Page 113 of Traitor Son

Even a month ago, she couldn’t have imagined a life like this. It was as if the whole world had burst open, so far beyond the narrow boundaries of Aldeburke that she was scrambling to keep up. The wall. The building of a town. So many new people, a home of her own, work that she could do well, and devils and knights, like something out of a story book. It was so much and so far beyond her pitiful experience that sometimes she felt dizzy, thinking of it all.

But from the moment she opened her eyes every morning, Remin was there. Gentle and unsmiling, the unshakable bedrock beneath every step she took.

How wonderful it would be, if he would always be there.

* * *

Yet somehow, as the weeks went on, she began to wonder if something was wrong.

It was a ridiculous thought on its face. There was no concrete evidence she could point to; outwardly he was the same as ever, or at least unchanged in this new, kinder iteration of himself. He wasn’t perfect. He was stiff and cold by nature, and often abrupt, though she thought he might not mean to be. There were so many things he didn’t know that he was trying to learn for her sake, and even his clumsiest efforts were touching.

But even as the town grew safer, her worry for him grew.

There were the guards, for one thing. Folk still went cautiously in the dark, and no one ever went anywhere alone after nightfall, just in case. But for the most part the standing guard in town was gone, except around the cottage. Every night, Yvain and Dol came to stand at their posts on the front and back of the house, and Ophele had finally realized they weren’t there just for her benefit. The Duke of Andelin slept there. And it wasn’t safe for him to sleep without guards.

And then there was an incident at the cookhouse one afternoon, when she had arrived a little late for the noon meal and caught Master Wen flaying a newly arrived builder alive. To that point, Ophele had privately thought that Master Wen yelled just because helikedto yell, and maybe he didn’t really mean it. But that day there was no doubt that he was deadly serious.

“…something wrong with your ears, ye lackwit? I told ye to stay on that side of the line. That line, on the floor, it’s white and it’s there for a fucking purpose. Cross it again and I’ll gut ye.”

His victim made some reply, which Ophele couldn’t hear from ten feet outside the door.

“No, this ismykitchen and His Grace’s fucking food, and if ye move one inch nearer to it, I’ll shove a spit up your ass and roast ye for supper. What ye see in that cupboard is what ye get, and ye let me watch your blooming hands while ye take it. Slow. Now ye’ve got your biscuit, get the fuck out and never do that again or ye can go hunt devils for your dinner.”

It was the angriest she had ever heard him, and for a while, she didn’t understand why. She had written off the periodic explosions from the kitchen as Master Wen’s unique way of expressing himself. But he had said,His Grace’s food.The duke was fed from that kitchen. Master Wen rigidly controlled all access to the food he ate, and was ferocious as a mastiff to anyone that tried to get near it.

And then she remembered that even in Aldeburke, they had heard about Remin getting poisoned. More than once. The Emperor had been outraged,outragedthat someone would attack a noble-born boy, but nothing ever came of the investigations.

That thought would have shamed her before, but now it made herfurious.Howdaredsomeone do that? All this time, she had been trying to repay her blood debt on principle, but suddenly she felt a fierce urge to protect him. It was a ridiculous idea, considering he was three times her size and the greatest knight in the known world. He had never been unhorsed. He had never been defeated in combat. The only way anyone could get to him was with sneaky, despicable things like poison.

Again, she remembered that morning months ago, when he had so nearly struck her. She had been frightened at the time, but she had learned to read his face better now, and it was not because he had been angry. Those widened eyes, the careful way he had stepped backward, hands up…

If it had been anyone else, she would have said he wasafraid.

Remin. Every day she was learning something new about him, unraveling some mystery, discovering virtues he hardly seemed aware ofhimself. He wasn’t modest so much as adorably oblivious, as if he really didn’t know he was one of the most handsome men in the Empire. Sometimes just looking at him made her feel flustered.

And other times, it made her worry. His black eyes were as opaque and unreadable as ever, but sometimes when she looked into them, she had to fight the inexplicable impulse to lay a hand on his forehead, to see if he was well. He did look tired. He never looked tired. Was that it? Was that why she had the strange sense that something was wrong?

“What’s this?” he asked when he came home one evening, to find a steaming cup of tea waiting for him at the table.

“Tea.” The town’s first merchant had arrived, and claimed that this blend was good for calming and promoted sleep. “Mr. Guian had a dozen tins of it and I asked him to save one for me. There’s even a little honey or sugar, if you like it sweet.”

“Where did you get the money?” he looked at the tea with an unreadable expression as he stirred half a spoon of sugar into it.

“I had something put by.” Ophele’s eyes slid away from his. She had sold one of her books. “I can get milk next time, if you take your tea that way. Master Wen says if I want milk, I have to get it from the cow myself.”

“This is fine.” The corner of his mouth twitched, the nearest Remin Grimjaw ever came to a smile. “Is something else different?”

“Maybe.” Ophele watched him, nervous and excited. She had never surprised anyone with presents before. There had never been anyone to surprise. She had cleaned up the cottage as best she could, lit the lamps on either end of the mantle, and put out fresh bouquets of flowers, but there wasn’t much to work with. She watched as his eyes drifted over the neatened shelves and tidy washstand, then landed on the mantle.

“Where did you find that?” His dark eyes fastened on the small glass bear, set prominently in the middle.

“I was looking for teacups in the storehouse and saw it,” she explained, hoping he wouldn’t be angry. It wasn’t pretty exactly, but there was something touching and a little melancholy about the bear, seated on its haunches with one paw outstretched. “Do you like it?”

“It looks good,” he said, with a nod that encompassed the whole of the cottage. “I always wondered why you asked for a bear.”

“I like bears.” Ophele felt her cheeks heat and looked down at her own teacup. “I took these cups from a set, I hope it’s all right.”

“It’s from the Duchess Ereguil. She sent a full tea service as soon as we settled here. I don’t think she understood what Tresingale was like last year.”

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