Page 100 of Traitor Son

“It was a ghoul, so sort of human.” He frowned again, but he didn’t seem angry. “But stringy and starved, like its skin was on too tight. Ghouls run on all fours, but their hands and feet are mostly like ours. That confused us, too, we thought it might be some weird cannibal mercenary Valleth hired. They were desperate in the end. Hired mercenaries from everywhere.”

“Why didn’t they have to worry about the devils?” she asked, her forehead crinkling as she thought about it. “Valleth.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised. “It’s less of a concern in Valleth itself. They have magic there, I’m told the devils are only a problem for the smaller villages. But some of the deserters we talked to during the war said they weren’t terribly careful with the common soldiers. They ended up copying us, shell curtains and guards and so on.”

“How horrible. I guess that’s why—” Outside, there was a long, ululating cackle from somewhere to the east, and Ophele realized she was pressed very nearly into his lap, her heart galloping, and the duke was sitting so stiffly upright he might have been part of the palisade. Forcing herself to detach her hand from his arm, she moved away. It took an effort to keep her voice steady as she asked, “What—what about stranglers?”

“Hate them,” he said, his dark head cocked as he listened to the racket outside. “They’re tall. Almost my height. Gray skin, bony-looking, but their arms and legs are…hard to describe. They’re squishy, when they get hold of you. They wind around you somehow.”

“One of them grabbed you before?” she asked, looking up at him with huge eyes.

“Several. And I’m still here,” he added, as if this were reassuring. Of course he was, he was Remin Grimjaw.

“How did you get away?”

He opened his mouth to speak, and then paused and reflected.

“Normally when one gets hold of you, that’s it. Even for my strongest men. So you know what we do?”

She shook her head.

“Call for help. Make noise. No one fights alone, in an army. If something happened to Dol, he’d bang on his shield so Yvain would know to come and get the strangler off him. They don’t kill you right away,” hesaid matter-of-factly. “Takes time to strangle someone, longer than you’d think. And no strangler’s going to make it this far into camp. But it’s good for you to know. So if one ever did get to your guards, what would you hear?”

“Banging on a shield,” she repeated, feeling much better about the whole thing. “What are wolf demons like?”

“Big, black, like they’re made of shadows,” he began, and as he patiently answered her questions, she forgot to be afraid of the noises outside or nervous about talking to him because it was all so very interesting. The more he told her, the more questions she had. Were the devils magic? If they were, how were they coming into the Empire, which was anathema to magic? If they hired a Vallethi sorcerer, could they get him to send the devils back? Or maybe a Bhumi shaman could do something, had anyone asked? Where did—

“I don’t know, and that’s enough questions,” the duke said, when it was evident that the night would run out before her questions did. But he didn’t sound annoyed; he was looking down at her and the corner of his mouth was twitching again. “It’s late, and you ought to sleep.” He hesitated. “Did this…help?”

She nodded automatically, flushing as she realized that all this time, he had just been trying to calm her down, like soothing a frightened child. But he caught her before she could slide away.

“Tell me if you hear something that worries you,” he said, tilting her chin up with a finger to meet her eyes. “Even if you have to wake me. Like one of my men on watch. We have to look out for each other.”

“I will,” she said softly. She felt both touched and foolish. It was obviously an attempt to make her feel better about disturbing him, but with enough truth in it that it was hard to argue. There was always a chance that she really might hear something dangerous. And he was trying so hard not to overlook a single thing that might frighten or trouble her.

Would it last? The next time one of her father’s assassins came, would he blame her again? What would happen when he discovered how useless she really was? Could she learn, somehow? And hide it until then?

But then she would be deceiving him.

These thoughts troubled her more than the noises of the devils. The kinder he was, the more she feared that he would come to hate her again.Lying in bed, Ophele hugged her pillow close, wondering if this was what Lady Hurrell had meant. Bastards were the seeds of treachery. It was inherent to their natures, and none so much as an Imperial bastard, whose existence was an affront to the Emperor and the stars. She couldn’t help deceiving him, she was born of deceit. Of course he wouldn’t trust her. But she liked it so much, when he was being this way…

On the other side of the small cottage, Remin paused for a long moment as he laid out his bedroll, looking at the slender back of the girl on the bed, her creamy skin glowing in the hearth light, her long hair streaming over the side of the mattress. He did not smile at the sight. The feel of her body against his lingered, a soft and tormenting warmth, the merest taste of the delights he knew awaited, if only he could reach out to her. If he wanted, he could go wake her right now. She wouldn’t refuse him.

But if he did, it wouldn’t end in the morning light. Once he had her again, he would never be able to let her go.

And though Remin could not know it, the first of his enemy’s agents had already arrived in Tresingale.

Chapter 12 – Lady of the Wall

“Only for the morning,” Remin cautioned as Ophele finished plaiting her long hair and gave herself a final look in the mirror. “And only once along the wall. Slowly.”

“I know,” she said for the dozenth time, clearly willing to promise him anything if it meant she finally got out of the cottage. “I will. Can we get carrots for Master Eugene? Or maybe apples? I hope they haven’t been working him too hard, he needs to rest in the shade during the noon meal or he gets too tired—”

“You need to rest in the shade this morning or I’m not going to let you go,” Remin interrupted, collaring her before she could put on her hat. A fortnight of rest and feeding had helped a great deal; her eyes were bright and her cheeks were already rounder, though her gown was still a little large. “Promise me, Ophele. If you feel hot, or dizzy, or at all unwell, you’ll stop and tell me.”

“I will.” She looked up at him, and it was discouraging to see how easy it was to crush her when she was happy, even when he didn’t mean to. All the fun was gone from her face. “I promise.”

After nearly two weeks abed, Ophele, Genon, and Miche had finally convinced Remin that it was not practical to keep her locked in the cottage forever, though Remin’s inclination was to keep her there until cooler clothing arrived or cooler weather did, whichever happened first. He had two fairly devastating counterarguments: first, that people felled once by sun sickness were more likely to be struck down again, and second, Ophele did not have a distinguished record of asking for help when she needed it.

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