makes you think I would leave you, Vianne? Leave the only woman I have ever—” Maddeningly, he shut his mouth so quickly I was amazed his teeth did not take a piece of his tongue. But his cheeks were no longer so pale, and he was no longer shoulder-slumped and desperate. Instead, his fists clenched at his sides and his gaze blazing, he looked far more like the man I knew.

Or thought I knew, enough to save him from himself. At least, for the moment.

I smoothed the blanket over my knees, as if it were a silken skirt. I do not think you are the kind to give an empty promise. My heart throbbed painfully. Do not let me embarrass myself, gods, please. “Is it that you do not wish to be my Consort?”

It seemed to be exactly the right thing and the wrong thing to say. It broke him free of his silence—but it also drove him to a fury.

“You—you—” His fists shook, but I felt a curious comfort. He would not harm me just now. Of that much, I was certain. “How can you trust me?”

If he was this angry, at least he was not sunk in dangerous apathy. A furious Tristan d’Arcenne was a formidable ally, while an apathetic one was no use to anyone, least of all himself.

And this conversation, however it ended, would strengthen my hand in the coming time, when I set myself to doing what I must.

Now for the soothing—but not until you rough his waters a tiny bit more. “I can understand,” I continued softly, smoothing the blanket. “I am only the di Rocancheil oddling. Tis miraculous that the Aryx has not fried me for insolence. You perhaps do not prefer a Court dame more suited to peasant magics and dry books?”

“Will you shut up?” he snarled. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever known!”

Well, that, at least, is something. “Do you wish to be my Left Hand and Consort, or not?” The Aryx rang softly under my words.

“I would give everything I own and sell my soul in the bargain to do so,” he said through gritted teeth. “I cannot, Vianne. The game of politics would require you to appear free. And I am—”

“I care nothing for the game of politics,” I cried, dropping my pretense of calm. “If the Aryx wishes me to be Queen of Arquitaine, very well. If you wish to be my Consort, very well. If you do not—very well. But I will not be forced any further, Tristan!”

While I had almost certainly uttered words I would regret—for if I held the Seal I must care for the game of politics deeply enough that I was not hoodwinked—the last part was, at least, unvarnished truth. I was free of fever and on the mend, my wits had returned, and I was prepared to do my wretched duty once again. Another baton was ruling the musicians and the dance had changed, but I was required to follow the steps as prettily as possible, and not blunder.

But I would dance in my own fashion, and I would do all I could to take charge of the tune. My first step was wresting the lead from the Captain of the Guard, and his reaction was such I could hardly believe my good luck.

He did care for me. Perhaps it was only that we had traveled together, and that I represented his revenge. But he did care, and he did not think clearly at the moment.

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw working, eyes blazing. Then he gifted me with a single nod. “I would be honored to do aught you asked, Vianne.” Clenched teeth, clenched jaw, clenched hands. “You are the Queen, and I shall redeem myself in your service.”

Let us hope those are not empty words. “Then I shall decide how to dispose of myself.” My pulse hammered thinly in my throat and wrists. “So we must find a temple, and contract you as my Consort as soon as possible. We must also leave this place. They have been kind to us; we cannot bring di Narborre upon them.” I trust Risaine’s skill more than I would trust mine, but tis a chance I do not wish to hazard.

My decisiveness calmed him. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, and his tone became more businesslike. “You are not hale enough for the kind of hard riding we must do to reach Arcenne quickly. It would kill you, Vianne.”

I have no intention of dying just yet. Before, I might have, just to spite the Duc. But now…I cannot die. I have accounts to settle. I let out a short, sharp breath, the same sound I would make before a grand entrance at Lisele’s side, echoed by hers. The small sigh was our private signal, a Court lady’s battle call. “I will see what Risaine and I can do together, with the Aryx.”

As I suspected, he had an immediate objection. “Court sorcery runs too much risk, especially with di Narborre in Tierrce d’Estrienne.”

Court sorcery is not the only magic in the world. “Then we shall try hedgewitchery. I will be fit to ride, Tristan. I promise.”

“Soon enough.” He approached me cautiously, as he would a wary animal. Lowered himself down on the bed again, sitting on the edge. He looked away, across the room, his back to me. His head dropped again. “I will not betray you, Vianne.”

“Of course not.” What a curious choice of words. Yet we were faced with so much black betrayal, I did not wonder he felt the need to swear it aloud. And, truth be told, I was more than a little unsettled, as if I had prepared myself for battle and met instead with a fête.

I had thought the Consort offer would be refused with some pretty words about duty; I had anticipated the conversation to take a completely different cast. This was…unexpected.

To say the least.

We sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and voices outside.

I waited until I could stand it no longer. I touched his shoulder for the second time, cupping my hand over the curve under his shirt. Muscle stood out under the cloth; tension vibrated through him, infecting my own flesh.

He caught my wrist with a swift movement, and pulled my hand to his mouth. Pressed a rough kiss into my palm, his teeth pressing through soft lips. I did not flinch. “Vianne,” he murmured against my skin.

Then he kissed the inside of my wrist where the pulse beat. The Aryx rang, a thrill sharp as fire.

I had to swallow twice before I could speak with anything approaching a normal tone. “The King said you favoured me.”

“Of course.” His lips moved against my wrist. “Are you blind, m’chri?”

“I thought you hated me, after…” After you ordered the peasants to be killed. And I do not understand your anger, Tristan. I do not understand your moods at all, for all I think I am making headway.

“Of course not. I have never hated you. That was my downfall.” He held my wrist to his mouth, his eyes closed, inhaling as if smelling my skin. For a few moments we stayed like that. It was as far from a courtsong as I had ever seen, but I felt light and happy, and for that moment it was enough.