Page 126 of Traitor Son

“And of course, we must incorporate the characters of our chief players, the Andelin’s first duke and duchess,” he added, flinging out his arms to encompass them both. “It is your home, but it must also be a stage, a place to display the fairest flower in the valley, to showcase the lady’s delicacy and charm.” He bowed again. “And also a fit setting for His Grace. Austere,” he explained, waving a hand in Remin’s direction. “Aloof. Difficult to please.”

“You earn your gold, Sousten,” said Remin, unperturbed.

“It is a historical undertaking!” The architect declared passionately. “We are not building a peasant’s hovel, no tepid merchant’s town house! There is no other place in the world like this! In centuries to come thiswill be the beating heart of the valley, where all of its nobility will come to marvel at the splendor of the House of Andelin! They will dance upon floors thatyouhave selected, my lady! They will eat in your grand banquet hall! The guardian dogs that we set upon the doors of your House will stand watch over your children’s children’s children!”

He ended this ardent speech on one knee before Ophele, clutching her fingertips in his, as if he were already honoring her for this achievement. Remin felt an inexplicable urge to applaud, but Ophele looked daunted at the prospect.

“Are—are there books I could read?” she finally offered hesitantly, looking at Sousten with worried eyes. He blinked, as if his leading lady hadn’t quite nailed her lines, but soldiered on.

“Yes, my lady,” said Sousten Didion, clasping her hands reverently. “There are books.”

“We will need walls first,” Juste observed, recalling the architect to mundane reality.

Life was hard, for a man with a vision.

“Stay in the shade,” Remin said as he walked with Ophele beneath the ancient oak. Its roots were so high, they made a convenient bench. “Don’t worry, we’ll get all the books you like. We’ll build another storehouse for them, if we need to.”

“I can do it,” she said, her lips firming in her own version of a stubborn face. His hand reached to give her a caress all by itself, as if it were possessed.

“I know,” he said, and went to go lift up the first wall of their house.

It was closer to noon than morning and the very air smelled hot, the sweltering, wavering depths of an Andelin summer. The structure of the house would be a blend of stone, plaster, and timber frames, using the ancient trees that had been sacrificed to clear the home site. Remin didn’t mind being called on for heavy labor. He was proud of every stone he had lifted in the valley, and every tree he had hewn.

“Right, lads!” shouted the foreman. There were multiple crews of men standing by ready to lift the massive frame, some of them on ropes, with a few like Remin waiting to push from the other side as the frames were pulled upward. “And…three…two…one…lift!”

The men heaved. The massive frame rose, and Remin got his hands under the post and shoved, muscle bunching in his shoulders and backas he took the weight and bore up beneath it. Braces thunked into place at the ends of the frame, and carpenters hurried forward to hammer pins and toe holds into place. The heavy frame would support itself, once all four sides were up; they would lean on each other and last for centuries.

For now, they were just building the main house. Remin could already see where the hallways to the wide wings would be, and as they lifted the frame, where tall windows would look out on the valley and the river. He couldn’t help glancing at Ophele, watching with fascination from her place under the tree, her large eyes taking everything in. Her gaze caught his and she glowed in his sight, and Remin turned back to his work, suppressing another smile.

As the day heated up and he began to sweat, his back stung like fury, and halfway around the house he slid his shirt off and hung it over a handy shrub, shrugging his broad shoulders. Between his size and his scars, he was used to being stared at, so he thought nothing of it when the men nearby kept giving him sidelong glances. Particularly at his back.

“My lord.” Juste leaned over to murmur while Remin was holding the latest section of the frame in position. “Did you run into a cat yesterday? It appears one might have been at you. Perhaps you should put your shirt back on.”

“No,” Remin replied, mystified.

“Perhaps you were tangling with a cat last night,” Juste said meaningfully. Remin blinked. His eyes automatically sought out the cat in question. Or rather, the owl.

The owl would never stand up under questioning. Ophele was staring at them in mortified horror, peering through her fingers and scarlet to the ears, shaking her head slowly. The guilt couldn’t have been more clear if she’d been wearing a Daitian punishment hat.

“Thank you,” Remin told Juste with great dignity, and went to retrieve his shirt.

So much for being discreet.

The rest of the framing was done by midafternoon, and Remin accepted a dipper of water and a small loaf of bread and cheese from Wen’s wagon and then went to go see how Ophele was faring. It had been some time since he replaced his jerkin, but she moved to sit with him out of sight of the builders without meeting his eyes. Silently, he broke his loaf of bread in half and extended it to her. Tearing off a bite of his own, he waited.

“Everyone saw it,” she finally whispered, clutching her bread. “Remin, your whole back, it looks like you lost a fight with a bobcat.”

“It itches,” he agreed, twitching his shoulders as if the scratches bothered him. Honestly, he hadn’t known there was anything there. He had to fight to keep another foolish smile from escaping. “You scratched the devil out of me, wife. I don’t know how I can bear the shame.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, why didn’t you—” she began, and then she finally looked up at him and stopped short. A giggle escaped, and she covered her mouth and looked away. “You’re horrible.”

“We’re married,” he told her, and since they were safely out of sight, he lifted her onto his knee and kissed her soundly to prove it. “Everyone already knows. Miche is always quoting that one philosopher, what’s his name. The hedonist.”

“Thiolas Laval.”

“The greatest blessing under heaven is a lusty wife. That one,” Remin agreed, and she burst out laughing.

“That isnotwhat he said,” she said reprovingly, but settled against him comfortably to eat, her toes dangling above the grass. Sheltered by the ancient oak, they watched the house coming together like a vast wooden puzzle. The builders bawled orders, hammering and pegging, finishing the toe holds and driving huge wooden dowels into place to pin the massive timber frames together. The wood would be protected by a façade of stone when it was done, and those timbers might stand forever, if the builders did their work well.

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