Page 141 of Stardust Child

“We’ll have bigger boats next year,” Remin said absently. The shipbuilders would also be arriving in spring.

Much of Juste’s real work could not be discussed openly. Remin knew that there were many messages traveling back and forth to Segoile, where Darri had rented a townhouse in one of the city’s more inconspicuous quarters and begun making strategic contacts. Darri was not especially accomplished socially, but he was very nearly invisible when he wanted to be.

“We are nearly settled for the winter,” Juste said serenely, and Remin knew he was not only speaking of Tresingale’s livestock.

“The scholars did not like my work,” Ophele confessed the moment they were outside, clutching her sheaf of papers to her breast. She had been so quiet during the remaining reports, Remin had nearly forgotten that she was there. “Master Forgess said so.”

“In front of you?” Remin asked sharply.

“He didn’t know I was there. He apologized,” she added, as Remin lifted her up before him on Lancer.

“Then he must feel a fool, now,” Remin said, leashing his temper. “To so publicly display his poor judgment and reveal the foolish games of the Tower. I expect you to continue your excellent work and will hear no more about it, unless you wish to make me angry.”

Ophele’s eyebrows winged upward in surprise, and she laughed.

“Just like that,” she said, and let her head thump back against his chest. “I didn’t realize how much other work was being done in the valley. How do you remember it all?”

“They remember a good deal of it for me,” he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It was a great deal of information to absorb in an afternoon, but the condition of Tresingale was not his primary concern. Or Ophele’s, apparently.

“You were right,” she said, a little subdued. “I didn’t know how terrible it was, in Nandre and Meinhem.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear such things,” Remin replied, turning Lancer toward home. He was tired, and his left arm ached miserably, still deeply bruised from the wolf demon’s bite.

“I don’t know what else they could have done to save themselves,” she said, frowning down at her papers. “I was trying to think what I would do, if it had been me. Would they have done better to try to come here themselves?”

“No. It would have been suicide,” he said shortly.

“I don’t know how anyone could decide such things,” she went on, troubled. “When to send help, or not. How many to send. I didn’t realize what it meant, back in July, when all that was happening. I know it isn’t strictly a matter of numbers, but if thirty-nine men died to bring seventy-six people back, and there are four hundred and thirteen dead in Meinhem and Nan—”

“Next time, I will consult you,” he said to shut her up, the words biting and acid and far angrier than he meant them to be. Her eyes flicked up to his, widening with hurt.

“That’s not what I—”

“I know it’s not. I’m sorry,” he said, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was like her to treat it as an intellectual exercise, and no doubt she would have a number of valuable insights, but he didn’t want to hear it right now. Anything he might say sounded to his own ears like self-defense, justifying a decision that had cost four hundred and thirteen innocent livesso far.He would never know how many might have lived, if he had tried to send help sooner.

“It’s all right,” she said softly, and it was a quiet ride to the manor, and awkward in a way that it hadn’t been for some time.

“I’ll settle Lancer and be in soon,” Remin said in the forecourt of the manor, lowering her from the horse’s back and trying to look reassuring. It just wasn’t happening today.

He had known this would happen, when he decided not to help. He haddecidedto let his villagers die. What right did he have to feel shocked or upset when it happened? He had weighed the odds and decided that they were doomed, and any men he tried to send to save them would die. But what if he had been wrong?

There was no point in dwelling on past decisions. He knew that, too; they were past, and could not be changed. But Remin lingered a long time over Lancer, grooming the velvety black hide, dabbing a little more salve onto the healing gashes on his legs and haunches. The stable was warm with the heat of the horses’ bodies, and quiet, except for occasional stamping and blowing.

Lancer did not thank him for the attention. He had always been a savage creature, even as a foal; as Remin picked his hooves clean, he kept turning his head to snap, not so much with the intent to bite as to prove hecould.Remin met those dark, ferocious eyes and produced a carrot from his pocket, feeling a fond sort of irritation as Lancer immediately snatched it, then butted him with his nose, demanding to be pet.

It was some time before Remin realized why he was lingering.

But Huber wasn’t coming.

Even if he had been in Tresingale, he wouldn’t have come. There had been so many times, after a terrible day, when they would meet in the stables or the kennels for the uncomplicated company of beasts. Remin had always found a little bit of peace there, before. Not forgiveness; Huber would never forgive him, now that Rollon was gone.

Four hundred and thirteen dead. The population of Selgin numbered nearly three hundred; tiny, idyllic Isigne was around a hundred and fifty. Five hundred lives, counting Huber and his men.

That was nothing compared to the nearly ninety thousand men who had marched in his army over the course of the war, of whom almost twenty thousand had died. Edemir had kept the rolls, with some understandable uncertainty as to the exact number, but it was agreed to be at least nineteen thousand. And how many Vallethi soldiers had died? How many had died in Ellingen, the Vallethi city he had razed?

Juste said that nothing good would come of asking these questions. That in the moment, given the same conditions, he would likely make the same decisions. But at what point did he have to account for the dead?

Maybe this was the real reason he hadn’t wanted Ophele to come this afternoon. He hadn’t wanted her to know how badly he had failed his people. He wanted to be the man he saw reflected in her eyes. But maybe that was foolish. She had already learned for herself how cruel, short-sighted, and wrong-headed he could be.

---