Page 72 of Stardust Child

“Francot?” she whispered, moving closer to the wall.

“Fricon,” he murmured, pretending an absorbing interest in the tapestry nearby. “The Empress, I expect. Would you rather go there? I will say I have not seen you.”

“No.” If her mother caught her, she would be trapped there until dawn. But Selenne still felt a familiar twisting in her belly as Lucan smuggled her out of the hall. It hadn’t been bad, when it had just been herself and her mother speaking to her ancestors in the smoke. But Grandfather Melun was there now, and if she went to them, Ceneric was sure to be summoned as well. And then she might very well end up like her Grandfather Onsetin Agnephus, all but a prisoner until she agreed to be betrothed to Ceneric. When they spoke of a Melun Proposal in Segoile, it was not at all romantic.

The Chamber of Marbles was only a marginal improvement. That room had frightened the wits out of her when she was a child, until her father finally realized what the trouble was and brought her to see the statues of her ancestors by day, without the befuddling incense. Her father would not tolerate weakness, even in his seven year-old daughter.

The Emperor was concluding his own bit of business outside the doors as she approached, speaking with a tall blonde noblewoman and a rather froggy-looking gentleman that she didn’t recognize. The Emperorcaught her eye, silently granting permission to approach, and so she heard their final murmurs. The blonde woman included both Emperor and Princess in her curtsy.

“Faithful unto death, Divinity,” she murmured, and Selenne searched her automatically, looking for some badge or device to indicate her House. There were none. Strange.

“We will speak more later. Enjoy the feast,” the Emperor said, dismissing them. “Daughter.”

“Father.” Selenne accepted a cloak from Lucan as the doors opened and smoke billowed forth. It was always disorienting, but more than that, it wascoldin there, as if they really were about to step into the void between the stars.

Wrapping her cloak closer about her, Selenne went to commune with her celestial ancestors.

* * *

“Over the saddle horn. Like that,” said Remin approvingly, one bright October afternoon a few days after the Feast of the Departed. Ophele looked steady enough, perched atop the tall bay gelding with one knee hooked over the saddle horn and her other foot in the stirrup. “In time we’ll get you a proper sidesaddle,” he said, reminding himself not to frown as he looked her over. “Tounot said his mother and sister ride like this sometimes. Do you feel steady?”

“I think so,” Ophele replied, looking down at herself as if to confirm it visually. “Can I try to ride now?”

He wanted to say no. She looked so ridiculously small atop the horse, even if the stablemaster swore to the stars that the beast was placid as a cow. Until last week, he had been a plow horse, which meant he responded to vocal commands and was unlikely to be stirred out of a trudge unless a bear was chasing him.

Ophele had named him Brambles.

“Slowly,” Remin made himself say. “And sit up straight. Your spine should be right over the center of the saddle. Try to move with his motion.”

He was barking commands. Remin bit his tongue, though his eyes never left her as Brambles trudged up and down the stable yard, his platter-sized hooves clopping. He had an entire separate mental to-do list for Ophele, to ensure she was safe and content while he was gone, but now he was wondering whether the horse riding lessons could have waited.

“I suppose we can try the road,” he said, once she had gone back and forth half a dozen times. “Do you want to?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” she said, brightening.

“All right. Come here.” He held out his hands to lift her down from the saddle, loathe to leave her up there even for the minutes it would take to saddle his horse. “You can make friends with him while I get my horse. He should be safe to pet and so forth, he was never a war horse. All right?”

“Yes.” Ophele’s hands squeezed his when they lingered on her waist, but Remin wasn’t fooled by her reassuring smile. That watchful look was back in her eyes again.

Ever since he had asked about her mother, things had been…off.

Not all the time. That would almost have been easier. No, this vague sense of unease was elusive and frustrating, a ripple of discord like clouds passing over the sun. Sometimes her smiles felt forced. Sometimes, when she didn’t know he was watching, there was a look in her eyes that made him worry. But how was he supposed to ask her about that? Every sentence he constructed in his head sounded like the complaints of a vaporous auntie.

For the dozenth time, he went over their conversation as he saddled his horse. He had said,what did your mother have to do with the fall of my House?Maybe that had been too blunt. But Ophele herself had said her mother regretted it, hadn’t she?

In any case, she had stiffened up like a board, stuttering and stumbling and repeating herself until Remin could do nothing but tell her it didn’t matter, he had only been curious. He was sorry that he had asked. He had reassured her over and over since then, promising that he didn’t hold her responsible for anything her mother or father had done. And then he had stopped bringing it up at all, because even his reassurances only seemed to distress her more.

Maybe she sensed he hadn’t been entirely truthful.

It did bother him. Even he didn’t know why his family had been slain. The official charge against Remin’s House wasgrave insult against the line of the stars,which at the time had consisted solely of the Emperor.Crown Princess Selenne had not yet even been conceived, and the pregnant Rache Pavot had been exiled to Aldeburke. Remin had never heard of an attack on the Emperor, but what else could the charge mean?

Slinging the saddle onto his horse’s back, Remin reached for the girth strap and cinched it tight. He wondered if it had ever occurred to Ophele that her mother’s death might have been the final note of the Conspiracy. Lady Pavot might have been spared for the sake of the sacred celestial child in her belly, but once Ophele had been born, she was nothing but a liability. There were dozens of slow-acting poisons that mimicked natural illness, most of them administered via food. Had someone killed her mother? Wouldn’t Ophele want to know?

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he would only upset her to no purpose by asking.

“Getting along with him?” he asked as he led his horse into the stable yard.

“Yes, all he wants to do is eat,” she replied as he boosted her up into the saddle. She took her place on his back easily, sitting very straight, as if to show Remin how carefully she was following his instructions.

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