Page 32 of Stardust Child

“Sir Leonin of Breuyir, that’s in Tries, isn’t it?” she asked, turning her eyes to the black-haired knight and blessing the many hours she had spent among Aldeburke’s books of heraldry. “I saw the falcon device on your helmet.”

“Yes, my lady.” His eyes were a sharp and penetrating blue, clear as ice crystals. “I am honored.”

“Both of you honor me,” she said, with a nervous waving of her hands. “I think I remember Sir Auber mentioned you were at Jardingard. With the trebuchets?”

“Yes, my lady,” he repeated, with a single well-bred nod. “I joined His Grace after he crossed the Brede.”

She never knew what to say to remarks like that;you must be very bravewas both obvious and trite, and she felt vastly unqualified to comment on the war in any way. She couldn’t help glancing at Remin for help, uncertain what was expected of her.

“I know them both well,” he said, taking her elbow. “Wen will be along with luncheon, there’s time to talk.”

It was a little more comfortable once they were seated by the fire, given a wide berth by the small groups of men who had come for theirmeal. It was an unusually fine repast, with china and silver and a meal surpassing the standard bread and cheese. Several game birds had been stuffed with red currants and roasted, so succulent they fell apart with a fork, and there were platters of tubers and greens, potatoes, and the hearty rolls Wen usually served at supper with thick pats of pale yellow butter.

“How did you come to serve His Grace?” she asked when the table was laid, the first polite question that came to mind. Really, she wanted to ask why under the stars they would choose to bind their lives to her, but she sensed she should not lead with that question.

Sir Leonin and Davi exchanged glances, and Sir Leonin spoke first.

“I am the fifth son of my family, my lady,” he said, laying his utensils down before he spoke. “I wished to make my own name. And I had just survived my first social season in Segoile,” he added, with a hint of humor. “Valleth seemed the lesser evil.”

This won a chuckle from Remin and Sir Justenin, and Ophele smiled politely, uncomprehending.

“And you, Sir Davi?” she asked. He glanced at Sir Leonin before he too laid his utensils down.

“I’m not a knight yet, if you’ll pardon, lady,” he said bluntly, but with such good will she didn’t feel chastised. “Just a common soldier, that’s me. Marched under Duke Norgrede first. I wasn’t there for the bit on the Gresein, but I was at Kiel Gorge. When Duke Andelin gave me command of me own lads, I asked to say me oaths to him. Worked out well enough,” he finished, with another flash of that crooked smile.

“You didn’t want to keep building?” she asked, a little plaintively. To her, it seemed like such a waste, to survive the war and learn a trade only to take up a sword again.

“Sword fits my hand better, lady,” he said with an apology in his voice. “Tried it His Grace’s way, just to see what it was like, but it ain’t for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything…bad,” she said quickly. “Huvara said there are some people meant to stand watch, and some people are meant to listen for the bells. She’s at the baths. Huvara, I mean.”

“One of the Benkki Desa women?” Sir Leonin rescued her as Ophele reddened at her clumsy explanation. “The one who fought yesterday?”

“No, she’s one of the other ladies.” An avalanche of information about the serenity of maidens threatened to burst forth but ran solidly up against her own clumsy tongue, stuck firmly to the roof of her mouth.

“It was a good bout,” Sir Leonin said, filling the silence politely. “I confess I know little of that country, but Master Balad has been good enough to tell us…”

Under the table, Remin’s hand brushed hers, but it was less consolation than usual. It had just dawned on her that these men were going to see all her embarrassing moments. They would witness every mistake, every awkward conversation, inevitably discover every secret. Her life in Aldeburke had at least afforded her some privacy. And she couldn’t even protest on those grounds; a normal noblewoman would be accustomed to attendants and guards from earliest childhood.

These two men would be with her the rest of her life. She would see them every single day. Sir Miche had blown apart her objections so effortlessly, it felt like whining to voice them again, but she still couldn’t accept it. And though until very recently her opinions and feelings had no bearing whatsoever on what happened to her, Remin and his knights had been listening respectfully to her foolishness for months.

Ophele waited, nerving herself to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she began, at the first break in the conversation. “I know it’s already been decided, and you fought so hard for it yesterday, but I don’t see why you have to be hallows instead of regular guards. I don’t see why you would…want to be one.”

It came out every bit as awkward and childish as she feared. Remin’s eyes flicked to Sir Justenin’s, a wordless communication.

“I was against it, at first,” the knight began, with a nod to Ophele. “There are many reasons why hallows are no longer used. The interjection of the Temple in such worldly matters is awkward, especially among noble Houses. The oath of a hallow is the most sacred oath a guardsman can swear. The punishment for betraying it is purification by the Temple, which is a very painful way to die, and requires the Temple to perform a public execution, which they have not done for over a hundred years. In His Grace’s case…”

Sir Justenin glanced at Remin with a tight-lipped smile.

“If one is willing to antagonize both the Temple and the Emperor, it means that if anyone attempts to bribe, blackmail, or interfere in any way with your hallows, the Temple will be forced to recognize the blasphemy. Even if the person attempting to subvert them is acting on behalf of someone of divine blood.”

“Oh,” Ophele said, looking at Remin with appreciation. “It would cause trouble between the Temple and the Emperor, if he tried to do anything?”

“It’s not a guarantee,” Remin acknowledged. “But it’s a deterrent. And if reminding the Temple of their duty antagonizes them, that’s their problem, not mine.”

“Opinions differ,” said Sir Justenin blandly. “But His Grace is right that it is much harder to bribe or blackmail a hallow in the first place. Sir Leonin and Davi will renounce all blood ties and take the name of the House of Andelin, as if they were adopted into the household. In the eyes of the Temple, it will be as if they were related to you by blood.”

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