Page 4 of Traitor Son

Ophele kicked dirt over her fire and retreated further into the forest, skirting around the west side of the manor. Julot had always thought it great sport to chase her about the estate, and she had no intention of letting two-score knights join in the fun. There was a patch of fir trees that offered better cover not far away, and she made for them like a light-footed little shadow, all but invisible in the morning gloom.

But it wasn’t just Julot hunting her. Perched in one of the taller trees, Ophele was just in time to see people flooding out of the manor, bundled up against the cold and carrying lanterns. They had even turned out Azelma from the kitchen, her ruffled white cap bristling about her face. Azelma would not be happy to be forced out into the cold.

“Princess!”

“Princess Ophele, please come out!”

“Your Highness! Where are you?!”

It looked as if every single person in the manor was abroad. She even saw Julot and Lord Hurrell on the hilltop, and the young Lady Lisabe Hurrell in a blue gown and white fur cloak, walking the garden and calling, syrupy sweet. And those were knights, armored and fearsome, wearing that black badge.

Ophele’s breath caught in her throat. Once before, Lord Hurrell had roused the whole manor to find her, and she pressed back against the trunk of the fir tree, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the white puffs of her breath in the frosty air.

Should she run? But where could she go? She wasn’t ready yet to run away from the manor, though she had often dreamed of doing just that: fleeing to a place where no one knew her, maybe to one of the countries on the other side of the sea. Ophele knew that normally she would have had guards, to prevent such a thing, just in case she planned some evilagainst the Emperor; everyone knew bastard children were the seeds of treachery. But she had had no guards since she was a child.

Maybe that was the trouble. Maybe that was why the knights had come. Maybe they thought she was plotting against the Emperor, because there were no guards watching to make sure that she wasn’t. There were books where just such a thing had happened, and most of them were histories. Ophele had read them all.

“Princess Ophele!”

She wasn’t foolish enough to run, but no matter how much she scolded herself, she couldn’t force herself to go down to them, either. Tam from the stables was close by. He wasn’t bad. He had never actually beenmeanto her, and had even shown her a litter of kittens in the barn when she was nine. If she had to get caught, he probably wouldn’t hurt her. Biting her lip, she watched as he drew nearer and nearer, within ten feet of her tree, and if she was ever going to speak it should be now, but her lips were glued firmly shut and then he had passed, and it was too late.

Now she was definitely guilty of treachery. Huddling with her hands over her mouth, she watched in an agony of guilt and fear as the sun rose and the hours passed and the search went on, wondering what they would do when they found her.

“No sign on the ground,” said a man’s voice nearby, and she was so startled she nearly toppled off her branch. “Unless she left the estate, there aren’t many places she could be hiding.”

“Miche said he found signs of a fire under one of the pines to the north. The ashes were still warm,” said another voice. She didn’t recognize either of them, and she knew everyone in Aldeburke. “Guess it’s time to start shaking trees.”

Oh, no.

Her heart pounded. She strained her ears, listening for the quiet steps. They weren’t like Tam, blundering through the trees like an ox; there were two men, one to her left and one to her right, moving as patiently as if they were picking over every pine needle. There was nowhere to run. There was nothing to do but curl up as small as she could and wait, hoping they would pass her by.

The branches moved under her. A man’s face, broad and grey-eyed, peered through them, then whistled and turned his head to call.

“Your Grace!”

* **

“Your Grace?” Ophele echoed faintly, as a new face appeared below her.

“Remin of Andelin,” he snarled, shouldering the branches out of the way. Ophele’s first glimpse of the infamous Remin Grimjaw was of furious black eyes and shaggy black hair, his white teeth snapping the end off every word. “Get down here or I’ll come and get you, if I have to rip up this tree by the roots.”

He looked fully capable of doing just that. His voice sounded like a bear’s would sound if they could talk, deep and rumbly as a landslide.

Petrified, she let herself bump down through the branches. Even in Aldeburke, they had heard of Remin Grimjaw. Over the years of his war with Valleth, the Emperor’s command had been broadcast to the furthest corners of the Empire and taken on an almost mythic significance, as if the Age of Heroes had come again. And no one had forgotten the promised reward.

The Andelin for my duchy. The Brede for my own. And your daughter for my wife.

Hard hands gripped her arms and yanked her out of the tree, and Ophele shrank back automatically as he loomed over her like a rockfall.

“Was this some scheme of the Emperor’s?” he growled, low enough that he would not be overheard. His clothes were surprisingly plain for a nobleman, rough wool and leather, with a heavy fur cloak over massive shoulders. His eyes were like two angry ink spots under thick black brows. “Did you think I’d give up and go away? Your father owes me a wife, girl. I am here to collect.”

Her eyes flew open, and she turned her face away, hiding in the depths of her cloak in confusion. She felt as shocked as if he had ripped the tree up by its roots and clouted her with it.Wife?A scheme of her father’s?

It all came together at once, an impossible series of events that led to the man glaring down at her, waiting for an answer as to why she had so deeply disgraced him as to actuallyhide. It was a grave insult. It was certainly an offense against the Emperor: direct disobedience of his orders.

But it didn’t make sense. Everyone knew the Duke of Andelin was going to marry Princess Selenne. It was a story that had every maiden in the kingdom sighing, and even the maids of Aldeburke repeated it with relish, how the handsome knight had fought a war to win the hand ofthe fair princess. Lisabe had been complaining for months about how it wasn’t fair; House Hurrell had given everything for the Duke’s House, surelysheshould receive some consideration…

But Ophele knew that romantic tale was nonsense. People were strangely quick to forget that the Emperor’s challenge was not a reward. It was not a magical task, like finding three grains of wheat in a wagonload of corn or sending him off to slay a troop of Skulkingmen. The EmperorhatedRemin Grimjaw, and had been trying to have him killed since he was a child. Even saying the name of his parents’ House was treason. Until Remin had crossed the Brede River, no one expected him to do anything but die on its southern bank.

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