Page 81 of Traitor Son

“You might have, except that terrifying cook told me to look in the trees. Aside from the pines, there wasn’t much to the Aldeburke trees at the time.”

“Azelma,” she said fondly. “I miss Azelma. And her pastries. And her cookies. She cooked for my mother too, you know. I wonder if Sir Edemir could spare some paper so I could write to her. I know it’s dear.”

“We’ll see about it tonight.” He stood, offering her a hand up. “Looks like it’s clearing. We’d best get back to work. Though I wouldn’t like to see another appearance from the Lady of the Wall today.”

“I can’t help it if the men ask for her help,” Ophele said primly. “The good spirits always show up when you call.”

* * *

There wasn’t much leisure in Tresingale for contemplating the spirits, good or otherwise.

The last day of the week was sacred to the stars, a day of rest and contemplation during which believers gave thanks for the many bounties of the divine. Remin tried dutifully to observe the religious holidays of the Empire, but more than a year after the end of the war, there was still no cleric in Tresingale. The nearest thing they had to a representative of the Temple was the seventeen year-old illegitimate daughter of the Emperor, who looked utterly panicked at the prospect of leading a prayer.

In the Holy City of Jaen, there had been a prolonged struggle over whether to send anyone to Tresingale, or more specifically to the service of Remin Grimjaw. It was a complicated problem. The Emperor was the Beloved of Stars, and Remin was definitely not beloved by the Emperor. Edemir had sent a very polite letter pointing out the increasing number of believers/taxpayers in the valley, as well as the fact that the Duke of Andelin was already incomprehensibly wealthy and would only become more so in years to come. Tresingalehadplanned to build a new temple, the most splendid temple in the Empire, but if no one from the Temple was coming…

A cleric had duly been dispatched.

In the meantime, on the last day of the week, most of the Andelin’s faithful contemplated their laundry.

“Princess.” Remin ducked his head under the low door of the cottage one Sunday afternoon, squinting to adjust to the comparative dimness. “Come with me. Grab some buckets.”

She didn’t ask questions. Silent as a ghost, she pulled on her small boots and followed him to the well and back, filling all the buckets and dragging out the cauldron without ever asking why. As he put water over the fire to heat, she hovered behind him, so transparently nervous that Remin’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know what there was to be nervous about. He had barely spoken to her in weeks. He was tempted just to send her away and get on with her laundry himself, but he had no doubt there were oceans of mystery he had yet to fathom when it came to women’s clothing.

Mentally shrugging, he turned and waited for the kettle to heat, and then almost tripped over her as he turned to pour it into the cauldron.

“Careful,” he said sharply, jerking the kettle back.

She said something inaudible, retreating until she bumped against the wall.

“Speak up,” he repeated for the hundredth time. “You can go sit down. It doesn’t take two people to heat water.”

The way she hastily decamped to the other side of the cottage and hid behind her book made him wonder wearily what was wrong. Why was she so nervous? Had he said something? Mentally, he reviewed the last fifteen minutes and came up empty. Was it because he told her to speak up? How else was he supposed to hear what she was saying?

Scowling ferociously at the teakettle, he waited in silence for it to boil.

“Bring your white clothes over here,” he said when the cauldron was half-full of steaming water. It gave him another twinge to watch her rifle through her small trunk. She had put a partition inside it to keep the dirty clothing from touching the clean, and it made him feel both guilty and irritated. He hadn’t thought to wonder what she was doing with her clothing, but she hadn’t asked for help. How many times had he told her to tell him if she needed something?

“I can do it,” she said as she approached, clutching the bundle of chemises and unmentionables. “If you tell me how…”

“Just put them in,” he said, waving her over. “What soap have you been using?”

“That,” she said, pointing to the washstand, where all her fragrant bath soaps were lined up neatly on a shelf.

“You have to use laundry soap, and lye for white clothing.” Automatically, he fell into the brisk, lecturing tone he took when he was teaching squires and pages, and tugged a small pouch from his belt to show her. “Not too much, or it will burn your hands. About this much for that much water, see?”

Her eyes flicked from the small mound of white powder in his palm to the cauldron, and she nodded.

“We’ll scrub them first, then put them into soak.” Remin crouched beside the cauldron to show her. “Next time, you can do this part yourself, if you want to. Come on, you try.”

For a moment, she watched as he methodically crushed the fabric in his hands, scrubbing the lye water into the fibers, then moved to the far side of the cauldron to follow. She was careful not to touch him as their hands worked together in the water.

“You can scrub these, then let them soak,” he said, straightening. “I’ll be back.”

Leaving the clothes to stew for a while, Remin went to scrounge up a large laundry tub, a basket, and a washing bat, determined to do this right if it killed them both.

“We can finish everything by the river,” he said, startling her when he appeared in the doorway. “Grab the bedding, too, we might as well wash that while we’re at it. You can use this basket for dirty clothes from now on,” he added, setting a tall, narrow basket made of woven grass beside her small trunk. It was the only wall space left in the small cottage.

Fishing the laundry out of the lukewarm water of the cauldron, he hid her underthings beneath the rest of the clothing and blankets, then set off for the river with the princess’s light, bouncing steps patting on the cobblestones behind him. There was a footpath from the main road to the riverside, winding through tall grass and wildflowers beneath the clear summer sky. On the southeastern bend of the Brede, there was a small inlet and a beach with smooth pebbles and sand, cool underfoot and shaded by tall trees.

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