indrawn breath. The North Tower was reputed to be cursed, and none of them believed it, of course…but still. Rumor said no statue of the Blessed, including Jiserah, would enter its walls since the Dowager had been carried out. Any who sought to bring one into the Tower’s environs would be unable to enter, held back by an invisible hand.
Though nobody had tried such a feat since Archimvault’s time. It was, like anything concerning the Aryx, a question better left unasked.
“As the only remaining scion of the King’s blood she is the rightful heir to Arquitaine, now that the Duc d’Orlaans has committed regicide and fratricide in one fell swoop,” Tristan continued implacably. “Mount up, Guard. We have leagues to travel before daylight.”
Only remaining scion? There are bastards sown the length of Arquitaine, Captain. Even I know that. Weariness swamped me. I held my peace, uncaring.
Jierre started to protest, interrupting my gasp. “A woman? A Court woman? Who knows where her loyalties lie? She may be part of the plot! And she will slow us. Speed is essential—”
“If she was part of the plot, would she have freed me? Come now, Jierre. You waited for me; you must have trusted I would not lead you astray. We have little time. Let us be gone.”
“We have no spare mount.” Jierre’s tone bordered on anger, rough and dismissive.
I swayed on my feet, too exhausted to care. If they left me there on the mountainside, my only feeling would have been weary relief that I could finally sink down to rest. I cared little what the morn would bring. “Take the Aryx.” I pitched my voice low enough none of others would hear, as the Captain leaned down to listen. “Leave me. You will go faster without.”
“If the Duc seizes her, all hopes for holding him accountable for his crimes are gone,” Tristan said sharply. “Do you challenge me, Jierre?”
“Of course not.” Now di Yspres seemed shocked. “I simply…tis been a long day of unpleasant surprises, sieur . I spoke unthinking; pardon me.” He did not sound repentant in the least. I shut my eyes and swayed again, Tristan’s hand closed around my arm. “Bring the Captain’s horse! Come, chivalieri , we ride!”
They moved. There was the creak of leather, and a huge horselike shape loomed out of the night.
“One more task,” the Captain said in my ear. “Just one more, Vianne. The saddle has a low back; we shall do well enough. I will help you mount, then do you kick the stirrup free for me. Can you do as much?”
I nodded, though I sorely doubted I could. But Tristan helped lift me up, and my foot found the stirrup. I had only ever ridden sidesaddle before, and my skirts caught awfully, but I was finally on the broad back of a Guard warhorse, who stood blessedly still as Tristan shoved velvet out of his way and settled himself behind me. His arms came around me, and I held myself stiffly forward, afraid to relax.
There were orders, given softly, and the remainder of the King’s Guard—little more than a dozen men out of more than four hundred—started down the slope of Mont di Cienne. Afterward it became a courtsong—the Dawning Ride, the minstrel called it, and had more than half of it wrong.
I would like to say I remember enough of it to correct the matter, but I do not. I fell asleep less than a dozen steps down the Mont.
Chapter Four
I t took a moment to remember where I was, for I lay on a rough, dark wooden bed covered with homespun linen. There was a window, firmly shut, and no fire in the grate. There was a pitcher of water and a cup, which I seized with a will. Someone—probably the Captain—had taken off my garden-boots, put me in bed, and pulled the covers up over me. The large ease-chair by the fireplace had a blanket tossed over it, and a familiar torn red sash lay on the floor.
Had he slept there?
I finished a cup of water and poured another, looked for a watercloset door. I shuffled like an old woman. My knees
Though nobody had tried such a feat since Archimvault’s time. It was, like anything concerning the Aryx, a question better left unasked.
“As the only remaining scion of the King’s blood she is the rightful heir to Arquitaine, now that the Duc d’Orlaans has committed regicide and fratricide in one fell swoop,” Tristan continued implacably. “Mount up, Guard. We have leagues to travel before daylight.”
Only remaining scion? There are bastards sown the length of Arquitaine, Captain. Even I know that. Weariness swamped me. I held my peace, uncaring.
Jierre started to protest, interrupting my gasp. “A woman? A Court woman? Who knows where her loyalties lie? She may be part of the plot! And she will slow us. Speed is essential—”
“If she was part of the plot, would she have freed me? Come now, Jierre. You waited for me; you must have trusted I would not lead you astray. We have little time. Let us be gone.”
“We have no spare mount.” Jierre’s tone bordered on anger, rough and dismissive.
I swayed on my feet, too exhausted to care. If they left me there on the mountainside, my only feeling would have been weary relief that I could finally sink down to rest. I cared little what the morn would bring. “Take the Aryx.” I pitched my voice low enough none of others would hear, as the Captain leaned down to listen. “Leave me. You will go faster without.”
“If the Duc seizes her, all hopes for holding him accountable for his crimes are gone,” Tristan said sharply. “Do you challenge me, Jierre?”
“Of course not.” Now di Yspres seemed shocked. “I simply…tis been a long day of unpleasant surprises, sieur . I spoke unthinking; pardon me.” He did not sound repentant in the least. I shut my eyes and swayed again, Tristan’s hand closed around my arm. “Bring the Captain’s horse! Come, chivalieri , we ride!”
They moved. There was the creak of leather, and a huge horselike shape loomed out of the night.
“One more task,” the Captain said in my ear. “Just one more, Vianne. The saddle has a low back; we shall do well enough. I will help you mount, then do you kick the stirrup free for me. Can you do as much?”
I nodded, though I sorely doubted I could. But Tristan helped lift me up, and my foot found the stirrup. I had only ever ridden sidesaddle before, and my skirts caught awfully, but I was finally on the broad back of a Guard warhorse, who stood blessedly still as Tristan shoved velvet out of his way and settled himself behind me. His arms came around me, and I held myself stiffly forward, afraid to relax.
There were orders, given softly, and the remainder of the King’s Guard—little more than a dozen men out of more than four hundred—started down the slope of Mont di Cienne. Afterward it became a courtsong—the Dawning Ride, the minstrel called it, and had more than half of it wrong.
I would like to say I remember enough of it to correct the matter, but I do not. I fell asleep less than a dozen steps down the Mont.
Chapter Four
I t took a moment to remember where I was, for I lay on a rough, dark wooden bed covered with homespun linen. There was a window, firmly shut, and no fire in the grate. There was a pitcher of water and a cup, which I seized with a will. Someone—probably the Captain—had taken off my garden-boots, put me in bed, and pulled the covers up over me. The large ease-chair by the fireplace had a blanket tossed over it, and a familiar torn red sash lay on the floor.
Had he slept there?
I finished a cup of water and poured another, looked for a watercloset door. I shuffled like an old woman. My knees
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