Page 107 of Traitor Son

Of course, Remin hadn’t the least idea what he was going to say, and he knew by now that if he didn’t say something, Ophele never would. He used to think she was sulking when she did this, wielding her silence like a weapon to make him feel guilty. He had never been able to abide such tricks. But now he understood that Ophele didn’t sulk. She just…retreated, he thought, frowning down at the top of her head. Instantly and completely. He didn’t understand why, or what to do about it.

“I mean that I don’t want you worrying,” he finally said as their cottage appeared ahead. “Nothing’s been decided.”

She nodded without the least indication as to whether she would actually continue worrying, and Remin’s jaw tightened.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, frustrated. “Stop worrying about it, wife. Don’t leave the cottage while it’s hot.”

He wanted her to say something, anything, but she only nodded again as he set her down beside the road in front of their cottage, and he left with the feeling of a job poorly done. If only she wouldtalk.He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking, and he didn’t know what to say to make it right.

* * *

It wasn’t difficult to put it together.

In the cottage, Ophele sat down with a stack of papers the duke had set aside for her, figures that needed adding, letters that required responses. There was so much work underway in the valley, no doubt including countless items she didn’t know about, but she understood perfectly well what Sir Tounot had been talking about. The duke and his men must be trying to find a way to help the other villages in the valley. What else would they need with a caravan, especially one built towithstand devils? And he hadn’t brought it up because he thought she would be scared if he left her alone at night again.

And she would be.

Ever since her sun sickness, he had been scrupulous about explaining things to her. If he stood watch, it was always on the main road; he explained all the defenses from the gate onward, so she would understand how many men stood between her and danger. He had even showed her exactly where he would be standing, and he was never gone all night anymore.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he had told her, the first night that he went to stand watch. And seeing him fully armored and massive, so tall he had to duck his head to keep his black hair from hitting the rafters, it did seem impossible that anything could stand against him. “I’ve killed stranglers with my hands, wife. None of the devils can bite through good steel. Nothing can kill me.”

This was obviously not true; he was as mortal as anyone else. But her father certainly hadn’t had much luck. Neither had Valleth and all their mercenaries, or the three preceding years of devils. And she had felt so foolish that he was going to such trouble to reassure her.

“I know,” she had said.

“Nothing will hurt you,” he said firmly, and then knelt down in front of her and gave her a shake. “Look at me. Nothing can kill me, and I won’t let anything anywhere near you.”

He had said those words before, but never like that. And looking into his black eyes, she had believed him.

Ophele knew what she should say. She had read the words in countless books. She should bid him to go and do his duty, and be careful, and tell him she would take care of his home while he was away. That was what a proper noblewoman did.

Dipping her quill in an ink pot, Ophele bent over the first page, adding the first column with her eyes. Sir Edemir had come to the cottage a few days ago to give her a few math problems and let her do them in her head, and had looked so surprised that she wondered uncomfortably whether she had done something strange. Her reward was more accounts to manage, but at least she didn’t have to show her work anymore.

If she could do that, maybe she could do this.

She heard him coming even before he knocked on the door, some time before supper.

“Wife?”

“Yes,” she said, sitting up very straight.

He kicked the dust off his boots before he ducked through the low door, his face set in its customary frowning lines.

“You’ve been working?” he asked, sitting down at the table beside her.

Ophele nodded, suddenly anxious.

“What have you been working on? No, tell me,” he said, when she moved to hand him the stack of papers. “I want to hear you talk.”

“Orders for the kitchen,” she said, looking up at him and wondering what this was about. “And medicines, for Genon? And I answered some of the letters we talked about yesterday. From the weavers and dyers. And the man who wanted to know about mining. And a few others.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes? There were a lot of orders for the kitchen,” she said, apologetic.

“No, I’m sure you did plenty of work,” he said dryly, looking at the stack by her elbow. “But I want you to tell me about all of it. I want you to get used to talking to me.”

He was wearing his stubborn face again.

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