Lilith Saintcrow: The Bandit King

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.”