The Bandit King (4 page)

Di Cinfiliet needed no prompting. “We came upon the Damarsene force bound for Arcenne from their rear, as we had turned aside to make a foray into the lands patrolled by the Tierrce-di-Valdale garrison. Consequently, we saw the dust they raised, and went cautiously. Then we happened upon a rare piece of luck: dispatches.”

“A King’s Messenger.” The brushing of a woman’s skirts.
She is pacing; I can hear her feet.
My back was alive with chill gooseflesh. What mischief was he seeking to wreak upon her now? “Dead now, I presume.”

“Of course.” There was no pretense. “Most of the dispatches were useless, but there was this.” Sound of paper rustling. I closed my eyes in the unforgiving dimness. “Twas in a sealed pouch for di Narborre’s hand only. There are other papers of interest, which I have left at the Keep. But this,
m’cousine
Riddlesharp, you should see.”

Heavy paper, by the sound of it. Unfolded and held. Silence ticked by; I could hear the flames of the lamps inside the penitent’s cell burning, a dry hissing.

A squeak. She had sunk down upon the bed, perhaps.

“D’mselle?”
Adersahl, alarmed.

“Chivalier.”
A colorless whisper of a word. Had she also gone pale? “Do you know what this is?”

“No,
d’mselle
.” For the first time in a long while, I heard fear in Adersahl di Parmecy’s tone.

“Tis a statement wherefore a man swears his loyalty to a certain cause. It is signed, witnessed by two others, and has a mark of blood upon it.” Her throat must be half closed with tears to sound so. “The cause the man swears himself to is the murder of Henri di Tirecian-Trimestin, my half-uncle. The murdered King of Arquitaine.” She took a deep breath. “Judge if this is not a familiar hand, though the paper reeks of some oddness, being far too cheap for such an important document.”

The faint sound of paper changing hands. My heart lodged in my throat again, and I was cold. So cold.

“Dear gods.” He was loyal to the last, Adersahl. “No, this cannot… this
cannot
be, Vianne. It
cannot
. He would not kill the King. He would
not
.”

“D’Orlaans accused Tristan of regicide, yet untraditionally ordered his tongue torn out before his beheading in the Bastillion. There was
something
he did not wish the Captain of King Henri’s Guard to say.” Pitiless, she continued, each word a knife to the heart. “I was with Tristan that day, Adersahl, and something has oft crossed my mind since this afternoon. Tristan swears the King died of poison in pettite-cakes. I was there; I
saw
those sweets; I am not so bad a hedgewitch I would not have smelled a poison in them virulent enough to kill the King in scarce a quarter-candlemark. Once the alarums were rung to signal the start of the conspiracy, Tristan left my side. Some short time later I found my Princesse already dying and her ladies slain—work that would have taken some time. There is one other thing we must consider, Adersahl. Tristan was waiting in the passage I usually took from the kitchens to my quarters. So was the Minister Primus. Look at the second sheet of paper.”

“I…” Adersahl was having difficulty speaking.

“Tis a similar sheet, but on
far
better paper, detailing the Minister Primus’s loyalty to the cause of regicide, and also to the removal of an inconvenient Captain of the Guard. Perhaps d’Orlaans thinks to convince me if I am given this… proof, in which case di Cinfiliet serves his purpose all-unwitting. Or di Narborre was to use this in some other fashion. The blood upon it would certainly make sorcery easier, would it not? Which might solve the riddle of how d’Orlaans and his dragoons tracked us so easily.” Velvet rustled again, and I heard her footsteps, quick and light as she paced. Di Cinfiliet was silent. “Yet the paper is not of a fineness, many of the events I witnessed refuse to grant me some understanding of their true import, and no Court sorcerer of d’Orlaans’s power and ability would let an opponent’s willingly-shed blood leave his grasp. The question I am to ask myself becomes, did Tristan d’Arcenne, my Consort, conspire to kill King Henri? I cannot think d’Orlaans would have had him sign a sheet of common rag. If my Consort is a traitor, or merely gave a dance to the idea of treachery, then afterward, when he was betrayed so harshly, did he think to revenge himself on his fellow conspirators by setting forth a hedgewitch provincial as Queen—a
d’mselle
who would, perhaps, be so blinded by a crumb of affection she would not question him? It is no secret I have not had many suitors.”

Rage tasted copper-bitter, the pulse in my throat and wrists pounding like maying-drums. I stayed perfectly still, red rising behind my eyes, my heart tearing itself in half. Hearing her so calmly, so
beautifully
string out a necklace of damning logic defied my self-control. It was the very softness, the sharply-accented Arquitaine singing in her beautiful mouth, that made the words cut so much more harshly.

Of course she doubted me. She would do well to listen to her instincts. And yet, a crumb of affection. Did she count me so small?

“Now I must beg you, Adersahl di Parmecy et Villeroche, Queen’s Guard and my friend. Give me counsel, for I know neither which quarter to face nor quite what to believe. I wish you to tell me truly what you think of this.”
Now
her voice broke, and she sounded perilously close to tears.

“D’mselle—”
Di Cinfiliet. I wanted—oh, how I
longed
—to stride into the room, and… do what? What could I do?

At that moment, I did not know. And so I remained still and quiet, the trembling in me unmanly save for its source of pure white-hot rage.

“One moment,
sieur
, an it please you.” A muffled sound—she was weeping. My Vianne, weeping.

Adersahl did not speak for a long moment. Vianne’s weeping was soft; she sought to conceal it. Tears that should have fallen on my shoulder were now uselessly being spent in the presence of fools. And here, I was the larger fool, for I could not even coldly plan how to salvage somewhat of this.

Di Parmecy finally finished weighing his response. “There is one question I would ask,
d’mselle
.”

“Ask.” She sounded marginally calmer.

“I have lived with Tristan d’Arcenne, I have fought at his side and under his command, I have seen him in nigh every situation that may befall a man. I tell you, I am not so blind as not to notice a murderous intent on his part. We must set our minds to
why
d’Orlaans would send this foulness to his own Captain at this particular time.
M’dama
Queen, I would stake my life on Tristan’s loyalty, and this as some forged gambit of d’Orlaans.”

Relief burst inside my chest, dueling with the cold fury. I let out a soft, noiseless breath. Perhaps I had a chance to explain, or even to keep the secret. But how?

More soft sounds, Vianne weeping without restraint. She would even do
that
prettily, and I could have held her during the storm.

“D’mselle.”
Di Cinfiliet, now. His tone had softened, as if he took pity on her. Or as if he understood now was the time for gentleness if he sought to set her course. “Tis a pretty tale, and it looks damning in many ways. But I’ve seen tales spun before, living at the dagger’s edge in the Shirlstrienne, hunted like a dog by di Narborre’s patrols. Now that I have had lee to think, I would say to let the man defend himself, for tis obvious he prizes you, and not just as a game piece or a broodmare. And yet…”

“And yet.” More velvet rustling; she would be pacing furiously now, probably dashing at her cheeks as if the tears offended her. “
There was no poison
, and the murders of my Princesse and her ladies took precious time. This bait must be salted with some truth, or it would not be even a half-effective lure for either Tristan
or
me. If I cannot trust my Consort, I cannot trust his father either. This fragile alliance will shatter, and the towns and provinces that have declared for me will be left without protection. Already civil war looks inevitable—or worse, a civil war with the Damarsene playing blind-hant in
quarto
to d’Orlaans. Blood will be shed, d’Arquitaine blood, and all those who depend on me for their lives—including you both—will meet worse fates than a Princesse’s lady-in-waiting can easily imagine. It becomes a question of whether I trust a possible traitor and pray he will not turn on
me
when the time comes, or plunge my land into chaos. A pretty choice.” The papers crinkled again. “Take these. Leave them where we spoke of, for I shall need them. Leave me the others as well, an it please you.”

My eyes squeezed shut. Tears trickled out between my eyelids, traced hot down my cheeks.
Whether I trust a possible traitor and pray he will not turn on
me
when the time comes.

I should have told her.
But I could not have afforded more of her “gentle feelings,” more of her naiveté. She had been all but dead of shock and grief, bearing each fresh indignity with numb, silent bravery heartbreaking to see in so fragile a body.

You did not tell her, for you feared the breaking of the image you saw in her eyes whenever she gazed at you. Be honest with yourself, at least, Left Hand. Else you will not lie so effectively to others.

“
D’mselle
… I truly do not think Tristan would…” Adersahl, almost knocked speechless. Of course, the sight of her weeping would astonish him.

“My thanks, Adersahl. I charge you with silence. Do not breathe a word of this. May I trust you?”

“I swore my service,
d’mselle
. I am a Queen’s Guard.” He was no longer young. I could almost see the stiff little bow he would perform.

“Go, and see to your sup,
chivalier
. It seems I am always leaning upon you.”

“I am here to be leaned upon, Your Majesty. Your leave?”

“Of course.”

He would bend over her hand—I heard the creak of leather, and his footsteps. The door, opening and closing. I scrubbed hot water from my cheeks with the bladed edges of my palms, taking care to do so silently. I kept my hand well away from my rapier-hilt.

I did not trust myself.

“So.” Vianne, breaking the pregnant pause, her tone husky with weeping. “It would seem I owe you much,
m’cousin
.”

“I count it an honor,
m’d’mselle
Riddlesharp.” A flash of light humor, jarring after the tension. “I suspect you have aught else to discuss with me.”

“It may not be… safe for you, here, if Tris suspects your parentage and di Narborre approaches. I would prefer to keep you near, yet I dare not.” Her tone softened. “If I may…”

“D’mselle.”
The bandit sounded serious, now. “I may not have had the pretty training in bows and falconry, but I am still a nobleman. Blood must tell for something, must it not?” A faint whisper of steel leaving the sheath brought me to my feet, my hand suddenly clenched bruising-tight around my rapier-hilt. “I owe you service,
d’mselle
. Accept my oath.”

Gods above. The filthy little tale-telling bastard.
Calm restored itself, but only by an effort that left me sweating and shaking. I was again not merely a man, but a Left Hand.

It was a relief—at least it stopped the stupid, worthless tears.

“Accepted,
m’cousin
. Please, stand.” Now twas the practical Vianne, the one so sharp and rapier-quick it was a glad wonder she was rarely unsheathed. “Here is a purse, tis all I could safely beg and borrow. Take your men and flee over the border into Navarrin; there you will be safely out of d’Orlaans’s reach. Here also is a formal introduction to the King of Navarrin; you will find some succor there. Above all,
keep yourself safe
. Take this as well. These are all I have left of my… of my other life, all I truly own. If I send a messenger for your return, I will send its mate as a token. Will you do this for me?”

A slight creaking movement. “And do you flee to Navarrin I will already be at the Court, to smooth
your
way. Well-played, lady Riddlesharp.”

I could almost hear the slight, impatient toss of her head. Hers
was
a well-played hand, and di Cinfiliet for all his cunning was not her match. “I am not so concerned about my own health as yours. Whatever Tristan has done or not done, I do not think you are safe here. Not if he suspects what Risaine never bothered to hide overmuch from me.” A slight, bitter laugh. “I find myself unable to trust the things I was most assured of.”

“Tis life,
d’mselle
. Are you certain? I like not the idea of leaving you here. Come with us. My men are not so polished, perhaps, but they are loyal, and each one will fight to his last breath.”

“
You
will need all their protection. Please,
sieur
. Keep yourself safe. Much now depends on you.”

“Come with us.” Still he persisted, his tone becoming far more serious than it should have been. “If it is right for me to flee, it cannot be right to leave you here.”

“The Aryx chose me.” The sadness was almost too much to bear. “Even now, you see, it will not move from my flesh. I am tied to this fate until I can find a way to slip its chain. If the gods speak to me tonight, I may even find a way to salvage something of my country.” There was a soft sound, and when she spoke next her voice was muffled. “Go. Please. I feel the need to succumb afresh to a most ladylike crying-fit, and I would not have you watch. It disarranges me, you see.”