Page 55 of Stardust Child

“I mean that we are meant to be watching for danger, not socializing,” Leonin replied, with a flash of cool blue eyes.

“I can work me mouth, me legs, and me eyes all at the same time,” Davi retorted, his accent thickening with irritation.

They lapsed into prickling silence, and Ophele walked a little faster, wishing she could leave them behind. Sir Davi was quite nice, but Sir Leonin made her feel like she had some species of raptor trailing her everywhere she went. A falcon, she thought, recalling the emblem of his House. A judgmental falcon, peering perpetually over her shoulder. And she wouldnotthink of geese, it was disrespectful.

Fortunately, they were approaching the stables, and the uncomplicated affections of Master Eugene were far preferable to wondering again if she had somehow betrayed her ignorance. Ophele hurried into the stable yard, pleased to see that the water cart wasn’t even there yet. They must be working late on the wall.

“M’lady!”

Jacot’s shout came from entirely the wrong direction, the cottages rather than the north gate, and Ophele turned in surprise to see him running toward her, his bright blue eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he panted as he drew up to her. “M’lady…I’m sorry, been looking everywhere for you. I swear, Master Eugene was fine this morning…”

Ophele’s stomach dropped.

“He didn’t seem anything but sleepy, I had to keep waking him up every time I stopped to fill the barrels—”

“He always goes to sleep if you let him stand still,” Ophele managed. Her eyes were starting to burn. “He’s old, he just likes to nap.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Jacot said miserably. “But…Your Grace, I’m sorry, he died. I’m sure it didn’t hurt him none, he went quick, he wouldn’t have noticed anything at all—”

She must not cry. People were streaming up and down the road this time of day, heading to the baths or the cookhouse for supper, and they should not find their duchess sobbing on the side of the road. Ophele’s throat locked tight as Jacot apologized over and over, the words ringingdistantly in her ears. Eugene had seemed exactly the same as always, right up to the moment he collapsed in his harness next to well seven.

He never got up again.

* * *

“I know—he was just a d-donkey,” Ophele said between sobs, the words muffled into the front of Remin’s shirt. “I’m sorry, it’s silly…”

“It’s not,” Remin soothed. His hand slid up and down her back as her shoulders shook. “It’s all right, little owl.”

Seated in his lap in their cottage, she sobbed with peculiar silence, her shoulders heaving up and down as Remin held her, glad for her sake that she had held herself together until they got home. It was lucky that he had been only a few minutes behind Jacot in reaching the stables, and the look of brittle grief on her face had told the tale before the boy could. Jacot was there, after all, and the donkey was not.

There wasn’t much to be done. The men of the wall, knowing how fond Ophele was of the little animal, had already brought his body inside so the devils wouldn’t get at it.

“He was s-so sweet,” she wept. “He worked so hard, and he—always h-helped…when I w-was tired…and it was…”

The words terminated in a single, almost inaudible squeak, and then more of those silent, wracking sobs. Remin pressed his lips to the top of her head. He was not overly sentimental about animals himself. He had stopped naming his horses after the third one was killed under him, and he had lost far too many people to grieve much for a donkey. But Ophele loved the animal, cooing and petting Eugene like he was a kitten. Even after Jacot had taken her place on the wall, she had still gone to the stables every day to look after him. That beast had the most velvety gray coat Remin had ever seen.

“You looked after him very well,” he told her, stroking her hair. “He was just old, wife.”

Her head nodded. The tears went on. Was he doing something wrong? Or did she just have to get it out of her system? For a long while, Remin held her quietly, his hands gently stroking, wondering if he should say something else, and what it might be.

He was also starving and trying manfully to ignore it, though he and his men had been out in the fields that afternoon finishing the harvestand his stomach was under the impression that his throat had been cut. But he was not the sort of brute who would abandon his wife when she was crying, Remin told himself sternly. Horses—and, he supposed, donkeys—were one of the five great gifts of the stars, and deserved respect for their work and loyalty.

“You should go eat.” Having finally cried herself out, Ophele lay limp against his chest, her voice husky. “I don’t want you to miss supper.”

“It’s all right. I’m fi—” His cavernously empty stomach chose that moment to give a righteous roar of indignation.

Ophele hiccupped and lifted her head.

“You get cross when you’re hungry,” she informed him, giving him a watery smile. “It’s all right, I’ll stay here. I must look a mess.”

“You’ve been crying,” he agreed, wiping the tearstains away. Her pretty face was blotchy. “I am sorry, wife.”

“I know.” She sniffled. “Would you bring back tea?”

No one looked shocked to see him in the cookhouse, so Remin assumed he wasn’t a heartless bastard for being there. Taking his seat at the high table, he beckoned for Wen to bring his plate and set to it with a will, ravenous.

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