Page 117 of Stardust Child

Ophele had thought, with the harvest in, that the hardest work of the year was over. But the same men who had broken their backs reaping the fields had immediately turned their attention to the forest, foraging vast quantities of mushrooms, berries, nuts, roots, and assorted tubers, which were then hulled, roasted, and otherwise preserved. Every day the hunters returned with boar, deer, elk, and bear, fattened and sweet from their diet of berries. All that meat had to be smoked, salted, or dried, and the smokers behind the cookhouse sent up such a constant reek that Ophele was already sick of smoked meat, and she hadn’t even had any yet. It was fortunate that they had cleared out so much warehouse space, for it was filling up again with all the provender required to feed a town for the winter.

That was where Sir Edemir and his secretaries came in. It was their task to inventory all that food and augment it with supplies from the Empire where necessary, issuing an explosion of final orders for the year. But it wasn’t just foodstuffs. Many of Remin’s knights were finally moving into their own homes, either in the barracks or in town, and Ophele loved to see all the requisitions for beds and wardrobes and washstands, simple comforts that Remin’s men had been denied for so long. Every time she came across one of these orders, she lingered over every detail, delighted to discover that Sir Justenin wanted a dozen bookshelves, while Sir Tounot had sent for a set of pigments from Capricia for his painting.

She was buried six deep in orders when the scholars appeared, and Sir Justenin had to clear his throat to make her look up.

“Oh. Sir Justenin,” she said, blinking to find herself surrounded by green robes. Her ink-stained fingers went anxiously to her dress as she began to rise, only to sink back down at a warning flick of Justenin’s eyes, pinning her in place as effectively as if he’d nailed her down.

“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head. “May I present Master Hayas Forgess of the Tower of Scholars, and his journeymen?”

She felt a little trapped with four tall men looming over her, and surely they must be disappointed, as if they had been prepared for a queen and found themselves presented to a milkmaid. But she could not think of her own feelings. She was Remin’s duchess and must protect his dignity.

She must not blush.

She must not stammer.

“Hello,” she said. “Sir Justenin said you wished to speak to me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Master Forgess bowed his head. “On my own behalf, as it was my loud mouth that you heard. There’s a certain process for these things in the Tower, but I know the devils don’t care for it any more than a cow does. I will beg pardon for my words. I was hasty, and intemperate. On further examination, we found much merit in your proposals. But even if we didn’t, it would still be unforgivably rude. I beg you to forget it. I wish I had not spoken so.”

From the look on Sir Justenin’s face, she just bet he did. Was any of that true? She wished she could send everyone away so she could ask, but Leonin and Davi would never agree to go. And judging by the nervous glances the journeymen were shooting that way, she could just imagine the expression on Davi’s face. Even if he wasn’t actually mouthing the wordsdie die die,thespiritwas certainly there.

“I accept your apology,” she said, with all the dignity she could muster. “I hope the work is…useful.”

The journeymen relaxed. Master Forgess glared.

“Useful,” he said, and jerked his head when Sir Justenin leveled him with a cold stare. “Yes, my lady, thank you. You are very gracious.”

Everyone else fell all over themselves to agree. They bowed. They apologized again, complimenting her work for its thoroughness, its interesting construction, itsnovelideas. And after a few more excruciating courtesies, Sir Justenin finally ushered them away, withMaster Forgess all but chewing his own tongue. He looked as if he had wanted to say something else very badly.

It was only as they were shuffling out the door that Ophele realized what had been missing.

“Why did Master Torigne not come?” she wondered aloud, once the door shut behind them.

“He left, my lady,” replied Sir Leonin, and Ophele spun around to face him, her heart contracting.

“Heleft?”

“Yesterday. He went back to the capital,” Sir Leonin explained, and Ophele sank back into her chair as the weight of everything that meant descended on her shoulders.

* * *

“Noble lady.”

The four women of Benkki Desa bowed a greeting, and as the doors of the bathhouse slid open, the warm, sweet air wafted forth like the gentle breath of exotic lilies.

“Thank you,” said Ophele, stepping out of her shoes and into the warm waters of the pebble stream. A dreadful afternoon yesterday and a sleepless night last night had left her with a thundering headache, and Lady Verr had—in the politest and most deferential way possible—offered a choice between a visit to the baths or a visit from Genon Hengest. “I would like to bathe separately, please.”

Any other day, she would have felt guilty for the request, especially when Lady Verr had walked all the way down to the bathhouse with her. But bathing was a communal activity in Tresingale, and the last thing Ophele wanted was to be examined without her clothes on.

“As you wish,” said Madam Sanai, waving to Bilaki and Huvara, and Lady Verr offered a small curtsy before she was escorted in the opposite direction. Madam Sanai insisted on serving Ophele herself, and always seconded Pili, who had a light touch and cheerful manner.

“The Grace’s hands are healing,” Madam Sanai noted as Pili deftly removed Ophele’s gown and chemise, lifting one hand gently and turning it over to look at her palm. The callouses she had acquired over the summer were slowly fading. “Though this is new. From your work?”

“Yes.” Ophele automatically twitched her hand away, though she was not as ashamed of the indentation from her quill. “I was re-reading what I wrote, and I wanted to…tidy it up a bit.”

“About the devils?” Pili was particularly fascinated by the subject.

“Yes. Sir Edemir ordered more books for me, and I have learned so much—thank you,” Ophele added as they slipped a light robe over her shoulders and shepherded her toward her bathing room, the one with the lovely pink carp on the wall. “Doesn’t Benkki Desa have a great many devils?”

---