Page 49 of Stardust Child

She didn’t want it. The income from the plantations, the estate, she would forego all of it if it meant she never had to think of that place again. Her handwriting had been noticeably more wobbly on that paragraph, and even as she watched Remin and Miche make the final preparations, her breath felt tight in her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. Maybe it would be all right. Miche was clever, and strong, and she hadn’t asked for anything that Lady Hurrell wanted or used…

“Be careful,” she told him again at their final parting. The ferry would shave some miles from his journey, but it would still be December before he returned. “Come back safe.”

“Never fear, my lady,” he told her, taking both her hands and squeezing them. “I’m only returning what’s yours. Take care of His Grace.”

He and Remin exchanged nothing more than a brief clasp of hands, and all too soon the ferry was sailing away, a little caravel skimming across the treacherous river as lightly as a water strider. A dozen men had gone with him, including Squire Barnabe, to the rejoicing of the pageboys.

“We’ll be back tomorrow, seeing Darri off,” Remin noted, pulling her to his side and adjusting the silvery fur cloak over her shoulders. He was nearly as worried about her getting cold as he was about her being too hot. “Unless it’s too early for you, little owl.”

“No, I’ll come,” she said, giving herself a shake. It was very early, with the sun just winking to the east, and this close to the wall she could hear the raspy chuckling of ghouls, snorting away on the far side of the stone.

Even as she and Remin stood together, black sails appeared to the south, the first supply ship of the morning bearing the thousand things that arrived daily. They must have set sail as soon as it was light enough to see the end of the dock.

“The river will be busy, until the snow flies,” Remin said with some satisfaction.

“I wish Sir—Miche could have stayed for the feast,” Ophele said as he lifted her into the saddle a little while later. The Feast of the Departed was only a few days away.

“It’s better that he leaves now, so as to return before winter,” Remin replied, nudging his horse up the steep road on the riverbank. “Once the snow falls, no one’s getting in or out of the valley.”

“But that means the devils will be gone soon, doesn’t it?” she asked hopefully.

“In a month or so. But we’ll be right on their heels,” he said, glancing with foreboding toward the mountains. “I will find their dens.”

Ophele did not like this idea for many reasons. She would miss Remin and worry about him and the men who accompanied him, but it seemed a very risky proposition to her, following the devils back into the mountains. The Berlawes curved northeast for a hundred and fifty miles, an enormous territory to hunt through, and even she had heard about parties stranded there by snowstorms, and glaciers so rotten they sheared away like jagged glass. If anyone could survive, it would be Remin, but…

She could give him a destination.

Or kill him.

The butterflies in her belly turned at once to lead, a sickening plunge in the pit of her stomach. Because yes, that was a possibility, too. If he believed her, and she was wrong, then he and everyone who went with him might die.

“Where do you want to go?” Remin asked.

“Home, please,” she said, nestling into his warmth. She needed to look at her notes again.

* * *

It was a season of departures. Everywhere Ophele looked, the valley was bustling in a last burst of frantic activity before the long quiet of winter. Whenever she was in the office, there was an endless stream of incoming reports, and every night Remin and his knights sat down at the supper table and ate like they had been starving for weeks, then fell asleep over their plates. It was a good omen if the harvest was in before the Feast of the Departed, so Remin had shoved every man into the fields, including himself.

This year, he was determined that all the omens would be good.

Though she had known it was coming, Ophele was still saddened at the departure of her students, bound to the barracks to resume their proper service to their squires and knights. The dormitories had finally been completed and the boys groaned dismally at the thought of domestic chores, but were very excited to be picking up their swords in addition to their cleaning rags.

“Will you come watch us practice, my lady?” asked Legeriot as they were taking their leave from the cookhouse, with a series of bows, compliments, and scruffy little bouquets that proved they had learned well the lessons of Sir Miche. “I beat Gavrel last time.”

“You kicked me,” Gavrel objected. “Knights don’t kick.”

“Sir Miche did,” Legeriot countered. “Remember? He kicked Sir Picolot in the—”

“I would love to come watch,” Ophele intervened, before the argument could build up steam, though she had mixed feelings about watching boys whack at each other with wooden swords. “But you must promise to be very careful, won’t you? And practice hard.”

“We will, my lady,” said Denin, with his manliest air. He had just turned twelve and was lording it over the other boys. “We’re going to be Knights of the Andelin one day. Sir Bram said we could, if we earned it.”

The thought of what these boys would have to do to earn such a thing struck her tender heart like a small blade, and as little Valentin approached to make his farewell, Ophele couldn’t help herself. She did what she had been wanting to do from the moment she saw those big brown eyes.

“You must be very careful, too,” she said, bending to embrace the eight year-old. He only resisted for an instant before his arms crept around her neck, wiry little limbs and hands already roughened from the hard work he did. How had his mother been able to let him go? “Mind your teachers,” she said, stroking his brown hair as she looked at the others. It reminded her of Azelma’s farewell to her, all those months ago. “Be brave, and don’t tell lies.”

After that, nothing would do but for the other boys to be similarly distinguished, though Gavrel and Legeriot hung back for a moment, eying each other, and Denin was shockingly tall up close. He had only just turned twelve, why was she suddenly looking him in the eye? Hadn’t he been shorter only a few months ago?

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