“Huh,” said Geroen, clearly not reassured.
“I had hoped she wouldn’t find out,” Mienthe admitted in a smaller voice. “I suppose she’ll tell Iaor. And Bertaud.”
“I suppose she will,” Geroen agreed glumly, clearly not looking forward to facing her cousin. “Likely your lord cousin will break me right back to prison guard when he finds out about this. If he doesn’t toss me in a cell myself.”
Mienthe shook her head, though privately she wondered whether Geroen might be right. If they’d been clever and quick enough, they would have recovered Tan before the Linularinan spymaster had got him across the bridge. Then they wouldn’t have needed to charge off through the marshes and across the river on a wild and completely illegal raid of their own. Bertaud might be really furious, especially with Geroen, because the captain had let her come on the raid.
Mienthe said stubbornly, “Linularinum started it. And I had to go along, or we’d never have managed. Besides, by the time he finds out, it’ll be so long ago, maybe… Anyway, we did get Tan back. And we didn’t get caught.”
“Both matters of the greatest importance,” Tan put in from the bottom of the cart, not opening his eyes. His voice was barely audible, but his tone had recovered a thread of mocking humor. “Be a pity to stop here and let all that effort go to waste.”
Geroen grunted a laugh, signaled the cart’s driver to stop, swung off his horse, and offered Mienthe a hand down from the cart.
The queen, followed by a scattering of staff and servants, came out the open doors at just that moment. She stood for a moment, staring at them. Then she came down the steps and made her way over to the cart. The queen took Mienthe’s hand, to her immense relief seeming not so furious after all. Her pretty mouth set as her glance encompassed Tan’s pale, pain-drawn face.
“A smashed knee,” Geroen said briefly, not quite meeting the queen’s eyes.
“I’d never have lived through the night if not for this rescue,” Tan managed in his thread of a voice. Mienthe hoped the queen would remember to mention that to her husband, as well as the rest.
“I asked for your staff to send for a mage skilled in healing as soon as I understood where you’d gone,” Queen Niethe told Mienthe. She touched Tan’s throat, then his forehead. She frowned down at him. “Already fevered—well, the mage will see you right, and for that I’m truly grateful.” She turned to wave at the hovering servants.
Iriene was the only mage in Tiefenauer skilled in healing, and she was in fact skilled at no other kind of magecraft. But she was a very skillful healer indeed. Folk came from all over the Delta to see her. Mienthe had seen Iriene repair a terribly broken elbow once when one of the upper-house maids’ child had fallen out of a window; she could surely fix Tan’s knee. And the queen had already sent for her. A tension Mienthe hadn’t quite realized she’d felt eased.
Tan, closing his eyes again, whispered, “A mage is better than a miser when health is more valued than gold,” which sounded like a quote, though Mienthe didn’t recognize the source.
“That’s the only injury?” Niethe asked, looking searchingly at Mienthe. “You’re well?”
“Yes—”
“Well, good! But there’s no credit to your guard captain for that,” the queen said, and stared at Geroen, who lowered his eyes wordlessly. Not in the least appeased, Queen Niethe said in an unforgiving tone, “You took Bertaud’s little cousin across the river into Linularinum, risking who knows what mayhem and a cross-border incident? I can’t imagine what Iaor will say! And you, Mienthe! What can you have been thinking? I would hardly credit it, save you standing here covered in swamp mud!”
Geroen could hardly answer this, so Mienthe did. “Your Majesty, Captain Geroen didn’t take me across the river,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble. She made herself meet the queen’s eyes. “I took him. And I’m sorry if His Majesty will be angry, but I’m the Lady of the Delta while my cousin is away, so how could I let Linularinan agents kidnap people right out of the great house? And we did get Tan back.”
The queen stared at her, taken very much aback.
Mienthe knew she’d flushed. Her heart was beating too fast. Despite her brave words, she knew the king, and probably Bertaud, would indeed be angry. And she knew she was the one who deserved their anger—she’d taken Bertaud’s authority on herself, and whatever he’d said, she wasn’t at all certain she’d had the right, not really.