Page 100 of Stardust Child

“They are late,” said Sir Justenin as Lady Verr executed hasty improvements to Ophele’s costume, tying jeweled ribbons at her sleeves and throat and plopping a lace-trimmed cap on her head. “They were supposed to arrive earlier this month, before His Grace departed, and if they are expecting devils now, we will disappoint them. But we cannot rebuke them. All protests to the contrary, we need the Tower of Scholars, my lady. We need more healers, engineers, naturalists, alchemists. It took a year just to find a tutor for the pages.”

“Will we receive them, sir knight?” asked Lady Verr, stepping back critically to examine her adjustments.

“Briefly. They cannot show up in the harbor and expect to be granted the hospitality of the duchess,” said Sir Justenin, with an edge. “But Her Grace will take a moment from her busy schedule to greet them.”

There seemed to be some deeper message here. Ophele blinked.

“Yes? I will,” she added, when it came out like a question.

“And you have a copy of your work on the devils that I can furnish to them?”

No. She would rather set it on fire. But Ophele nodded and went to retrieve the pages from her desk, every questionable phrase exploding into her mind all at once. She had finished it days ago, but then she hadpicked and picked and picked, questioning every nuance of the words she had chosen.

Her eyes met Sir Justenin’s as he held out his hand, silent confirmation thathethought the work was worthwhile.

“Thank you,” he said, sliding the pages into an oilskin satchel. “I will meet them down at the harbor and bring them up so you may welcome them to town. On no account invite them to tea.”

“Bring them up? Here?” Lady Verr objected. “I did not know you meant to bring them upstairs, sir knight. It would be quite impossible to bring unrelatedstrangersinto a lady’s chambers! Even the solar would barely be acceptable.”

“I suppose we cannot,” Sir Justenin said grudgingly. He glanced at the windows, his lip curling. “His Grace will not approve these games, Lady Verr. But it’s a fine afternoon for a drive.”

“He would still less approve if scholars from the Tower can describe his wife’s bed draperies to the capital,” Lady Verr said tartly. “I will send Jaose for a wagon. Thank you, sir.”

Much of this exchange went over Ophele’s head, and she could not even ask for an explanation with both Sir Leonin and Lady Verr listening. Meekly, she allowed Lady Verr to locate her outdoor slippers and usher her into the upper hall, with calls for Emi to fetch her cloak. Ought she to ask? Was this something she should already know? Under the voluminous folds of her cloak, her hands twisted anxiously as they waited, while Lady Verr chattered breezily about how pleasant it would be to get out of the house for an afternoon.

At least Davi looked equally puzzled. Standing on either side of the arched entry to the family wing, he was listening to Lady Verr with a slight frown, while Sir Leonin might as well have been a suit of armor, eyes front and motionless as he listened to everyone tell the Duchess of Andelin what to do.

“Ah, there they are,” said Lady Verr, starting for the stairs, and Ophele scuttled after her, with Sir Leonin and Davi trailing behind.

Her timing was excellent. Sir Justenin was bringing the crowd of strangers up the front steps of the manor just as Ophele was exiting it, wading into a sea of multicolored robes. Halting, Leonin and Davi cleared a space around her as everyone else bowed.

“Your Grace,” said Justenin, sounding believably surprised. “I beg your pardon. The Masters of the Tower have just arrived and hoped to offer their greetings.”

“Yes. Of course,” Ophele said, immediately self-conscious. “Oh, please rise.”

“Master Uvgene Torigne of the Library of Alchemy and Master Hayas Forgess, of the Library of Beasts,” Sir Justenin replied, gesturing. “And their journeymen.”

“Welcome to Tresingale.” Ophele’s voice squeaked. “I hope your journey was not too difficult?”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” said Master Torigne. He was tall and lean with a thatch of thinning gray hair, and offered another neat bow. “We only regret that it could not occur sooner.”

“There will not be so many devils to look at now,” Ophele agreed regretfully. “They burn in the sunlight, you see, so with so many leaves gone, there aren’t many places for them to hide during the day—”

“But the Masters will at least be comfortable in their labors,” said Lady Verr, so smoothly that it hardly seemed an interruption at all. “Master Ffloce sends word that their quarters in town are ready, Your Grace.”

“He did,” Ophele agreed, confused. Master Ffloce had reported that three days ago. Why was Lady Verr bringing it up now? “They are very nice.”

“With your permission, I will escort them there now, Your Grace,” said Sir Justenin with another bow, and Ophele nodded, feeling like a fool.

“Yes. Sir Justenin will look after you,” she said, trying to think what Remin would say. “Please let us know if anything is lacking.”

“Thank you, my lady,” they all said, bowing again, and Mionet moved aside so Ophele could be herded toward the wagon, where Jaose was waiting to boost her into the box seat.

“Where to, Your Grace?” he asked, as everyone climbed onto the benches.

“The market?” Ophele suggested, glancing back to find the party of scholars following on foot. And they were going to the market, too, ought she have offered them a ride? Lady Hurrell would have left them to find their own way through a blizzard, but she was supposed to be making friends with them so the Tower would send more scholars…

The oilskin satchel passed from Sir Justenin’s hand to Master Torigne’s, and Ophele whipped around to face front, her heart pounding. Well. It was too late to go back now.

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