After another few days of Risaine’s constant fussing and dosing with herbal tisanes, I found myself able to bathe in a tub I helped her laboriously fill in front of the fire. It was so delicious to be clean that I stayed until the water grew cool. Afterward, she clucked and fussed over me as she chafed my hair mostly dry and braided it. She hummed as she did so, and I shut my eyes, remembering Lisele performing the same task. A high honor, but we never saw it thus. It was simply what we did—I dressed Lisele’s hair, and she dressed mine, as we had since childhood.

The memory sent a flintstrike of pain through me, yet I swallowed it. The time had come to make myself sterner. I could not hope to keep anyone safe if I did not temper what little steel I possessed.

After the bath, Risaine left me to my own devices. Every day brought more and more wounded souls to this small place, and I heard whispers of other villages hidden in the forest’s vastness. A whole province of the fled and dispossessed, taking shelter in the Shirlstrienne as children will hide behind a nurse’s skirts.

Here at the edge of the darker Alpeis forest, they did not fear the demieri di sorce. Instead, they feared d’Orlaans.

I had set myself to tidying her table of jars and herbs, and when a shadow filled the door I looked up, expecting to see Tristan. Instead, Adrien di Cinfiliet leaned against the door, his half-smile more mocking than ever. “And a good morn to you, my lady Riddlesharp.” His sharp light eyes passed through the room once, the same glance I saw Tristan use so often. Gauging the ground, or searching for enemies.

“Good morn, sieur bandit.” I set down the jar of woundrot, lining it up with the next. “M’dama Risaine went to—”

“—minister to her patients, I know. I thought you might chafe at this small cage, and came to offer my services as jester. Would you care to walk with me?” He delivered the invitation in such a light tone I was hard-pressed not to laugh.

It was, I admit, a pleasure to hear a cheerful voice. Tristan visited me daily, but he did not speak overmuch. Jierre looked in on me briefly every few mornings, and Tinan di Rocham was sober and constrained when he managed to knock on Risaine’s door. I knew not what they did the rest of the time, but I did not imagine it to be pleasant.

“I should be glad of it.” I straightened, smoothing down Tinan’s leather vest. I must have been a sight in boy’s clothes, with my long rope of hair and my fever-thinned face—for I could feel, when I touched my cheeks, the hollows left behind by illness. “If you take care to walk slow, sieur, for I am not in fit condition to dance.”

“I shall seek to avoid dancing.” He stepped out of the door as I approached, and offered his arm as soon as I moved into the open air. “Besides, I have no skill for it.”

I doubt that. “You carry a rapier, do you not?” I took his arm, glad of the support. My legs sometimes decided to tremble like a newborn colt’s.

“Tis not meant for dancing, lady Riddlesharp.” We began to amble, and I sensed he had summat to say. But his tone remained light, though his uneasiness called forth an uneasiness of my own.

For all that, it was pleasant to walk with him and for a moment pretend I was in the formal gardens, perhaps strolling with a chivalier whose witticisms required attention and politeness. “Swordplay is a cousin to dancing, sieur. I do not think you heavy on your feet.”

“Cats must land lightly. I would think dancing a cousin to something else, though.”

The entendre caught me unawares, and I coughed slightly, a hot flush rising to my cheeks. Highly improper. Yet he is a bandit, after all. I gathered my wits, preparing to do battle, and suddenly felt at home. This was a situation I was not at sea upon.

“Of course, it could merely be fear,” I remarked sweetly. “Some men do blanch more at a woman than a drawn blade.”

He acknowledged the cut with a short, barking laugh. “You have a facile tongue, Duchesse.”

“Tis a hazard of Court life, chivalier. What troubles you?” You did not come here to trade petty jests with me, more’s the pity. I could have used the relaxation of a few more moments pretending I was nothing more than a lady-in-waiting again.

Old leaves crunched underfoot, and hard-packed dirt settled under the soft leather-soled clothshoes Risaine had loaned me. Di Cinfiliet was silent until we reached the edge of the village, the swirl of Risaine’s spells hanging shimmering to our right. “I beg your pardon, d’mselle. I do not mean to offend. At least, not you, and not now.”

Interesting qualifications. “No offense taken. You seem uneasy.”

He indicated a fallen log with a nod. “Rest awhile, an it please you. Tis best to be uneasy, so close to the Alpeis. Only a fool goes blithely here.”

And how much of a fool am I, to be so blithe as to walk unaccompanied with you? I settled gratefully on the log, and he sank down next to me with a creak of boot leather and a sigh. The woods smelled of verdant life, the earth fresh from nightly rain.

There had not been a storm since we’d arrived here. That was an uneasy thought. Another followed hard on its heels.

Was it chance that we happened upon a nobleman and his aunt hiding here? Was it chance I saw Tristan in that passage, or chance that I escaped notice in the Palais? It strains the mind to think of so much luck, ill or good. Was the Aryx taking a hand in matters, leading us here unawares?

That was discouraging. Even more discouraging was the thought that gods might be stirring themselves to take an active interest in Arquitaine, as they did in the time of the Angoulême’s children. I do not grudge the Blessed their control of our land—though any good daughter of Arquitaine might wish that they would secure our borders without ado—but I was uncomfortable with the idea of being a pawn in such control. Any sane person would be, no matter how fashionably irreligious and Court-bred.

I had very little reason to doubt the Blessed at the moment. Rather than being a comfort, the thought was becoming a deadly discontent.

I glanced at di Cinfiliet’s profile. He looked much like Risaine, especially at rest, with his long nose and narrow mouth. I dropped all pretense of levity. “Speak, an it please you.”

He pushed a small bit of leaf mould aside with his boot-toe. “What are your plans, d’mselle? Summer is coming, and di Narborre haunts these woods. Our scouts report him moving hither and yon, seeking you. The pathways to Arcenne may be watched.”

My mouth dried and I settled my hands in my lap, as if I wore a skirt. “I had not thought so far ahead,” I admitted. “I have been occupied with becoming fit to ride, so we may not endanger you for longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Well enough.” He did not sound disdainful. “I have a thought, and I pause to lay it before you. You may take offense.”

“What, again? If I did not take offense at your light speech before, why should I now?” I studied the weather-tanned skin and the bright slashes of his eyes. His hair was trimmed haphazardly, and his hands were rough from use. Grime tainted his fingernails.

Still, he had an honest face, and I had no reason to mistrust him yet. He had sheltered us for days now, and if his levity had an edge, I suppose he had reason. My own levity is too sharp for common consumption many a time, and as a woman I am rarely given lee to produce it outside the safe confines of my own thoughts.

He shrugged, pursing his thin lips as if finishing a long conversation with himself. “Then I shall be blunt. I have a cadre of good men and horses. If we go swiftly, there is the thin southron pass to Navarrin. Tis little-used and dangerous, and I would lay my last copper tis not watched as the passage to Arcenne may be. If you have reason to distrust your…current position, remember you have an alternative.”

If he had bothered to look at me he would have found my jaw ajar like a stuck fish’s. Well. That is surprising, my fine bandit. And most welcome, though you cannot know why. I snapped my mouth shut and glanced down, smoothing the fabric of my breeches over my knees. The Aryx lay warm and quiescent under my shirt. “What does your aunt say of this?”

“Am I still in knee-breeches, to ask her? Yet I did seek her counsel. She is unhappy with the thought, yet will not forbid me. I never have taken well to forbidding, in any case. I am a nobleman, though I may not look it, or at least enough of one to help a d’mselle in difficulty. My duty is to see you safe.”

Charming of you, and very chivalrous. Still… “And the Captain?”

“The more to guard you, the better.” But his tone turned cool. They were ill-paired, Tristan and this man, by temperament. And, it seemed, by much more. I wondered at that. “Other men, peasants and petty nobles, have gone through the mountains. Tis a hard journey, but better than what lies behind. The Shirlstrienne holds more than just this village, and some bandits are not so fine as we. There are wolves who would as like to slit your throat as steal your purse, merely for the joy of it. Yet even they fear di Narborre and his hounds. I do not think it safe for you to remain here much longer. Rumor of a band of noblemen with a treasure is already seeping through the trees. Hedgewitch charms are all very well, but I saw the spell was unleashed on you at our first meeting. I like not the thought of witnessing it among these houses, poor as they are.”

In other words, the sooner we leave here, the better. “I will speak to Tristan. I may be able to convince him.” If logic will not work, I shall find some other road.

“The sooner the better, d’mselle. Should you find yourself in a position where your Captain’s will is not yours, remember I place myself at your disposal.”

A pretty choice. What reason have I to trust you overmuch? I did not like the thought, for he had sheltered us. Still, new caution crept into me. Could I but convince Tristan to take this far-southron route, I could perhaps overcome his determination to rout the Duc on the field of battle.

My stomach turned to a hard knot. “Why would you do such a thing, di Cinfiliet? You have no cause to wish me well or ill. We can only be a burden to you.”

He rose, a swift motion I took care not to flinch at. “Perhaps I tire of skulking in the Shirlstrienne like an animal. What better way to regain a place of honor for myself? And my…my Tante R’si grows old, and I yearn for a softer bed for her to spend her age in.” Di Cinfiliet turned to me, offering his hand. “Come, I had best take you back. She will scold my ears off if I overtire you.”

I let him draw me to my feet, his hand warm and hard against mine. He smelled of the woods and smoke, and a faint healthy tinge of maleness. He rested his left hand on his swordhilt as he regarded me, our fingers tangled together briefly.

I recovered my hand and dropped my gaze. “I thank you for your honesty, chivalier.”

He offered his arm again. “You are not an empty-headed woman, Vianne. If I may be so bold?”

It warmed me abruptly, and I slid my own arm through his. “You may, sieur Adrien. I shall speak to the Captain. Between us, we may make an impression on his stubbornness.”

“I do not hope for much. Though if anything can make an impression on that harsh clay, I suspect twill be your speaking and not mine.”

A vote of confidence, perhaps. We returned silently the way we had come, and when we came in sight of Risaine’s house under its huge, spreading willum tree, I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“I shall leave you here.” Di Cinfiliet reclaimed his arm. “Should you have need of me, d’mselle Vianne, simply say the word.” He gave me a bow, considerably more polished than his first—he must have been watching the others—and, turning on his heel, stalked away with his long loping stride.

I watched him. Sunlight fell through the leaves, and he blended into the forest’s green and brown as if he had been born to it.

My cheeks, for some reason, were flaming-hot.

That afternoon I wore a fresh set of Tinan di Rocham’s clothes as I stepped out of Risaine’s low door, carrying a bundle that was the shift I had worn while bathing and some other bits of cloth Risaine wished taken to the brook to be washed.

I threaded my way slowly through the bandit village and had almost reached its fringes before Adersahl di Parmecy fell into step beside me. “And a good afternoon to you, d’mselle,” he greeted, smoothing his mustache. “Where are you bound?”

I held up the bundle of linen. “Some of the women are doing washing down by the brook. M’dama Risaine’s due along any moment.” I tossed my damp braid over my shoulder. “I would speak to the Captain, though. Where is he?”

“Went with our bandit lordling to view di Narborre’s tracks.” Adersahl grimaced. “Also to lay traps along the approaches to the village. Di Cinfiliet is all but daring di Narborre to come and duel.”

I absorbed this. Adersahl shortened his long strides to match my slow pace. “I do not think it wise. But di Cinfiliet is the leader of this village, I suppose he does what he feels best.” And perhaps he will broach the subject to Tristan himself, and I can add my own thoughts later. Though such a turn of events is likely to make my Captain even more stubborn.

Adersahl nodded. The feather in his hat bobbed. “The Captain did ask me to watch over you today.”

My heart lightened, turned soft inside me. “I thought so.”

One of the many lean dirt-colored dogs trotted past, nose to the ground. I smelled woodsmoke, cooking food, heard a jumping-rhyme. “There are so many children here,” I said. “They do not seem so dangerous.”

“For the most part.” Adersahl took my elbow as I almost tripped over a fallen branch. “Some are criminals, escaping the King’s justice. We have kept careful watch.”

I do not think I have much to fear from them. “I’ve spoken to none but di Cinfiliet and his aunt. They seem to think I am best kept a mystery.” My fingers lifted almost of their own accord to touch the hard lump of the Seal under my shirt.

He smoothed his mustache again. Was he nervous? It did not seem possible, he was so phlegmatic. “I would agree. The less anyone knows of who you truly are, the better.”

“Adersahl.” For a moment I could not find the words I wanted. It was not ladylike to ask, but here I was in breeches, strolling about unescorted with men. Propriety could not be my sole worry. “I would ask you summat of the Captain.”

What does he think of di Cinfiliet, and his aunt? What happened to Risaine’s son? Was the King truly unconcerned with d’Orlaans and the tax farmers? How soon will we leave here, and what place is safe? Even Arcenne might not hold or hide us well.

I could not decide what to ask first, and I had to prepare my ground in other directions as well. While I framed my first sally, he neatly took me by surprise by slanting me a dark glance, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Certainly, d’mselle. Tis high time you did. Twas often a joke among the Guard that the Captain could not draw his lady’s attention away from old books and peasant magic. He has haunted your steps a long while.”

Tis not what I meant. My heart gave a thundering leap. “He did not ever seem to care before.”

“Well, he was discreet. He has enemies, d’mselle, as do you. Someone might have known enough to strike at you to harm him, for there are few surer ways.” Adersahl let go of my elbow. There was a small path worn down a hill toward the brook, and I chose my steps with care. “I think he has fancied you since he came to Court, but tis only the opinion of a lowly Guard.”

“He came to Court when I was thirteen.” Fascinating as this line of inquiry was, I had other business. “Who exactly is di Cinfiliet?”

“I suspect Tristan knows, and Jierre. But I do not. Not exactly.”

You, sieur, are a very unpracticed liar. “Risaine bore a child to the King. She implies her son is dead, and yet she has a nephew of a certain age. I have not heard the Cinfiliet name before, and it would ease my mind to know a little more.” I did not dare voice my darker imaginings.

Adersahl’s gaze met mine. I paused on the path, looking up at him.

“You are the Queen.” The stocky Guard did not smooth his mustache this time, but I sensed he wished to. As it was, he rested one hand on his rapier-hilt, and flushed like Tinan di Rocham.

I nodded, my chin set high. “Queen perhaps, but of what? A bare half-dozen of the Guard. I am not convinced of the wisdom of staying in Arquitaine for the Duc to catch us.”

He mulled this over, and I let him. Some chivalieri can be led to the water’s edge, and they will drink if you keep them there long enough. But all is lost if you try to force their muzzles down, no matter how thirsty they may be.

Adersahl was silent for a considerable while as we faced each other. When he finally spoke, twas in a level, serious tone I had not heard from him before. “Plague is spreading through Arquitaine. If the Seal is removed from the borders of the land of the Blessed, who can tell what will happen?”

I do not know the Aryx will allow itself to be so removed. Yet that is a problem I will solve when the time comes. “Tis the peasants who will suffer most,” I said quietly. “I find I believe they have suffered enough. What must I do, Adersahl? Whatever move I make, someone grieves, and there is pain aplenty.”

He cocked his head, and I saw strands of gray amid the dark curls. He was no longer young. “I do not envy you that. Yet I must say, if we are in your hands, I am content.”

I sighed, frustrated. Come, chivalier, I am inviting you to drink. “Adersahl, I am not fit for this.” I do not know half of what I wish to, and I cannot see my way through this tangle.

“Yet d’Orlaans thinks he’s fit to be a King. Can you guess why I would rather you ruled Arquitaine, d’mselle?”

For the love of the Blessed, stop being dense. I was about to reply, but the Aryx warmed against my chest. I stilled, my attention turned inward, seeking.

I heard the thunder of hooves, and men shouting. For a moment my heart leapt, thinking Tristan had returned; then a scream pierced the air. The copper of fear started to my tongue, and my hands turned hot and wet.

His face changed. Adersahl cocked his head, listening. “What is it, d’mselle?”

“I hear horses. And shouting.” I turned to retrace our steps, but Adersahl’s fingers sank into my arm, the sword-roughened hand of a Guard neither gentle nor overly harsh.

He shook his head. “Not the village. They will expect you there. Come, this way.”

I followed him, still stupidly clutching the bundle of washing. My emerald ear-drops were safe in a pocket. They were the only thing of any value I possessed, except the Seal, and the Aryx was not mine. Even if it was what they wanted of me, the Aryx is held only in trust.

Adersahl led me a good distance from the path. I heard steel clashing, and cries. Hooves resounded against the earth as fingers against a drumhead. It seemed a wonder he could not hear it; my skull rang as if the half-head was about to strike me in protest of the cacophony.

The elder Guard laced his fingers together, I stepped into them, and he lifted me into the branches of a tam tree, as if we were children in an orchard. He handed the washing up, and I clutched it to my chest.

“Climb, an it please you. I shall return with news. Here.” He lifted up a dagger that glittered briefly in the afternoon sunlight.

I leaned down, clinging to the rough bark, my damp braid spilling forward over my shoulder. “Surely tis not di Narborre?” My heart lodged in my throat. I felt like a fool the instant the words left me, for what else could it be?

He shook his head. “I cannot give you a comforting lie, d’mselle. Climb as high as you may, do not make a sound.”

I nodded. Tristan. Dear gods, let him be safe. “Be careful, chivalier.”

He made a brief noise of assent, then turned and ran back toward the village, with the step of a much younger man.

I clung to the branches, working only a little higher before my courage failed me and I decided to wait. It was a warm, bright afternoon, sunshine filtering through the treetops, a slight breeze carrying the faroff sound of something terrible. I heard one piercing scream and shut my eyes, clinging to the branches.

Risaine. Was she caught in the village? What of the shimmer of spells that kept this place hidden?

And Tristan. Where was he? Out searching for di Narborre’s tracks with di Cinfiliet. What of the rest of the Guard?

The noise grew greater, screaming and clashing steel. I clung to the tree, perched on a branch as thick as my leg, grateful the thick leaves hid me from view. But the foliage also obscured my view of everything but the tree. I could not look for danger or discover what transpired, even had I wanted to.

I rested my sweating forehead against the rough bark of the trunk, clutching at the bundle of cloth and the knife. Please let it be something else, not the Duc’s men. Please, let it be some other thing, some ordinary thing.

What ordinary thing could this be? We had tarried too long.

We? No.

I had tarried here too long, and others were paying the price.

The Sun had dropped in the sky, the light taking on a rich golden cast, when the noise finally ceased. Silence folded thick around me. I shifted uncomfortably. My body ached again—the aftermath of fever, hard riding, and now clinging in a tree. What a queenly picture I present. I had to bite back a laugh perilously close to panic.

What if night falls and I am still perched here? I listened as hard as I could. Heard only the wind through the trees and the sough of blood in my ears.

I had never noticed before what manner of silence falls with no human beings present. Since I was young, I had been surrounded by the clamor of the Court, barely a moment left to oneself, solitude grasped only in quick moments on back stairwells or a fraction of an hour hiding behind thick curtains. Even in my bedroom there had been a servant at the door, and Arioste and Lisele to listen for. Then with the Guard, I barely had enough time to find a moment for the privy—and during the day I was in the saddle with Tristan. Even in the village there were the constant sounds of human presence.

How many times had I wished for solitude, as well as the enviable freedom of men’s clothing? Now another of my wishes was granted in a way I would rather not have had.

I bit back another laugh.

The awful, ringing silence lasted through the afternoon, as I shifted every so often in the branches, aware of the deathly hush whenever the sound of trees moving broke it. Birdsong threaded through the hush, low and timid. Dusk came, purple and glorious. I saw a slender doe balanced on graceful legs wander by underfoot. I held my breath, my heart hammering, and she passed without remarking me—or perhaps being too mannerly to remark upon me.

Before the last of the light failed, I thought I heard more horses. I strained my ears, but the trick of hearing had deserted me. I could perceive nothing but the soughing of wind.

What will you do if anyone finds you, Vianne? You are a coward; you cannot spill an enemy’s blood. What will you do?

I set my jaw and peered down. I had climbed up too far to comfortably drop to the ground. I cannot tarry here forever. Night approaches, what will I do?

I was already moving, stiff and sore, dropping the bundle of wash. I flung the knife down too, judging its landing-point as best I could. I did not wish to land upon it and cause myself an injury.

I moved slowly, climbing as low as I dared. Slid my legs off the lowest branch large enough to comfortably hold my weight, clinging. The most terrifying moment was when I hung from the shelter of the tree, my hands slipping on bark, and finally fell. A moment of weightlessness, and I landed on the washing. My knee buckled, but I soon enough found myself unharmed and sprawled upon the ground, glad of Tinan di Rocham’s breeches.

I picked myself up, dusted bark and dirt from my hands, and spent a moment searching for the knife. My fingers finally closed on the hilt, and I took a deep breath. Adersahl had told me to stay, but how could I? He would have returned by now, if…

I shied away from the thought.

It took a little doing to find the trail to the brook. Once I found it, I stood, irresolute, in the shelter of a pinon tree, sweet, pungent sap dyeing the air with scent. I needed the privy, and if any of the women had been doing washing, perhaps some of them had survived?

I thought this, and then turned miserably toward the village.

I had to know.

I relieved myself behind another tam tree and picked my way back to the path just as dusk deepened and cool evening wind began to sing among the trees. The path was a little more difficult to traverse this way, for I had to force my way up a slight hill and remain poised to dive into the scant undergrowth at any moment.

It seemed to take forever, and burning choked the air the closer I drew to the buildings. Thick acrid smoke drifted between the trees, full of a sick roasted sweetness.

I found myself on the outskirts of the village, hearing crackling and snapping sounds.

I forgot soon enough to shrink back into the undergrowth. There was nothing left to hide from. Risaine’s shimmering curtain of hedgewitchery, drawn close to the village and encompassing the washing-stream, had evaporated.

Mounds of char that had once been houses now lay in smoking ruins. I did not vomit when I found the first body—it was a child, a child, so small—but twas only because breakfast had been so long ago.

It seemed a lifetime.

Hot bitterness rose in my throat. The sickly smell was roasting human flesh. I retched once, twice, and wandered from place to place, one hand across my rebelling stomach and the other clutching Adersahl’s dagger. I had not smelled the smoke because the wind had blown it away from my hiding place.

I found nothing living. Even the dogs had been slaughtered, most with arrows buried in their flesh. I saw faces that were half-familiar from my stay, each one a fresh scar upon my heart. The smallest, sodden bodies were the worst.

I found Risaine’s house, simply a smoking skeleton by now. There was no sign of Risaine’s body, though I circled the fuming wreck to be sure.

Night fell while I wandered, dazed, from flaming house to broken house. The trees had not caught fire, still wet from the spring rains. At least I would not have to worry about the entire forest burning down about me.

I realized I had seen none of the Guard among the dead. Nor had I seen Adrien di Cinfiliet and most of the quiet, thin bandit men who followed him about. The dead were women, children, dogs. The few elderly peasants who stayed in the village.

None of Tristan’s Guard. No sign of Adersahl. None of the bandits hale enough to fight.

What this meant, I could not fathom. I sank down before Risaine’s burning cottage under the spreading willum tree, the crackling of flames echoing in my head. The tree’s questing fingers that had made a veil over Risaine’s roof were scorched now, curling back singed from the heat.

Dead, all dead. Death followed me like a swain from a courtsong, dogging my steps. Inviting me to dance, then turning away to strike elsewhere.

I wept until full dark descended and the only light was a venomous glow from the smoldering ruins. Then I crept to the rear of Risaine’s house and sat with my back against the willum tree, my knees drawn up and the knife clenched in my nerveless fist. If di Narborre came back, I would strike however I could. I would not let them take me.

What will you do tomorrow? I asked myself. Tis imperative you think, Vianne, you witless worm.

Bury the dead as best I can, then strike south for Arcenne, even if that route is watched. I must keep the Aryx from the Duc. Such a thing as this must not happen again.

My free hand rose, touched the Aryx under my shirt. “Tristan,” I whispered. The Aryx’s pulse under mine was strong and steady.

Women, children, even animals, murdered. My presence had brought the attentions of di Narborre upon these people, whose only crime was to shelter me.

I wiped slick wetness from my cheeks with one soot-blackened hand. I do not know how long I hunched there, sobbing, watching the smoke and flames through blurring eyes. My neck ached, my knees throbbed, my shoulders tight as ship’s cables. I finally fell into a troubled doze, clutching the dagger, waking every time I thought I heard a footfall.

Each time I woke, I repeated to myself, No more. I will not allow this.

Never again.