Page 110 of Traitor Son

Gently, he set the matching circlet on her head, brushing her hair back from her shoulders. Ophele, Duchess of Andelin.

“It fits you well,” he said, admiring the ribbons and beads glinting in the rich umber of her hair.

“I heard in the capital, we would be dressed to match for something like this,” she said, turning pink and busying herself with the mysterious jars now overflowing their washstand.

“It would be hard for anyone to match you.” The words escaped before Remin could stop them, and when Ophele glanced up at him in surprise, he reddened like a fool.

“It makes me feel conspicuous,” she said. “I’ll be the only one all dressed up.”

“They will be pleased to see you so,” he promised. “It is a great honor to keep company with a lady.”

“Is it?”

“Most of my men don’t often get the opportunity,” he said, lifting her easily at the door. The new road stretched for more than a mile, but there was still plenty of mud in Tresingale. “They will see you and think of their sweethearts, their wives, their sisters, and their daughters. All the women they left back home. When the wall is done, maybe they’ll feel safe to send for them. Especially if they see you, looking so…”

In the middle of the lane, he trailed off, lost in her golden eyes and searching for any words but the ones that had so nearly slipped out.

So beautiful.

“…like such a fine lady,” he finished lamely. “Try to have words with them, if you can. Especially with the men that will be leaving tomorrow. You will give them courage.”

“I will,” she said, her small face solemn, though she gripped his shirt front tighter as he approached the doors of the cookhouse and set her down. He could see her draw a deep breath as she moved into her place at his side.

The doors opened, and the cookhouse fell instantly and completely silent.

“Your Grace,” said one of the men at the nearest table, springing to his feet as everyone else hastily rose. “My lady, we’re glad to see you well.”

“Cordiot,” she said, surprised. “Thank you. And you are, too? Your ankle, I mean?”

“Sturdy as a plank, my lady,” he assured her, and Remin was astonished at the number of similar conversations as they moved toward the high table. He hadn’t thought of it, but this was the first night they had come to supper since her sun sickness. His men weren’t just pleased by the sight ofalady, however lovely and charming. They were glad to seetheirlady.

His lady.

They teased her. They laughed with her. The color was high in her cheeks as she bobbed her head like a little bird, and he drifted behind her like a man in a dream. They were talking to him too, and he was sure he answered, but his eyes were so filled with the small figure in scarlet, nothing else seemed real.

It was Tresingale’s first real feast, and Wen and his boys had outdone themselves. The good smell of roasting boar had been filling the town allday, and the huge slabs of meat were so tender, they melted on the tongue. There were heaps of roasted potatoes and thick slices of bread with butter and cheese. The pageboys had been dispatched to go berrying and returned with a bounty of blackberries, fat and juicy. Remin remembered chewing, but he tasted nothing.

He had to shake himself as the platters were taken away to offer the customary speeches and toasts, both for the men leaving tomorrow and to thank the stars for the renewed health of their daughter. All his men were putting their best foot forward, and after the wine was poured down the table, Remin rose to offer a toast of his own.

“All of you have worked hard to secure this place against the devils,” he said, lifting his cup to the whole cookhouse, and indeed, all of Tresingale. “Sir Huber Adaman and Sir Ortaire of Berange have volunteered to dare the road to Ferrede, and go to the aid of our people. It is your work that has made it possible for us to spare them. We hope to find Squire Rollon and his builders waiting in Ferrede, fat and lazy after this summer. May the stars bless the journey, and the men who undertake it.”

Both Huber and Ortaire had come to kneel before him, and Remin glanced at Ophele. Her sacred hands were the ones to offer that blessing.

“Please be careful,” she said, as both men laid their brows against her palms. “You are very brave to go. Come back safe, as soon as you can.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Huber promised, and every cup in the cookhouse lifted to salute them.

There was not much time left before sunset, but Remin called for a little music, nonetheless. Part of every knight’s education included learning to play the pipe, the lute, or the mandolin. Darri of Ghis had a surprisingly sweet voice, and the rest of Remin’s men all took their turns leading the singing, everything fromMy Sweet Lady Awaitsto the comicalWhere is Squire Ness?This was what he had dreamed of, when he imagined his own banquet hall, though he waved away demands for a song of his own. He was not quite ready to serenade his wife.

Then someone a few tables down the hall stood up and began to sing.

Oh you can search the Empire wide

And never find a better guide

To the precious things you unfortunately let fall

For to the scaffold you are bound

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