Page 18 of Traitor Son

Remin was silent for so long that Miche finally relented and poured him half a cup of wine, setting it beside his hand with a click of metal on stone.

“Why me,” Remin said finally, looking over the dark river. “Why should I have all that?”

“Welloneof us should,” Miche drawled. Remin gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head as he looked up at the sky. The stars in the vault of heaven looked down upon them, each one offering its own gate to paradise, reached only through great struggle and suffering. Victorin would surely be there. “And another thing,” Miche added. “Tomorrow night.”

“What about it?”

“Get her wet and take it slow,” Miche advised, and made Remin choke on his wine. “No one’s going to be witnessing the consummation. Make sure she’s relaxed and enjoying it, don’t just jam it in.”

“Miche.”

“The Knights of the Brede have a reputation to uphold,” the knight said sternly, jabbing a finger at his lord. “It will be a tricky business for an unproven knight, but you’ve always been good at improvising. Let me tell you about that seamstress in Merelde…”

* * *

Lying in her room on the other side of the inn, Ophele could not fall asleep.

Any number of wild ideas were circling through her mind. The sight of her balcony had given her hope at first, but it was hanging over a river and she didn’t know how to swim. After midnight, she slipped out of bed and padded quietly to the door in her chemise to peek into the hallway. Just to check. But there was a lean, dark man with a pockmarked face sitting on the floor outside her door, embracing his sword like a lover. He looked up at her mildly.

“Do you need something, Your Highness?”

“No. Thank you.”

Shutting the door, she trudged back to bed.

There was no escape. Would Lady Hurrell really write to the duke and tell him what Rache Pavot had done to his parents? If she hadn’t shouted it out before the duke left, did that mean she had given up? Forever?

That did not sound like the Lady Hurrell Ophele knew.

Sitting in the middle of a wide feather bed, she wrapped her arms around her knees. She never thought she would wish for her tiny, drafty room back at Aldeburke, but being in this strange place with its unfamiliar shadows only added to her fear. For the first time in days, she was warm and clean, dressed in a new linen chemise with the sweet scent of lavender wafting from her skin, a kindly attempt by Mistress Goel to help her sleep. But sleep had never seemed more impossible.

She couldn’t stop picturing the duke’s face and the narrow spectrum of emotions she had seen from him so far: irritation, annoyance, suspicion,scorn, and fury. Love matches were a wishing tale for little girls. She knew better than to hope for one herself. But the man she was to marry was infamous for his ruthlessness. People said he might have accepted Valleth’s surrender years ago, but instead he had hunted them all over the valley, until the grass dripped red with blood. He hadn’t shown the least consideration for her so far, other than doing what was required to keep her alive.

He was enormous. He didn’t like her. And he didn’t care what she was feeling.

Would he hurt her?

She was pale and red-eyed when the innkeeper’s wife appeared some time past sunrise, tapping lightly on her door.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, throwing open the drapes over the casement windows. “There’s plenty of time for a nice, leisurely breakfast, and then perhaps another bath?”

Accustomed to the scornful service of the maids at Aldeburke, frequently accompanied by Lady Hurrell’s abuse, Ophele meekly put herself into Mistress Goel’s hands and was surprised to enjoy it. Weddings in the Empire were conducted at dusk, and so it was a very leisurely breakfast indeed: endless courses of eggs, pastries, fruits, more food than she had ever seen, and nervous though she was, she actually ate until she wasfull,and then rose for her bath.

Ophele had never had a bath that didn’t hurt. The maids tenderly scrubbed and lotioned and scented her skin until she felt as if she were effervescing, a new being made of flower petals. Her fingernails were filed and polished until they shone like little jewels, and then they wrapped her in fluffy towels and took her to a dressing table, where a hairdresser spent nearly two hours brushing miniscule amounts of scented oil into her hair. When she was done, Ophele’s hair fell in loose curls past her hips and gleamed with a rich, silken luster she had never seen before.

Having made her into a clean palette for their artistic endeavors, they broke for afternoon tea. Sitting at a small table by the window, Ophele and Mistress Goel munched on sliced winter apples and oranges plucked from the inn’s small hothouse.

“I was married twenty-one years ago,” the mistress said reminiscently. “In the same temple, though ours was a much less grand affair. We marriedin summer, and I remember I wanted nothing more than to wear a silk dress, but that day it was so sweltering, I nearly fainted on the dais.”

All day Ophele had been silently braced for some insult, some cruelty, out of sheer force of habit. But Mistress Goel had a pleasant way of rambling without requiring any response while still making her feel as if they were sharing a conversation. It gave her the courage to speak.

“Did you know him before?” she asked timidly. “Your husband?”

“Oh, my, yes. Our families were great friends when I was growing up. My father is a merchant in town, and he happened to supply most of the furnishings to this inn.” Mistress Goel sipped her tea. As if in recognition of the importance of the day, her headgear was even more remarkable than yesterday, a conical hennin that required caution when going through doorways. “When did you meet His Grace?”

“Last week.”

“That’s the way of the nobility, isn’t it,” the mistress said kindly. “The Count of Dennel just married off his daughter last year, to a man of fifty-two, if you can believe it. You’re fortunate to be matched to such a handsome young man. The girls will be breaking their hearts over him for months after you leave. But—and please forgive the impertinence—haven’t you a nurse or a maid on the way to attend you? All the women who love you should be with you today.”

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