Page 38 of Traitor Son

“We stopped,” she said faintly. “We stopped?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, so humiliated that she couldn’t look him in the face.

“Just drink,” he said, propping her up with one arm and lifting a cup of water to her lips. “Your body needs water.”

She drank, but the water seemed to be pouring down her cheeks as fast as she drank it. She choked and turned her face away, clapping her hands to her mouth to keep the disgraceful noise in, the wail of misery that was strangling her. This time, it was too much. Burying herself in the pile of cloaks, she sobbed herself sick.

He hated her.

That look on hisface,she could never, never forget it. Even Lady Hurrell had never looked at her like that, as if she hated her enough to die. And when Ophele thought of how he had touched her, and how nice he had been in the market, the sobs welled up and sliced her throat like razors, because for a little while she had really thought things might be different. He had been gentle. He had talked to her, listened to her, even teased her. It had been almost…friendly between them.

More than friendly.

But she had been stupid. How could he ever care for her after everything her father had done? After what her mother had done? Herfamily haddestroyed his life.Her father had been trying to have him killed since he was a boy. Oh, thisparticularassassin might not have been sent by her father, but whoever had ordered it had done so in accordance with the Emperor’s will. Ophele would never forget the sight of the assassin creeping through the shadows, and His Grace had gone to face him with nothing but a broken bed post.

How could he ever forgive her for that? The things her family had done to him could never be made right. He was right not to trust her. She was the child of his enemies, and a bastard, too. Everyone knew that bastards were the seeds of treachery.

Ophele pretended to be asleep for the rest of the day, and the next morning, when the duke asked her if she was well enough to travel, she nodded without lifting her eyes from the ground. How could she dare to even meet his eyes? How could she face any of them? She had disgraced herself before theKnights of the Brede.There were actual songs sung about them. She had sworn an oath to make them proud to serve her and then done the most shameful thing she had ever done in her life.

She spent the whole day looking blankly at the road ahead, so painfully aware of the silent wall at her back that it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears again. But she would not do that, shewould not.As soon as they stopped for the night, she went to bed, wishing that she would never wake up.

The first thing she saw the next morning were her books, a boxy lump in the supply wagon wrapped in oilskins.

Thank the stars, she had run into Rou.

Books were a familiar refuge. She was a coward, hiding from her troubles in their pages, just as she had always done in Aldeburke. She should say she was sorry, but that word was so hopelessly inadequate it would be an insult to the duke, and the bare thought of standing before the Knights of the Brede to apologize made her tongue wither in her mouth. Day after day, she felt the duke’s icy presence at her back and all she could do was read and read until the letters danced before her eyes, so ashamed that every time they passed a large body of water, she honestly contemplated throwing herself into it.

“My lady.” Sir Miche had begun bringing her supper to her, since the duke no longer wanted anything to do with her. “Please eat. You can empty the pot, if you like.”

“Thank you,” she said, without lifting her eyes.

“It is the privilege of a knight to serve a lady,” he said, angling his head to catch her eyes. His beautiful face was filled with sympathy. “Even if it is only rabbit stew and biscuit. Though if you don’t like it, I’m sure I could find something in that stream. Catfish, maybe.”

“No, this is fine.” She took a bite.

“Are you sure? I bet I could catch a juicy toad or two. Or maybe some pollywogs for tea.”

“No,” she said again, though that almost won a smile. He was a very kind man.

Surprisingly, it wasThe Will Immanentthat offered her some solace. It had many things to say about the concept of balance and order, and the struggle between divine order and the chaos of creation. No onereallywanted to believe in fate or destiny; what was the point of anything, if everything was preordained? Who wanted to think they were a puppet in someone else’s play? But there was no question that in the case of Remin Grimjaw, there was considerable imbalance, and a great debt owed.

This was a familiar thought. She had been told all her life that she must pay for the crimes of her parents. But maybe there was a way she could, beyond the simple function of providing His Grace with heirs. Perhaps she could help him, or at least not hinder him. It would be a beginning, anyway.

“Will you let me borrow that book when you’ve finished it, my lady?”

Seated by the fire one evening, she looked up in surprise. The knights rarely spoke to her, except for Sir Miche. But this time it was Sir Justenin looking down at her in a friendly sort of way, and lending him a book was the least she could do.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “You can have it now, if you like.”

Instead of accepting it and walking away, though, he waved a hand and crouched down beside her.

“I can wait. Do you enjoy theology?”

“I haven’t read much,” she said, a little nervously. They called Sir Justenin the Coldest Knight, and he was famous for his defense of the fort at Iverlach three years before, a critical stronghold that he had heldthrough a winter siege, though he and his men had been reduced to eating their boot leather before the end. The maids at Aldeburke used to sing a song about it,The Snow Kept Falling Down.

“You picked a hard one,” he said. “I know the writer, Vigga Aubriolot. Very dense writing.”

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