Page 52 of Traitor Son

Leaning over his saddle, he watched as the earth was shifted and stones moved into their places, one backbreaking rock at a time. The figure in green scampering past the scaffolding might not even have been the princess. From this distance it was impossible to tell who was who.

It wasn’t like he was looking for her, anyway.

* * *

There was a very slight incline on the lane into town. Ophele hadn’t noticed it at all that morning, but she was sure she could have calculated the exact angle that evening, just from the pitch of the shrieking in her legs.

“All right, Your Highness?” asked Sir Miche beside her. He was unspeakably filthy from digging all day, with his muddy shirt slung over one shoulder and his sword slung over the other.

She nodded. She was tired, but complaining about it wouldn’t change anything, except that maybe they wouldn’t let her help anymore.

“If you ever need to rest, say so,” he said, eying her critically. “You’ve already done more than anyone should expect.”

Exactly how low were their expectations? She had filled buckets with water. Helpful, yes, but minstrels would never sing songs of it.

“I’m all right,” she said. “But you don’t…mind? Digging all day? You’re a knight and everything.”

“You’re a princess and everything,” he noted, with a wry twist of his mouth. “Still not sure I like watching you sweat. But I like work, myself, even if it’s digging. It’s clean work. That was Rem’s idea.”

“What was?”

“This,” he said, jerking his chin toward the valley. “Andelin’s a poisoned sweet, just like all the Emperor’s gifts. He gives Rem a knighthood, then orders him over the Brede. Gives him the valley, but it’s filled with Vallethi demonspawn and deserters and who knows what else, and then he pardons a pack of criminals and sends them to settle it. No one would’ve blamed Rem if he just sold off what he could and retired to Capricia. But he wants a grand city right on the Brede, and he wants to give all of us a chance to build something instead of destroying it.”

The last part buzzed right by her, unnoticed. Ophele was appalled.

“The Emperor sent…criminals?” she echoed.

“It’s nothing to worry about, my lady. They’ll never get across the river. Oi, Rem!” Sir Miche lifted a hand as they approached the cottage. The duke was coming out of the stables further down the street, looking almost as grimy as Sir Miche; his boots were black with soil and his jerkin was covered with burrs. “Wall’s coming on well, thanks to your lady,” Sir Miche said, according Ophele a sweeping bow.

“I’m glad she was useful.” The duke didn’t look at her. “Go into the house, wife, I need to speak with Miche. I’ll be in in a moment.”

She went. After the news about the criminals, she couldn’t look him in the eye anyway. How was she ever going to pay him back if her father kept adding to the debt?

Was there any point in trying to write the Emperor a letter? Ask him to please stop being mean to her husband? No, her father had never given her any consideration before. The fact that she was now the wife of his enemy would not help her cause.

A poisoned sweet, like all the Emperor’s gifts.She wondered if Sir Miche knew thatshewas one of those poisoned sweets, too. A princess that was no sort of princess at all, an honor that was a backhanded insult.

She was tired. Thinking about all of it now just made her…more tired. After a day sweating at the wall, she felt unspeakably grimy, but if she wanted a bath, she was going to have to heat water herself, and the wood wasn’t going to set itself on fire. Groaning internally, she reached for the kindling box. There was a nice blaze going by the time the duke knocked at the door.

“Already started a fire?” He slid his jerkin off and hung it on the back of a chair. His white shirt was sticking to him with perspiration.

“I want a bath, please.”

He gestured to the buckets by the door. “You can bathe whenever you like.”

Ophele looked at them grimly. More buckets.

“Can you tell me where the well is?” She pushed herself back to her feet with a screech of quadriceps. “I can get the water myself.”

“I’ll go with you. Wait, look at me.” The duke caught her elbow as she went by and tilted her face up to look at her, his eyes narrowing. “Your face is burned. Wear a hat tomorrow, we’ll get one from the storehouse. And try to keep in the shade, as much as you can.”

The noblewomen of the Empire were famous for their aristocratic pallor. He wouldn’t want his princess to embarrass him with a peasant’s tan. Ophele looked away. This was enough toalmostmake her angry, which was very difficult to do. She didn’t mind working hard, but being rebuked for not looking regal enough afterward was too much.

“I have something to tell you anyway,” he added as they walked to the well, behind the row of cottages at the top of a small hill. “You remember we heard about bandits in the area when we were in Trema? I’m going to have to go and deal with them. I’ll be gone a few weeks.”

Ophele was silent, absorbing this.

“You’re not going to tell me to be careful?” he asked dryly.

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