Page 119 of Traitor Son

“When?”

“Midmorning. They’re framing the first floor and need some muscle.”

Remin nodded. It was a pleasant thought that one day his son and Juste’s boy might play together in halls very like those at Tressin. But the vision in his mind had altered somewhat, and now the son he imagined had Ophele’s golden eyes, watchful and intelligent. Daughters that were their mother in miniature. He had planned a dozen children as a hedge against fate; he understood his mother’s fear all too well.

But now he looked at Ophele and he could imagine his life with her so clearly, it was as if Sousten Didion had painted it for him. The vast concept ofafuture, and everything he had endured to ensure that there was one, had narrowed to a singular vision consisting of her. He could see nothing else.

Walking home in the gentle light of dusk, his heart was pounding in his throat. It wasn’t just the future that lay before him, the home and the children and the garden he wanted to build. A thousand years of ancestors stood behind him. He had been born to carry that burden, but sometimes it was so heavy. He had fought for so long for them, so everything they had struggled and sacrificed to create would not have been in vain.

He lived a lifetime in the short distance from the cookhouse to his cottage. Every step felt as if it were the culmination of all the steps he had taken in his life. The long years of painful, arduous training to become a knight. The determination with every new attempt on his life that hewould not die,he wouldn’t give the Emperor the satisfaction. The endless years of war. Remin was twenty-four years old and he had spent half his life at war.

All the while he had known that if he failed, if he died, then his blood would be gone from the world forever. His parents’ blood would be gone, as if they had never been. All of it depended on him.

And he was about to risk it all.

Yvain and Dol were already waiting, trying not to look curious. He’d had a word with them that morning, asking them to move back somefrom the cottage, as he was wanting private conversation with his wife. They were his men; they would obey. Even if they heard him murdering her, they wouldn’t approach.

Inside the cottage, there were a few minutes of homely chores, building the fire and lighting the lamps. Ophele put on the teakettle, setting out the tiny parcel of tea she took from Wen every night, careful to let Remin see that it remained sealed until he himself opened it. She was so smart. It was a habit now to have tea while they worked through the endless stack of correspondence together, one that Remin liked very much. But tonight, he had a different set of papers in mind.

“I want to talk to you, wife,” he said, steering her to a chair and producing his copy of the document Tounot and Edemir had witnessed, still sealed and wrapped in black and silver ribbons. The colors of the House of Andelin.

“What is this?” she asked, sitting obediently. There wasn’t a flicker of suspicion in her large, tawny eyes.

“My will. I want to give you something.” He sat down, taking the knife from his belt and pushing it across the table to her, hilt first. “This.”

Chapter 14 – Enduring Happiness

“I’m sure your father would reward you richly,” Remin went on, as she sat stupefied before him. “But I have made provision for you, all the same. Tounot and Edemir witnessed my will today. You can see it is sealed, with a stamp that means it is sworn in the light of the stars. It is my will that if you kill me, no harm will come to you. No one will lay a hand on you. In the morning, you will be given safe transport anywhere you want to go. Segoile, if you like. Anywhere in the world. There’s a draft waiting for you against my accounts for a thousand gold sovereigns, with a further thousand to be paid annually. Once the valley starts producing—”

Ophele’s head shook slowly as she listened, disbelieving. None of this made any sense, she didn’t understand, why—

“Please, just listen.” The strong brown column of his throat worked as he swallowed. “Once the valley starts producing, you’ll receive a percentage of its profits, including the river trade and the port. You will never want for anything, the rest of your life. You will be safe. We can even call in the guards to watch you do it, if you like. To prove I let you.” He smiled very gently. “You couldn’t get me unless I let you, Princess.”

“What—what—w-why?” she stammered, bewildered. “Why, I don’t understand, why would you—”

“Because I love you.” He said it straight out, with such sadness in his eyes that she felt tears burn in her own. “I love you, and I would rather…you lived. But I’m tired of waiting for the axe to fall. If this is another trick—”

He had to stop. His jaw tightened.

“Then you win,” he whispered. “I concede. Just do it now, please.”

“No.” Her lips trembled. “No. No, I don’t want to, Remin—”

“I know you might not want to. Maybe the Emperor is forcing you somehow. I don’t blame you if he is, wife. It’s happened before.” His big hands covered hers. Warm hands. “It’s all right. I understand.”

His hands squeezed, and she felt the hilt of the knife under her palm. He had put the blade into her hand himself.

“You won’t be hurt, I swear it to you,” he repeated softly. “You won’t ever get a better chance than this. I just don’t want you to…surprise me. I might strike back without thinking and if I hurt—I wouldratherdie, do you understand? Please. This way, you’ll be safe—”

“No. No, no,no.”That broke her paralysis. Ophele stumbled out of her chair, clutching the knife in her hand like a live serpent. “No, I won’t, I don’t want to, I won’t!”

She didn’t know what to do, and she realized she was still holding the knife and flung it into the corner with a cry, scrubbing her sweating palms on her skirt. Oh, she did understand. It took her only a moment to put it together. This was what Sir Miche had been warning her about. This was why he had told her that terrible story, and the reason Remin had tried so hard to push her away. This was what had been tormenting him from the very beginning.

Remin couldn’t be sure of anyone. Ever.

He loved her? He was afraid to love her. Ophele, the daughter of the Emperor. How could he ever believe she was not her father’s tool, placed at his side and waiting only a single moment of weakness? How could heknowthat she would not be like Merrienne, who had beguiled him and won his trust and then not only tried to lure him to his death, but forced him to kill her with his own hands?

What could she possibly say? Her tongue was rooted to her mouth, blocking all questions and objections, and she had never been good at finding the right words when it mattered most. He was right to be afraid. There was her father, implacable and vengeful, who might very well decide one day he had a use for his bastard. There was the nameless crime of her mother, and all the many poisons Lady Hurrell was carefully hoarding. But it was just as her mother had said: Ophele could notcontrol what the Emperor would do, or what Lady Hurrell would do, or what her mother had done. All she could control was her own hands.

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