Page 96 of Stardust Child

In a tall, narrow box there was a mirror, immense and fanciful, with a motif of palms and birds that Lady Verr said was traditional in Ereguil. It turned out that the cloth wrapped around the mirror was a tapestry of two black-beaked swans, birds that famously mated for life. The pattern of gentians and moonflowers around the border of the tapestry left no doubt that it was a wedding gift.

“It can go in the bedroom,” Ophele said, as Sir Justenin held it up so they could both admire the details. The tapestry was as tall as he was.

For Remin, Duchess Ereguil had sent a half-dozen doublets, jerkins, and shirts, along with a note admonishing him totryto keep them in one piece until Magne the valet arrived. There were also several boot stands that made Master Didion extemporize a blessing to the stars on the spot, and a number of other similar conveniences, from blanket racks to bootjacks and a handsome bench to go by the front door, where visiting men would be able to replace their muddy boots with clean house shoes. Apparently, the duchess shared Master Didion’s reverence for clean floors.

“It will be even more important this winter, while you still have these rough timber floors,” Master Didion lectured, as Ophele and Lady Verr eyed the growing collection of boot-related objects. “You cannot wash timbers like you can a fine wood floor, the maids will have to wait for the mud to dry and then scrub it off—”

“It is very generous of Duchess Ereguil to provide so many,” Lady Verr said, politely uncomprehending, and Ophele hid a smile. Remin and Master Didion had already had words about Remin’s tendency totrack in puddles wherever he went.

“It will be one less thing for us to order,” Master Didion said, turning his attention to Ophele. “If you would grant me some time later, my lady, several sample books have arrived, and we can begin planning the décor for those rooms that are completed. If we dispatch the orders before winter, they might arrive this spring.”

Much of the indoor work would be completed over the next six months, if the materials were not too delayed. It was incredible to think that by next fall, this place would be as lovely as any other noble house. No, more lovely, Ophele thought, imagining paper murals and the colors of leaves and berries. It would look like no other house in the world.

It would also be an eclectic house. The object in the largest box was for Ophele, a honey-colored dressing table in the Noreveni style, with a gratifying number of cubbies and drawers. She couldn’t help exclaiming when she opened them to find more small gifts inside.

“Oh, Lady Verr, look!” she exclaimed, opening a wide, shallow drawer, where a set of gorgeous brushes and combs were scattered over blue velvet.

“This looks like Lady Carolen’s mischief,” said Lady Verr fondly. “With Sannet and Fiorie’s help, I shouldn’t wonder, as a way to welcome you to the family. They are Duchess Ereguil’s daughters-in-law and will be glad to know you, when you go to the capital.”

That was too much to contemplate right now. Together, they dug into the other drawers, finding gorgeous hair ornaments made of jade and tortoiseshell, several small pots of lip dye and lash powder, and a dozen tiny glass tubes of perfume, carefully labeled. They were luxuries Ophele would never have thought to ask for herself, and she dabbed one lovely scent onto her wrists, a light and vaguely spicy fragrance that the label said contained orange blossom and pink pepper. There was an entire drawer filled with ribbons that she would go through with Elodie later: woven, embroidered, and even jeweled.

They had barely finished opening the first set of crates when another arrived from the storehouse, filled with items variously identified by Remin, herself, or his men as needing placement somewhere in the house. And that was where Sir Justenin found a different sort of weaving, all but forgotten over the last seven months.

“Here, my lady,” he said, extending the object with careful hands. “It is customary to hang this above the bed.”

It was her wedding knot.

Mute, Ophele took it, tracing the slender cords with her fingers. Silver, white, and blue, they formed a perfect and infinite spiral, with crystal beads to represent the stars. The knot had been packed away with the rest of their baggage after Celderline, and neither of them had thought to look for it again.

Now, she touched the loops where Remin’s massive wrists had been tied to her own, vein to vein, blood to blood, bound together even unto their dwelling among the stars.

“I’ll take it upstairs,” she said.

* * *

A disgruntled Wen appeared at the door sometime later, just as Sir Justenin was helping Sim and Jaose haul the dressing table upstairs, while Adelan hovered behind them with his arms outspread, waiting for all three to fall on him. Ophele tore her eyes from the impending catastrophe.

“Earning your lunch, I see,” Wen said sourly, setting a heavy hamper of food on the floor with a thump. “I won’t be making a habit of this, Your Grace. Two thousand men in town, it’s all I can do to get away for a pi—to take ten minutes for meself.”

“We will come down tomorrow,” Ophele promised, approaching to relieve him of the hamper. “What is it?”

Wen straightened and set his hands on his hips, observing the vast empty space.

“Food. Good, plain food. Come up in the world, haven’t ye,” he drawled, his tiny, muddy eyes narrowing. “Soon ye’ll be so fine I’ll hardly know ye. Got a house cook yet?”

“Not yet,” she answered, glancing at Sir Justenin. She had spoken to both him and Wen privately about how they might manage Remin’s food until a new cook arrived, but so far Remin had rejected everyone Duke Ereguil proposed.

“I’m no cook for a fine lord’s house,” Wen said flatly. “Soldiers’ food, that’s me. It’d be the honor of me life to cook for His Grace til I drop down dead, though that will come sooner rather than later if ye make mehaul me fat ass up that hill twice a day. But I’ll not live forever.”

“I’ll send someone to collect it next time,” Sir Justenin replied, polite as ever even with Ophele’s dressing table sitting on his shoulders.

That still wasn’t a long-term solution. Ophele and Wen exchanged another look, and the cook shrugged expressively and stumped out the open front doors, jamming a wide-brimmed straw hat onto his head. Though there was enough food for everyone, the servants politely excused themselves while the ladies ate in refined splendor on the floor. It seemed to Ophele they might have unbent the rules a little bit today of all days, but in the Empire, they were assiduous about the divisions between class.

She would have liked a cup of tea afterward, and Wen had provided a small, sealed parcel of it, but the instant Sir Justenin finished packing away the leftovers, Lady Verr rose, brushing off her skirts.

“I believe that was everything for the dressing rooms,” she said. “Would you like to arrange your dressing room yourself, my lady, or would you prefer to leave it to me?”

Ophele would very much have preferred to leave it to the lady, but surely Adelan and Sir Justenin would be suspicious if she refused. All the books she had ever read said that the mistress of the house should know every inch of it. And it wasn’t Lady Verr’s fault that everything from the flawless drape of her gown to the inquiring tilt of her head made Ophele feel like a little brown mouse.

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