Page 89 of Stardust Child

Lying in a tangle of clothing afterward, he felt absurdly as if he had been caught at some mischief. It was the most erotic thing they had ever done together.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked when she shifted under him, all but hidden beneath his body.

“No…” she purred, nestling into him like a kitten. “Sooooooo good…”

“I am glad,” he said, amused and relieved, and turned to sit them both against a tree. He was still a little light-headed, and he was reluctant for this interlude to end, a wordless togetherness no less intimate than the joining of their bodies. For a long and peaceful time, it was only the two of them, his lips brushing her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes.

It was just what they needed, Remin thought, nuzzling into her soft hair. Feeling her in his arms, the soft, warm weight of her. A breath for themselves, before they must part. In this place, they could just be Ophele and Remin, with no greater responsibility than the hazelnuts.

“Do you want to go back home, wife?” he asked as they washed in a nearby stream. Ophele’s knees were considerably grass stained.

“Could we stay a little longer?” she asked hopefully. “There’s still plenty of hazelnuts on the ground, and in the trees…”

“And we need enough to last the winter,” he agreed, lacing his fingers in hers.

* * *

The first blessing of Brother Oleare was made beneath the stars.

Bundled up against the cold, they gathered the next morning an hour before dawn, the forest beyond Shepherd’s Gate curiously quiet of devils. There was no great ceremony planned; only Juste, Edemir, and Ophele were there to see them off, standing in the forecourt of the gatehouse with torches whiffing in the breeze. The soldiers were arrayed in marching order, with each man checking his own gear and his neighbor’s, and more men moving up and down the line to fill waterskins, hitch up the horses, and make final inspections of the wagons. Everyone knew their tasks and moved efficiently, with habits long ingrained by war.

It was strange but comforting to see a Celestial Brother descend from Genon’s hospital wagon, dressed in his blue-and-white cassock, as ancient and weathered as the old trees of the forest.

“I have arrived just in time to part with you,” said Brother Oleare, his thin and quavering voice rising with a peculiar power. Up and down the lines, the men sank to their knees, and Ophele glanced at them and knelt beside Remin, holding out her hands to the starlight. “But I have learned something of your journey. Though the paths between the stars are dark, and the road may be unclear, you will find illumination. May the stars and ancestors grant you wisdom in your pursuit. May their strength bolster your own. And may your labors increase the light of the world.”

“Be blessed under the stars,” the assembled men murmured, their hands moving through the gestures of revelation, drawing the starlight toward their faces.

“Thank you,” Remin said as everyone moved back to their places, offering a hand to help the old man back to his feet. Ophele moved quickly to brace his other side. “Can we help you to the wagon?”

“Not just yet, not just yet.” Brother Oleare smiled down at Ophele and patted her hand. “If you will spare me a moment, Your Grace. I would like to apologize that no one was here for the comfort of your people sooner. Genon has given me some notion of the hardships you endured.”

“You are here now,” Remin said, sidestepping the apology. It was not Brother Oleare’s fault, but Remin couldn’t claim that he would forgive the Temple for it, either. All the men who had died over the summer, killed by devils or the inevitable accidents of building, had been burned with as much ceremony and honor as Remin and his knights could offer. But they had died without proper blessings all the same, and he had not forgotten.

“I am,” Brother Oleare agreed. “And so I would like to offer a more private blessing as well, if you will permit it.”

“…yes,” Remin replied after a moment of surprise, dropping to one knee. The old man’s hand stretched out to rest lightly on his head.

“Bet Agasse is the star beloved by the Court of War,” the cleric began, his hand trembling in the cold. Remin could almosthearOphele’s fascination. “The Star Unwavering. It is the brightest star in the sky and the steadiest, unmoving from its position even when all other stars shift in their courses. But for you, Remin, Duke of Andelin, I invoke the blessing of another star. Memech, the Grower. I came to Tresingale against the wishes of my Order, because I heard you are a nurturer of life. A defender to your people. And the protection of the weak is the noblest calling of any man who takes up a sword.”

He looked down at Remin as if he expected some response, though Remin didn’t know what it might be.

“I want to,” he said finally. “I want to build something.”

“The blessings of all good people go with you.” Brother Oleare closed his eyes, his wrinkled lips moving silently. And though Remin had no strong conviction either way as to whether Memech or Bet Agasse knew him from Jacot of Caillmar, there were not many times in his life when he had had the goodwill of a stranger. He wondered who had said that Remin Grimjaw was a nurturer of life.

Afterward, Brother Oleare was bundled back into the wagon, shivering violently and burrowing into a borrowed fur cloak. Which left one more farewell.

“I will have to ask him about Memech,” Ophele said, smiling with visible effort. “I will pray every night that it will protect you.”

“It would be a greater comfort if you promise to take care of yourself.” Remin took her elbow to draw her out of the torchlights, into the privacy of the dark. “Sleep as late as you want. Don’t skip meals, don’t drink too much tea, and don’t hide yourself away. Go out for walks while it’s still warm enough. And go to supper, it’s good for you to be among people. And folk will feel better if they see their duchess.”

“You worry so much. I will. Only—” Her fingers tightened on his. “You will be careful. There’s no point in going if you don’t come back to tell us what you find. Promise.”

“I promise.” Remin bent and lifted her, crushing her against him as his mouth found hers. In his armor, all he could feel of her body was her slight weight and the warmth of her through his gloves, but he could still taste her. With lips and tongue, he drank her in long, slow draughts, losing himself in her so he could take that feeling with him in the lonely days to come.

“I love you,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes. “Come home.”

“I love you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Wife. Perhaps you’ll have good news for me, when I do.”

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