Page 4 of Stardust Child

“Please thank them,” she said, the corners of her mouth quivering with the effort not to laugh. She had learned something about the pricklypride of boys, but the idea of Sir Miche rousting them out of bed to adorn her pet donkey with daisies was both touching and very, very funny.

Sir Miche had to borrow a bucket of water from Jacot to douse himself before he was clean enough to present Ophele with her gifts, on behalf of the men of the wall. They had made three beautiful parasols for her, half in jest and all in seriousness, gifts to protect their lady from the sun.

“The first birthday parasols ever given to an Andelin duchess,” he declared, with an extravagant bow. He loved recording absurd milestones. “How do you like them, Your Grace?”

“And the first time an Andelin duchess ever opened—oh, look!” Ophele exclaimed as she examined the beautiful thing. The first parasol was made of woven grass in intricate stripes, from the pale gold grass that grew on the plateau, the dark green grass by the river, and the long purple grass from the edge of the forest. The second was made of waxed paper and painted with dogwood flowers, and the third was a masterpiece formed of hundreds of thin strips of wood, carefully sanded and polished to bring out the beauty of the grain. “Look at this,” she said, turning to show it to Remin, who looked impressed, even if his hands were too full of her other presents to examine it directly.

“The men made these themselves?” he asked.

“They had the apprentices gathering sticks for weeks,” Sir Miche replied, hooking a pastry from the basket. “Looks like someone should’ve made a wagon to carry your presents, my lady. We might contrive something to spare His Grace’s dignity.”

“I didn’t anticipate this particular problem,” Remin agreed, exchanging a wry glance with his knight. There had actually been some thought given about how to allow the valley’s population to demonstrate their fealty to their duchess without embarrassing her to death. Gifts were given to one’s liege both out of affection and to win their favor, usually with lengthy public ceremony in an avalanche of gifts, good wishes, and flowery speeches that would have madethislady wish to be swallowed by the floor.

“But more to the point…” Sir Miche bent to look her in the eye, cocking his head with comical gravity. “Are you happy, my lady?”

She blinked, instantly remembering the day months before when he had asked if she would rather have stayed in Aldeburke. Her eyes went to Remin and her cheeks turned pink.

“Yes,” she said. Remin was her happiness, but she knew that Sir Miche had been its chief architect. As a matter of fact, he had been looking after her since the day she got married. “Thank you.”

At supper, there were still more gifts to be given, traditional presents from Remin’s knights that were beautiful and expensive and must have been ordered months in advance. The fact that they had thought of her so long ago meant more than any number of jewels, and Ophele lined her gifts up at a careful distance from the platters of food: a small, jeweled peacock and pins that would join Remin’s glass bear on the mantle, a rosewood jewelry box inlaid with jade and opal, and an enameled thimble that she perched on the peacock’s head like a hat. She couldn’t believe they were really for her. But there was no doubt that Sir Justenin’s gift was her favorite.

“This is the first and third treatise by Vigga Aubriolot,” he explained as he handed her two leather-bound books. “I would recommend beginning with the first, my lady. It might color your interpretation of the later books.”

“I will,” she said, looking at the precious books with hungry eyes. “Thank you very much, Sir Justenin.”

“I will discuss them with you as you read them, if you like,” he offered.

“You will? Yes, please,” she said, brightening. She had so missed their conversations; it was as if he had vanished, once they arrived in the valley. But she had told herself that Sir Justenin was a knight, and a busy man; too busy for a silly girl’s nonsense.

“I thought about what you said last time,” she said shyly. “About how the spirit and the body are manifestations of the divine and physical world…”

“Overlapping, but distinct.” He nodded as if the conversation had occurred yesterday and took the seat on the bench opposite her. Unnoticed by Ophele, his gaze flicked to Remin, who nodded as if some understanding had been reached.

“Yes, it fits what we were discussing,” Ophele explained. “About how the imperfect world is the place where we can be imperfect. The body is the same, isn’t it? We act on the world through the body, and those actions might be imperfect and corrosive to the spirit, or virtuous and therefore refining it…”

Soon Sir Edemir and Sir Bram had joined the discussion, and though she looked at Remin a few times, wondering if he would contribute, he only waved her on.

“My tutoring did not include much theology,” he said, with such a complacent air that she smiled. “You’ll have to educate me, wife. Go on, I’m listening.”

She could have asked for nothing more. But there was pudding.

“Here, Your Grace,” said Master Wen, thumping a plate of pudding with rich cream and strawberry sauce before her as if he were throwing down a gauntlet. “There’s none can say that the Duchess of Andelin isn’t a credit to me cooking.”

“Pudding?” Ophele said, pleased with the treat and confused by the compliment, which sounded like he was calling her fat.

“Aye. Pudding.” He glowered, as if he were daring her to thank him for it. But she could only look at him with full eyes and a full heart, and after a moment the cook scratched the back of his thick neck and grumbled, “Blessings on your birthday, Your Grace.”

There was enough pudding for everyone at the table, which pleased her even more, and she watched Remin’s knights set to it, smiling to herself as Sir Bram stole a bite from Sir Miche’s plate, and Sir Edemir, who did not care for sweets, nudged his plate over to Sir Bram.

She couldn’t stop smiling. More than possessions, it meant so much that so many people had thought of her, had taken the time to gather sticks and stones and polish them into beautiful things. Her eyes went to the faces around her, friendly and familiar, meeting her eyes with smiles and lifted cups.

She loved them all. She loved Tresingale and everyone in it. She had never had a place like this, a place where she was safe and welcome, even loved. She had never dreamed that such a place could exist.

“It’ll be a few days before the rest of your presents arrive,” Remin said, low. “I’m sorry they didn’t all make it in time. Are you having a happy birthday, wife?”

The promise of further riches was almost too much. She could only look at him, fighting the traitorous quiver in her lips and the tightness in her throat, and all the thoughts filling her eyes were happy ones.

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