Page 126 of Stardust Child

It was a shame they were all doomed.

That was the prevailing opinion in the capital. TheGazettehad a number of somber articles explaining why. The Emperor had ordered Sir Remin to take back the Andelin Valley, an impossible task that had left tens of thousands of men dead on the banks of the Brede over the last hundred years.

“It’s not much of a reward for them,” said Earl Breuyir, exchanging a glance with his wife, whose tender heart had been stirred by the tragedy of it all. “At least they had a social season.”

He didn’t need to say,before they all die.And how surpassingly odd that somehow, Leonin felt…jealous?

He had no illusions about the glory of war. He certainly did not expect any miracles. As he made his usual round through lessons, business, and society, he listened with half an ear for news of the distant war, the mustering of men, the pitifully small force that would challenge the might of Valleth. Of course, no one wanted to go; it was suicide, and the Emperor was not exerting himself to enforce conscription in the duchies. The brunt of the burden fell on Ereguil, and it was whispered that the old duke was only keeping the oath he had made to Remin’s mother.

And then Sir Remin and his knights mounted the charge of the Gresein Bridge.

Andtookit.

The news blazed south like wildfire, and Leonin actually had to sit down when he heard it. How? It was impossible, everyone said it was impossible. When no one was looking, he stole his father’sGazetteand feverishly read every single article.

“Iknewthere was some hot blood in those young bucks!” Master Criel exclaimed the next morning, as gleeful as if the accomplishment had been his own. Tossing Leonin his sword, he took his position with more enthusiasm than he had shown in years. “There you are, young master, let’s see how you compare.”

“Tothem?”Leonin asked cynically, but that question jabbed him long after their practice was over.

Why? What did the actions of the men who charged the Gresein have to do with him? It was a thing so far removed from his safe, tame life that it might as well have happened in another world. Why did it matter what they did? What difference did it make to him? At night, he tossed and turned, trying not to think about it, and for the first time in his life, he was up before dawn, alone in the practice yard with his sword in hand as if he meant to do something with it.

Stars and ancestors,didhe?

This was the only thing he was good at. Well, the only thing heexcelledat. Sometimes Leonin wondered if that wasn’t half his trouble, that he had never had to work hard at anything in his life.

The next day, he told his father he was going to join Remin Grimjaw’s army.

It was an almighty uproar. His mother and sisters cried. But Leonin was twenty years old now, a fifth son, and very much superfluous. This was the first thing he had ever cared about, and he couldn’t even explain it.Hedidn’t care whether the Andelin Valley belonged to the Empire or Valleth. He had no loyalty to Sir Remin. Even after the victory on the Brede, it was still an impossible war and anyone who fought in it would almost certainly die.

And hehadto go.

Seven years and a war later, he still didn’t know why.

* * *

“Her Grace will not be coming down,” said Lady Verr, eying Davi and Leonin with interest. She was too much a creature of the capital to ask directly what happened, but Leonin could tell from the lift of her perfectly shaped eyebrows that she was putting pieces together.

There was nothing in the world like a Rose of Segoile.

“I’ll fetch supper for her,” said Davi, glancing up at the second-floor windows with naked unhappiness, and swung back atop his horse.

“He ought to do something about that eyepatch,” Lady Verr said once he was safely out of earshot. “It gives him a rather thuggish air, at present.”

“I will tell him to acquire something appropriate to the dignity of a war veteran,” Leonin replied, the rebuke as polite as if they were discussingthe weather. And while he did make a mental note to tell Davi that he needed something better than a rag tied around his head—the Duchess of Andelin’s guards could not look like Waterside street brutes—it only served to remind him that he was aguard.Not a hallow.

Where had thatcomefrom? In his wildest dreams, Leonin had never imagined that Duchess Andelin might reject the idea of hallows altogether. He hadn’t even known that option was on the table. Surely His Grace wouldn’t allow it. They had already come so far, and Leonin had been sure, now that the cleric had arrived, that it was only a matter of time until they made their oaths.

This was his dream. The fleeting, illusorypurposehe had searched for all his life.

It was all he could do to hold his tongue when the duchess finally emerged at noon the next day, looking pale and fragile, with swollen eyes. But she had not come to speak to the men who wished to swear their souls to her, oh, no. The common-born page boy was here for his poetry lesson.

Leonin took his usual position several yards away, his face expressionless. She was a duchess. In Segoile, it would never have occurred to him to expect an explanation. He would have never dreamed of going up to the Duchess of Tries to questionhernotoriously eccentric behavior. Frankly, he would have been more likely to question one of her purebred hounds. It wasn’t done. It would have been mannerless, uncouth, and inexcusable.

“My lady,” said Davi, the instant the lesson was ended. “Could we talk about what happened yesterday? We didn’t mean to upset you. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, though she wouldn’t look at either of them. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair to both of you. I should have spoken sooner. I know you must be disappointed.”

“I would like to talk to you about it, my lady,” Leonin replied quickly. Inwardly, he was appalled; even if Duchess Andelin wasn’t good at hiding her emotions, Davi could at least be polite enough to ignore them. But ithadbought them this opportunity. “If you will allow us?”

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