Page 124 of Last of His Blood
“The Duke of Andelin?” one of the women asked skeptically. Edemir had to admit he wouldn’t have believed it, either.
“I swear it by my secretaries, madam,” he assured her. “There were a number of late nights concerning such matters. I confess, we found it extraordinary, but His Grace will count no cost when it comes to her happiness…”
This was the best way that Edemir could think to sell this story: casting the tale of Remin’s romance through the lens of complaints from a long-suffering subordinate. It was even true; Remin had just appeared in the office one day, announced Her Grace needed a proper bath, and did Edemir think a Benkki Desan or Empire-style bathhouse would be better. And that was followed by a flood of similarly unanswerable questions about everything from clothing to jewelry to furnishings, as if Remin’s lady was far above ordinary chairs.
Remembering that, Edemir had to suppress a smirk. Thathadbeen entertaining, watching Rem flounder his way toward immense, if somewhat bewildered, bliss.
“She must be a remarkable lady, to overcome his…reservations,” remarked another woman, testing the fabric of Edemir’s story. If it were true, it would be the explosion of the social season.
“She is a child of the stars, and greatly worthy of his love,” Edemir replied. “But I hope you gentle ladies will welcome her patiently, when she comes. She does not know her father’s city.”
Juste had threaded this needle delicately; that was the story he wanted Edemir to sell, without making presumptions about the Emperor’s relationship with his daughter. It won exclamations of sympathy from some, and thoughtful frownsfrom others, who faded away, drifting to a cluster of listeners at the other end of the hall.
Edemir was not the only person in Segoile who could answer questions about Ophele.
Beside a wide bank of windows, he could see Lady Bette Hurrell, a tall and sophisticated blonde draped in the most popular fashion of the season, though it would be three months before anyone else knew that. The reappearance of House Hurrell had fueled a public frenzy and weeks of private speculation. They had been condemned with Remin’s House in the Conspiracy, and now everyone was asking the questions Edemir must answer: how had they won a pardon? Who did they now serve?
The most popular theory was that it was an overture of peace between House Andelin and the House of Agnephus. It would be a significant first step, if it were true; pardoning a House that had suffered for its loyalty, and specifically the House that had stood guardian to the Emperor’s beloved child.
Lady Hurrell had made no attempt to correct this impression.
Outside stories of Ophele’s naïveté and timidity, Edemir played the game with a similarly delicate hand. Any discrepancies between his account and Lady Hurrell’s would be instantly seized upon and torn to shreds.
“You make her sound quite an innocent, my lord,” said a particularly feline lady, tapping her fan on her chin.
“If she had come to the capital this past season, she would have been one of the year’s debutantes,” Edemir said somberly. “His Grace sent me to ensure there should be nothing lacking in her debut. And to manage his business interests,” he added, with a small salute of his cup. “I was instructed not to miss the spring livestock fairs on any account, the duke has great aspirations for his herds…”
It would not do to lay it on too thickly. And sure enough, as soon as he turned to talk cows with one of the men nearby, most of his audience drifted away toward the other end of the room.
Edemir had no one to send there. He could only wander that way himself a few times over the course of the night, blessing Countess Heroulte for distributing snack tables around the room.
“…and still no word of her, though she is like my own daughter,” Lady Hurrell was saying the third time he passed, and something about the way she said that made his hackles rise.
This was the deficiency of Juste’s network in the city. They had no contacts at all among the Roses of Segoile, saving the Duchess of Ereguil and her daughters-in-law, who had just arrived last week. It hadn’t seemed a matter of great concern in Tresingale, but Edemir felt it keenly. Especially when Lady Hurrell glanced in his direction, smiled, and bent back to her cluster of admirers.
There were some places a man could not go.
Edemir talked livestock. He talked carpentry. He gossiped about Master Didion and Master Peltier, both men of renown in the capital. He hoped to parlay their support into better terms with the Court of Artisans, but there too, he had thus far been blocked.
“I have heard of the work in Tresingale,” said Master Crochte, a master mason that Edemir had hoped might prove sympathetic. The manlookedlike a mason, gray and square and hard-handed, with a grand mustache that stretched across his cheeks from one ear to the other. “Very specialized materials there, aren’t they? Andelin granite?”
“I have not heard that it’s different from any other granite,” Edemir replied, with no outward sign of offense. “I saw the work on the walls of House Sangevin’s estate. It’s quite similar to His Grace’s manor in Tresingale, barring the height.”
“Well, that may be, to a layman’s eye.” Master Crochte tapped the reddened tip of his nose wisely. “But we all know that the demands of the Andelin aren’t like anywhere else.”
“I have heard that said,” Edemir agreed. “But you would be surprised, how well we have managed. I have letters from Master Guisse, Master Misler, and Master Didion…”
The master listened as Edemir explained that masonry in Tresingale was largely indistinguishable from masonry anywhere else, but it was clear that Edemir might as well have been talking to a block of Andelin granite.
“I would be pleased to present the letters for discussion at the guild hall,” Edemir said, pressing onward nonetheless. “Particularly the recommendations from Master Didion. He has been quite adamant…”
“Oh, to be sure, we would be pleased to consider them,” said Master Crochte, though his eyes had already drifted away. “Kindly send a note to the guild hall, and we shall see what we might do.”
Two other guild masters had said as much, and done as little.
“I will do that,” Edemir promised politely, and let Crochte excuse himself.
It was a problem close to his heart. The Court of Artisans dictated labor prices for all artisans accredited by their guild, and even before Remin won the war, the Andelin Valley had already been declared aspecial case.Edemir was inclined to Miche’s point of view: there were many excellent masons in Daitia. But Juste had persuaded Remin to try working within the Empire for one more year, and Edemir was bound to obey his lord’s command.
