Free The Hedgewitch Queen by Lilith Saintcrow

avenge the King’s death, Captain.” I scraped together every ounce of haughtiness I could muster. And I half-believed the King when he said you favoured me. Silly me. “For your duty. I have been doing my wretched duty all my life. I intend to continue in like manner. Now, I really must dress myself. I shall thank you to let me do so.”
    For some reason, his face suffused with anger and just as quickly smoothed. He made it to his feet and stalked away, his step almost soundless despite his boots. “There is hot water,” he said over his shoulder. “Bathe quickly, tis no telling when we’ll have another chance.”
    I stood shakily and gathered the garments. I have never been a clothier, but I thought they might fit me. Sometimes I had envied the freedom of breeches and men’s clothing, and now I would take no joy in it.
    He paused, his hand on the latch. “Duchesse?”
    I glanced over my shoulder. His back was rigid, as if he was at parade-ground drill.
    “Captain?” I answered cautiously.
    “Why did you free me from the donjon? May I ask?”
    Because I am a stupid, silly, thoughtless girl. Because I thought you would make this nightmare fade, as the nurse’s voice makes a child’s night-fears leave. “I could not bear the thought of your beheading, Captain. I am known to have a weak stomach.”
    He nodded, and the set of his shoulders eased. “I danced with you at the Fête of Flowers, did I not?”
    My temper almost snapped. Why on earth did he ask me ? He had never danced with anyone else; surely he should have remembered the occasions! “No. At Lisele’s Coming-of-Age, and at the Festival of Skyreturn. Both times you caused quite a bit of comment. Though I wondered why, since neither were memorable occasions.” The last was an unjustified cut, and I was briefly ashamed to hear myself utter an insult so far beneath me.
    “You remembered.” He swept the door open.
    I wish I did not. “I hold grudges,” I shot after him.
    “Tis not what gossip says of you.” With that parting sally, he closed himself out of the room.
    I strangled the desire to run to the door, wrench it open, and scream something nasty after him. I looked about for something to throw, but there was nothing, and neither action was fit for a Duchesse. So I settled for hissing at the door in exasperation and carried the clothes into the watercloset.
    Yet I must admit the annoyance was a tonic, and the anger made my fingers cease their trembling.

Chapter Five
     
    I had a momentary difficulty with the doublet’s laces. The doublet was of leather and far too large, but it hid the curve of breasts and hips. I plaited my hair and found a ribbon in the bag I had filched.
    I wondered if I should cut my hair to pass for a boy. One of the men could lend me a kerchief or hat to hide it, perhaps.
    I struggled back into my garden-boots and dropped the Aryx down my shirt, cursing to myself as my hand brushed my emerald ear-drops. I had forgotten them completely, and now I looked at them with fresh eyes, as the survivor of a shipwreck might gaze on something that had once been a ship’s pride.
    Scallops of silver, delicately whorled, filigreed around large emeralds burning dark green like hedgewitchery itself, smaller chiming bits of silver and similarly caged, tiny uncut emeralds depending from the larger gems. They were a prize, the finest work Amercio Tavanche of the royal jewelers did four years ago, and dedicated to me by the artiste . I usually preferred to patronize bookbinders and scholars, but Tavanche hailed from my home province and had presented himself—and been laughed almost into tears by no few of the ladies, since he’d tripped and landed face-first during his presentation.
    Fortunately, I had some little weight with the royal jewelers, and had introduced Tavanche to the head artisan of their workshop. The ear-drops had excited no little marvel at their presentation at Court during the annual Salonne, and their gifting to me