Page 41 of Stardust Child

“It’s also foolish to play a rigged game,” argued Tounot. He was generally of Miche’s mind on this subject, though Miche was a creature of chaos while Tounot’s reservations were personal. He had paid dearly for his long friendship with Remin. It had soured him on both the Empire and his House. “I say we build, and in a few years, they can come crawling to us if they want something. Let them sit on the south bank of the Brede with their hands out.”

“They will not,” Juste said sharply. “They will go to Valleth, and we will be between a hammer and an anvil.”

“They would rather give the Andelin back to Valleth than let Rem keep it?” Tounot said skeptically.

“If they begin to fear Valleth less than they fear Remin Grimjaw, Supreme Sword of the Court of War, yes,” said Juste firmly. “If I wanted to instill such fear in the Empire, it would take very little effort. All the seeds are already planted. We will need friends if we want to pluck them out before someone decides to tend them.”

“Friends like Duke Berebet?” Tounot snorted. “That’s the sort of friendship you’ll find in the Empire, those that cover their threats with compliments. One would think you of all people would know better, Juste.”

“I do not need you to lesson me.” Spoken by Juste, it was the gentlest rebuke, but Remin could see the viciousness in his eyes. “We need only be prudent, and we will be an unassailable power.In time.But I say we must play the games of Courts and Houses first. Then we can win them so thoroughly, we will never have to play them again.”

“We’re not deciding that today.” Remin called them to order. Darri was at the table, present because soon he would be leaving for Segoile to play those games, and for his sake it was best that he didn’t hear too much talk like this. “Auber, what do you say?”

“I say I am a farmer and your knight, Rem.” Auber spread his hands. “Give me a sword or a plow. These matters are beyond me.”

That was an acceptable answer. It was better to express no opinion than a poorly considered one. Bram waved his hand before Remin couldcall on him; the former mercenary only offered an opinion when it was a strong one.

“Darri,” Remin said, offering him the option to speak. Cat-eyed Darri was one of Remin’s smallest knights, a few inches shy of Edemir’s height and so slight it seemed like a suit of armor would devour him, but he was unearthly quick and, so far as Remin could tell, almost indestructible. “What say you?”

“It’s never hurt me to listen, my lord,” he said, with a wary glance at his brother knights. “But I’ve found the things I don’t know might hurt a great deal.”

That was the most reasonable position, Remin knew. But he still didn’t like it. He gestured for the letter and read it silently again, the frown lines deepening in his face. It could do no harm to find out what Duke Berebet was proposing.

“We’ll draft a letter to Berebet,” he said reluctantly. “I want a base in Segoile, and we need to begin buying eyes and ears. But I will keep nothing there I would regret losing. Juste, Bram, Darri will need letters of introduction to your agents. Edemir, letters to our factors. The discreet ones. Tounot, I want a messenger relay. It’s three hundred miles from here to Segoile. I want to be reading Darri’s messages four days after he writes them.”

His knights exchanged glances. Anyone who knew Remin might see this as a provocation, a signal of extreme distrust of the Empire. And it absolutely was. But as a practical matter, it would be very hard for anyone to object to a nobleman using any sort of message system he liked.

“And I need you to stop at Aldeburke on the way,” Remin remembered. “There are a few things we left behind, including Her Grace’s seal. You’ll need to bring a dozen men or so. We’re confiscating the library.”

There was a short, explosive laugh from Edemir.

“I’ll go,” said Miche immediately. “Unless I’m much mistaken, the Hurrells will fight to the last dictionary. No reason to make Darri sit through it. And I owe a visit to a lady.”

“Stars, Miche, we weren’t there a week.” Remin shook his head.

But if Miche was volunteering to go, he had something more on his mind than a woman, and Remin wouldn’t have to spare him for long. Ina few days, ferries would be operating at strategic points along the Brede, to speed the transport of supplies—and now libraries—from all over the Empire. The thought satisfied him to the core of his logistician’s soul.

“Come and see me before you leave,” he said, and adjourned the meeting.

* * *

Sousten Didion was a man in love with beauty.

The many kinds and qualities of beauty were hotly debated in the salons of Segoile, celebrated and deconstructed, but Sousten was one who pursued beauty as an ideal. The sight of a beautiful man or woman, a perfect landscape, or the soaring glory of the Temple of Imele Mer gave him the fluttering palpitations of a man in love. His greatest aspiration was to add his own masterpiece to the beautiful things of the world.

Alas, Sousten was an artist that could not paint, could not sculpt, could not carve, an actor without the gift to tread the boards. In him, the impulse to create was expressed in graceful lines and skillful geometries, questions of scale and proportion, dreamlike visions ultimately realized by hands infinitely more skillful than his own.

But they were visions that would endure.

That was why he had come to the Andelin Valley, despite its lack of salons, theaters, society, fine wine, and plumbing. It certainly wasn’t for love of His Grace Grimjaw, though the man was something of a work of art himself. The Andelin was the largest blank canvas in the world, backed by the deepest pockets in the Empire. There would never be another opportunity like this. Sousten was already campaigning to be given charge of His Grace’s Academy and Sir Justenin’s observatory, once the manor was well underway. The observatory in particular thrilled him. To be sure, it was meant to be a place of quiet study, but the still-hazy object Sousten saw in his dreams whispered,masterpiece.

That was worth the hazards of dealing with His Grace, who cared unpredictably but intensely about very specific things.

His Grace and the little duchess were due to inspect the progress on the house an hour past sunrise, and Sousten was waiting on the steps as they approached on the duke’s big black horse. He was pleased to have substantial progress to report, beginning with the sturdy twelve-footstone wall visible at the base of the hill, a formidable barrier that would eventually surround the whole estate.

“My lord! My lady!” he called, giving the lace at his wrists a tug as he hurried to greet them. The duke was austere as ever, but at least the lady’s pink-and-cream gown suited her coloring and Sousten heartily approved of the ruffling on her skirt. “Flower of the Andelin,” he said, with a great upswell of emotion as he bowed to kiss the fingertips of Beauty. “I dream of the day when I will see you in your proper setting.”

“Thank you?” The duchess did not yet know how to accept a compliment gracefully, though that one was admittedly a little complicated.

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