The Unicorn Hunters: A Novel(67)
She was glad they could not know how much her palms sweated, how much she regretted this precipitate arrival, with no husband, with no Austrian army camped in the pastures by the western gate to give substance to her far-reaching plans. But there was the unicorn’s mane in her hair, and also this tale of the sea-drake. She could see that both had struck them deeply. It lifted her heart that they might follow her because of her own deeds, not merely because of her birth or their duty. Another said, “Is it certain that Maximilien of Austria will come to our aid, Highness?”
Her answer was measured. “He and I are married in law, and he owes us his protection. The contracts will be provided for your perusal. And”—her mouth went dry, but she said it evenly—“my lord of Orléans, whom you remember as a friend of my father’s, has gone to hasten my husband’s arrival. I have done all I can. But my lord of Austria is a chivalrous prince, and I believe he will keep his word.”
“We had heard that Orléans was in the pay of France,” said the eldest. “Can he be trusted?”
More glances flew around the room. Louis of Orléans had cut a fine swath through Brittany in the days of Anne’s father, but they all knew the terms of his capture, his imprisonment, and could probably guess the terms of his release, and that he’d broken them.
“He can be trusted,” said Anne. She didn’t want to give them details. Her face suddenly felt hot.
On and on they wrangled, but Anne, sensitive as a weathervane, could sense the room turning in her favor. They had crowned her, and it went against their pride for France to come and say they could not now have their chosen sovereign.
“Very well,” said the eldest at last. “We shall prepare for a siege and for the coming of Maximilien of Austria. God be with us, and with him. And with you, Highness.”
When Anne smiled, the room cheered.
She feasted them all afterward, had fresh wine poured, took time for merriment. She told them, laughing, of the unicorn-hunt, and the confusion of France. It was well past Vespers when they went away at last, and Anne, smiling still through her exhaustion, knew that, for the moment, she had their trust.
But the hall of the Guardhouse felt empty when they had gone. The servants were drawing the cloth from the boards. Her guests’ voices seemed to echo on the flagstones. Anne had drunk a glass of wine too many; it made her unsteady when she and Henri climbed to her suite above. Henri was full of plans to man and defend the city walls. Anne smiled and listened and tried not to feel that her very conception of the world had turned fragile as old cobweb. She was still surprised by stray shadows when she turned her head too quickly, and sometimes she fancied her skin burned where the silver blood had splashed her. Moreau would be riding with the French army, a danger she did not know how to counter.
There was a solar over the great hall, a sitting room built to take the summer light, with her bedchambers adjoining. It was nearly bare, since it was not ordinarily furnished and Anne had not been able to bring any household goods. But someone had unearthed a great sheepskin rug, and on this Elesbed and Isabeau were sitting knee to knee before the fire. It had wanted only the absence of nurse and tutor and strict routine for an unbreakable friendship to spring up. When Anne walked in, Isabeau was asking, in fascinated tones, “But what was it like, this castle in the Lost Lands?”
“I don’t know. It was so dark,” said Elesbed, biting a knuckle. “Moreau said it was called the castle of Never-Was. I don’t know why. I think maybe the korriganed built the castle. It didn’t make any sense. A mortal’s mind wouldn’t have thought to build anything that way at all. It had very beautiful rooms, but Butter wouldn’t let me go into any of them. Butter made me go through these dark places instead and scratched me with her paw until I listened to her. Suddenly I saw a fire, and then I saw the duchess. My mamm always said that cats know more than we think.”
Elesbed saw Anne just then. She sprang, blushing, to her feet.
Anne smiled at them both. “You were very brave, Elesbed. But I think everyone ought to go to bed.” Her head swam from the wine; she wished greatly to lie quiet and think.
“I should like to see a castle in the Lost Lands,” said Isabeau, standing too. She was glowing with enthusiasm. She spun with an imaginary sword. “And to dare all things in the deathless wastes.”
Anne said wryly, “First things first, Belle. We must solve the problem of the besieging French.”
But when Isabeau was asleep, Anne, who had been desperate to sleep, lay awake, holding herself rigid, with all the doors of their bed flung open against the sticky heat, thinking, Be damned to you, Orléans, you did make everything harder. Her skin was hot; her body wouldn’t settle. Her mind was a scramble of hope and fear and endless planning.
The moonlight poured in.
Finally she slipped softly out of bed, lifting her hair to cool her neck, and stepped through the door into the solar, thinking she would sit quiet in the coolness of the deep window embrasure. Better than lying sweating in her shift.
It was only with her first step that her sleep-addled brain thought, What is this light, it is not yet the full moon. She stopped short and a dark figure unfolded itself from the window and stood.
Her throat and belly went cold.
“Please don’t be afraid of me,” said Julien Moreau. “Highness, I beg you.” The moonlight behind him put all his face in shadow.