Page 42 of Stardust Child

“If it were anyone else, I would be offended,” the duke said, with a black glance at Sousten as he tied his horse to a nearby hitching post. “How high off the ground is that plaster, Sousten?”

“Six feet, my lord, as promised.” Sousten hurried over to illustrate. The first floor was raised on six feet of stone foundation, stacked Andelin granite that would be impossible to set afire. “Next week we will begin coating the exterior timbers with black lacquer, which will preserve as well as finish them. But you can see now, with these walls before you, the colors of the Berlawe Mountains: the gray granite, the white lime plaster that is their snowy peaks, and then the black lacquer that is their deepest shadows. Immense in scale, to suit His Grace. One day, when you see this place from the river, it will be as if we have painted the stark lines of those mountains on top of this hill.”

His arms spread automatically to encompass the vision dancing before his eyes, as if it were settled and weighty reality. Glorious.

As usual, the duke stood there like an enormous plank, completely unmoved. But the little duchess was a much more satisfying audience: imaginative, appreciative, and perfectly willing to be swept off wherever Sousten wanted to take her.

“Will it really?” she asked excitedly, glancing back at the distant mountains as a reference. “I do like how it looks already, and how you’ve made the towers all stone but left the plaster on the main house. And such big windows. Do you really think the diamond panes will look all right?”

“Yes, my lady, especially with the thick sashes. And you can see they have already framed the roof,” Sousten added, his artistic curls falling back from his forehead as he pointed four floors above them. “Craftsmenare working on the stonework of the chimneys and towers, a rounded elegance to contrast with the sharp angles of the house. It will follow the roofline like lace on a lady’s gown.”

“Ohhhhhh,” breathed the duchess, gazing at the empty space where the roof was going to go. The duke was staring at her, rather than the house.

This was not the first time that the master architect had taken a pair of newlyweds on a tour of their home. He had built many homes throughout the Empire, of varying levels of grandeur. But it was rare that he faced two such starkly different personalities.

“The balconies will benefit from similar detail,” he said, turning to gesture to the wide, rounded balconies on both the second and third floor. “You will have views from both ends of your bedchambers, Your Grace, of Tresingale from this side and the river on the other.”

“With roses under them?” The duke’s eyes narrowed, eying his house as if he were considering various ways to assault it.

“Yes, my lord. Noreven sentry roses.” With three-inch thorns as sharp as daggers. Sousten had even sent out inquiries to see if there might not be such things as poisonous roses, and if such a thing existed, he had no doubt His Grace would have approved a man-eating variety.

“Sentry roses?” The duchess asked, innocent of these considerations, and Sousten’s heart contracted with mingled jealousy and approval as the duke’s face softened and he bent his head to tell her about peach-colored roses the size of his fist that would fill the courtyard with the fragrance of honey melons. They would also mutilate anyone who tried to climb them, but the duke glossed over that.

The warning signs of impending romance had begun about two months ago. Sousten, ever alert for such things, had noticed when the duke suddenly became very solicitous of his lady, shepherding her as if she were made of glass. As the duchess was one of the most pleasing objects available to look at, naturally Sousten’s eyes found her often, and so he had observed the growing care with which the duke served her supper, the frequency with which his eyes sought her, the way he bent his head to listen to her, as if every word she spoke wafted forth with music and sunshine. All indications of a man absolutely sick with love.

Sousten celebrated it on principle. It was the first hint that the duke was capable of something resembling human emotion, and the architecthad been trying to nurture the little sprout ever since. No one was beyond hope. However…

“The windows and doors,” he was finally forced to say loudly. Poetry was all very well, but if they stopped to coo over each other every five minutes, this was going to take all day.

The inside of the house was shadowy in the early morning, with slanting sunlight falling through the empty gaps of the windows. It was too much to expect them to imagine that light on floors and furniture yet, the glow that it would cast on the plaster walls, but Sousten could see it. This house would be filled with warmth and light.

“The grand staircase will be here,” he said, pacing off the width of a truly massive staircase, “and will consume much of the first and second floor of the entry hall. This is your receiving space, my lady, which will eventually extend through the back of the house into a grand ballroom, surrounded by gardens. Everything built on an exaggerated scale,” he added, with a smile that bordered on smug. “It will still be comfortable for you, my lady, but anyone who enters will know who lives here.”

Both of them nodded politely, failing utterly to grasp his vision.

“Of course, it will be very rough in the beginning,” he said, veering back to practicality, lest he lose the duke. “There is space on either side of the second floor for two large bedchambers. In the Empire, of course, it is traditional for the lord and lady to each have their own…”

He trailed off delicately. When he had presented his preliminary plans to the duke, there had been no question that there would be two. But now the pair exchanged glances and the lady’s cheeks flushed as His Grace looked at her questioningly. She gave the tiniest nod.

“One bedchamber,” said the duke, in tones that did not encourage comment.

“Of course, my lord.” Sousten bowed to hide a smile. “Frankly, that will speed things considerably. This suite will be completed first, bedchamber, boudoir, wardrobes, bath chamber, but plasterwork will continue over the winter on the remaining rooms…”

Gesturing for them to follow, he explained the layout of both the first and the second floor, the rooms for dining, offices, a solar for the lady’s use, privies, and a receiving parlor. The question was, which room did they want completed first.

“The solar?” The duke glanced down at his lady, his big hand laid protectively over hers as they walked through the rubble of building. “That would give you a comfortable place to work, wife, and do us for the evening. We can eat there until the dining room’s done.”

“I don’t mind waiting for that,” she replied. The duchess had a very soft voice, just this side of audible. “Sir Edemir is worried about running out of space in the storehouse, oughtn’t we to do the offices next? And then…you could work there during the day, too, my lord. If you wanted.”

“I would.” His stern expression softened. “It is well thought, wife. We’re halfway between the barracks and storehouse anyway, it would be convenient…”

The words trailed away into murmurs, and Sousten cast his eyes to the non-existent ceiling and waited. This was still preferable to many other couples he had dealt with, where the lady wanted a salon and his lordship wanted a room for cards and both of them complained about the cost of the drapes.

“The solar,” Sousten confirmed, when they finally remembered he was there. “That leaves us the matter of materials. I have fabrics and design books from Segoile on the way, my lady, as well as more exotic samples from Daitia, Noreven, Hara Vos, and Capricia. His Grace mentioned you want paper walls?”

“Oh. Yes,” she said. The timid thing always gave a start when first spoken to. “Like the ones in the bathhouses? Have you seen them?”

“I would not defile the sacred ladies’ bath, Your Grace, but I have been often to see Master Balad.”

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