Page 97 of Stardust Child

Her last bit of bread felt like dust on her tongue as she swallowed.

“I will come,” she said, taking the hand Sir Justenin offered to stand up.

“Thank you, my lady. Emi, Peri,” Lady Verr said, and the sight of Emi and Peri in their dark dresses and white aprons made Ophele’s heart clench.

Her shoulders hunched reflexively as she preceded them up the stairs, with Davi’s long arms on either side of her to make sure she didn’t topple off backward. The stairs had not been made for a small woman with long skirts. She was painfully aware of the footsteps behind her, two maids and the long, clacking strides of Lady Verr’s heels. It made her want to run to her room and lock the door.

But the locks were still being installed on the doors of herbedchamber, one of a suite of rooms that occupied the eastern half of the second floor. Two large dressing rooms adjoined onto both the hall and the bath chamber, with the unfinished solar on the back of the house and a bedchamber that stretched the full width of the house, with balconies overlooking both the courtyard and the river. Ophele inadvertently opened a number of closets before she discovered her dressing room. It was as bare and plain as all the other rooms, with timber floors and smooth plaster walls, but it was a promising canvas for future endeavors.

“We thought you would like this room, my lady,” said Peri, gesturing to Ophele’s dressing table, already placed against the far wall. She and Emi could not be sisters—Emi was medium height with chestnut curls and Peri was small and black-haired—but their cheerfully polite expressions were so similar it seemed they must have been together for a long time.

“We will need clothes hooks,” Lady Verr noted, producing ink, quill, and paper. “This closet is sufficient for everyday wear, my lady, but do you know if Master Didion plans additional storage for your gowns?”

“No…” As the three women turned to look at her, Ophele could feel heat instantly flooding her face. Lady Verr made another note.

“We can just hang your gowns directly on the rails for the time being,” she said, waving a hand to Emi and Peri. “I do hope Master Didion intends some cedar to keep out the moths. They got into my winter shawls one year and positively massacred the cashmere…”

She was good at mingling bright chatter with work, and Ophele tried hard to pay attention, though the closet felt very crowded with all four of them inside. The sight of the elegant lady and apron-clad maids gave her the unpleasant feeling they were about to drag her off to be scrubbed.

“Hang them at the waist, please,” Lady Verr instructed, moving swiftly to adjust Ophele’s blue and bronze gown on the rail. “It will save you the trouble of steaming away wrinkles later. And if you stuff the toes of the slippers, they will keep their shape…”

They didn’t really need Ophele. It was not for her to do any of the actual work of fetching objects and stowing them away under Lady Verr’s glittering eye, and it was obvious that the lady knew far better than their mistress how such things ought to be arranged. Silently, Ophele watched and listened and absorbed every detail, so practiced at being invisible thatLady Verr almost forgot she was there.

“And move the mirror to the bedchamber,” she said, and then turned and spotted Ophele and added as smoothly as if she had always meant to say it, “…if it pleases you, my lady. There is only one full-size mirror for yourself and His Grace.”

“Oh. Yes. Please.” The question had surprised her as much as she had surprised Lady Verr, and in an awkward silence, Ophele realized they hadn’t heard her. Suddenly, she didn’t know where to look. “Yes,” she repeated louder, trying to keep her voice from quivering.Little mouse.“Th-that’s a good idea.”

They wouldn’t hurt her. And Sir Leonin and Sir Davi were right outside if anyone ever tried. No one had been anything less than kind, polite, and deferential, and it was her own fault if she was so silly as to be afraid. And shehadto learn, she didn’t know anything, not even how her wardrobe should be managed. She had never had a wardrobe to speak of.

Sweat beaded, hot and sticky along her hairline. Remin said he didn’t want her to learn Lady Verr’s manners, but surely Ophele should at least stand so gracefully, and oh, if only she could talk like that, so clever and proper and unbothered. She listened as Emi and Peri consulted each other and then Lady Verr on essential items, and every time the lady turned to write down another note, Ophele burned it in her memory.

“Thank you very much,” she said when they were done, repressing the urge to scurry away. The dressing room was still echoingly empty, but it was at least well-ordered, and all her things were tidied neatly away. It was pleasant to look at all her slippers in particular, a splash of color in the back of the closet. She hadn’t realized she had so many.

“Your Grace,” said Emi and Peri together with a curtsy, and Lady Verr exited with a dignified nod. Her exquisitely shaped eyebrows hinted at a frown.

It was a very long day. For all that she had been forbidden to carry anything heavier than a book, Ophele had not been on her feet so continuously since her sun sickness, and there was a surprising number of objects that still needed a home. Sim and Jaose ferried the empty boxes downstairs almost as energetically as they had carried them up, Adelan worked as tirelessly as a Rendeva automaton, and by the time Sir Justenin appeared with another hamper of food at sunset, Ophele wanted nothing in the world so much as a chair.

“Would you care for supper first, my lady? Or will we draw you a bath?” asked Lady Verr, looking as if she would command Emi and Peri forward like cavalry, and Ophele had had enough.

“No. No, thank you,” she repeated, louder, fighting the urge to knot her hands together. “You all have worked so hard, and you must be tired, too. I will have supper privately, please.”

“Shall we set the table?” Lady Verr asked, her red brows drawing together, and fortunately Sir Justenin saw the plea in Ophele’s eyes.

“I believe this will suffice,” he said, stooping to pluck two smaller crocks from the supper hamper. “His Grace left a few additional items for you to discover privately, my lady. Please make sure to lock the doors behind you. Good night.”

Even in absentia, no one would contest Remin’s will. Ophele breathed a sigh of relief, went upstairs, and shut the door.

She had been so busy, she had hardly had time to look at her new quarters herself. Turning the heavy lock, Ophele pocketed the key and went to investigate, overwhelmed by the vast space. The bed was the most prominent object in it, a massive creation wide enough to sleep four Remin Grimjaws. Moss-green curtains hung from its tall canopy, and it was the finest object in the room by far, saving the tapestry and mirror from Ereguil, and a copper fire screen that looked out of place before the rough fieldstone fireplace.

That was where she found the first of Remin’s surprises. A small seating area had been set before the hearth, a table and chairs with her own tea service set in the center, and a pink lap blanket laid over one chair to make it clear it was hers. They were rough, plain furnishings, but someone had contrived a little footstool with a grate for a heated brick beneath it, to warm her feet. And on the table was a stack of books she had never read before: a natural history of the Andelin Valley, a small book of poetry, andThe Mortal Manifest,a philosophical book by a noted detractor of Vigga Aubriolot.

A small smile touched her lips.

There was a rough desk beside one window, already covered with her papers, quills, and inkpots, with her other books on shelves above. Her desk would evolve with the house: when the solar was done, it would move there, and then to a temporary office downstairs, and one day she would have a grand new desk in her permanent office, adjacent to aprivate library and Remin’s study. It warmed her to think of them working side by side, managing their own little fiefs within Tresingale, building Remin’s great dream.

When he came home. If he came home.

Ophele gave herself a shake and set the crocks by the hearth for later, padding down the hall to draw herself a bath. Oh, what a wonder was hot water, streaming straight from the tap! Piped water was one of the innovations of Ospret Far-Eyes, and the boiler was already sitting in solitary splendor in the dirt pit of the basement, one of the manor house’s few luxuries. It would be far too difficult to add one later.

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