Page 31 of Last of His Blood
What could he do?
Was he dreaming because there was something he’d missed? Some vulnerability, some obvious measure against the Emperor? In his mind, Remin ticked through each of his men and the orders they had been given, wondering if there was someone else he might send, some angle he had not yet considered.
He would have been less worried if he had just been planning to march his army to the capital.
After dreams like that one, he wondered if he shouldn’t do exactly that.
This was not a problem he had anticipated, when he married Ophele. Back then, he had only been concerned for himself:hissafety,hisheirs,hisline, the burden of ancestors that stood behind him, counting on him to survive for their sake. He feared death more than he feared anything else, but not for himself. Death meant the extinction of his whole family, forever. Ultimate victory for the Emperor. A complete and utter defeat that could never be undone.
But then he had come to love Ophele, and discovered whole new realms of terror.
He thought of Edemir. He thought of Bram. He thought of Juste, and the latest reports from Darri in Segoile. He thought of his army, filled with good men, loyal men. He thought of Leonin and Davi, more devoted than he had dared to hope.
When you have done all you can, go to sleep,Duke Ereguil used to tell him, in the early years of the war when Remin’sinsomnia had been staggering. It was good advice. The solutions to one’s problems were rarely found at three in the morning.
And Remin thought of Miche, who would be back tomorrow, and always knew how to laugh Remin’s fears down to manageable size. Nothing was going to happen to Ophele between now and then.
That was sufficient comfort to let him drift off, and at dawn he roused her again to reassure himself that she was really there, his lips moving over the rosy blotches on her neck and shoulders with a mixture of guilt and desire. It gave him a possessive thrill to set his mark on her.
“Again?” she asked fuzzily, and moaned as he pushed her thighs apart and inserted himself between them.
“As often as we can, as long as you want me,” he said, and her slow smile was all the answer he needed.
Remin felt much better as they stood together on the quay to watch the ferry come in, with the cold air off the water slapping his face. Ophele was bundled up beside him in a heavy cloak and a pretty blue gown, with a scarf wound up to her ears.
“Is that him?” she asked excitedly, craning her neck as the ferry scudded over the river, and a tall man with bright golden hair came into view in the prow of the small ship, lifting a hand in greeting. “Oh, Miche! Miche! Welcome home!”
He was the first off the boat as soon as the gangplank was lowered, coming up the dock with his hands out to take theirs, bright and fearless, if a little scruffy.
“I was worried you might have closed down the ferry for the winter, I half killed the horses,” he said, offering an extravagant bow over Ophele’s hand and a hard squeeze of Remin’s. “You both look well. I’m glad to see the place is still standing.”
“It wasn’t too long a journey, was it?” Ophele asked, her tawny eyes going over him anxiously. “You needn’t have gone at all, really…”
“It was just as well that I did, as you will soon see. No trouble at all except for one bit of baggage,” Miche said, with drawling good humor. “There she is. Now, you’ll both have to keep your wits about you, for I’ve brought a lady home.”
“A—you did?” Ophele’s voice squeaked in surprise as she looked first at Miche, and then at Remin, watching with consternation as Miche went to retrieve his lady. “I didn’t think he was ever…serious about ladies,” she whispered as Miche helped the small woman down the gangplank. She was so well-wrapped in furs, it seemed she would have to feel her way down with her feet.
“It would be a first,” Remin muttered, trying not to scowl. He would have welcomed anyone for Miche’s sake, if she had come from anywhere but Aldeburke. A woman who had watched Ophele’s abuse and done nothing would never have his favor.
But suddenly Ophele gave a cry and leaped forward, her hood flying back from her hair.
“Azelma?” she cried. “Azelma, you came! Whatever are you doing here, oh, howwonderful!”
At the end of the dock, the woman was pulling away her cloak and muffler to reveal the gray-haired cook from Aldeburke, holding out her arms to catch Ophele in a rapturous hug.
“My stars, Princess, look at you!” she exclaimed, pushing Ophele back long enough to admire her, and then the two women embraced again. Remin watched, the frown lines drawing deep in his face.
Of all possible people, Miche had elected to bring back the fuckingcook.
“I ransacked that place,” Miche was saying as he came to stand beside Remin. His beard was as golden and luxuriant as a lion’s mane after weeks on the road, his hair caught back in a ponytail with a bit of twine. “Took two-thirds of the horses, wagons, carriages, you’ll be ferrying it across the river for a week. Sorry I couldn’t give you more warning.”
“I don’t care about the horses and carriages,” Remin growled. “We spent a year investigating my servants, and now you put a stranger in my house? FromAldeburke?”
“She’s not a stranger,” Miche replied, without taking his eyes from the two women. “She’s the only one Ophele wrote to from that place, Rem. The only one that protected her.”
Perhaps that was so, Remin thought, biting his tongue on a snarling response. But that did not answer for Lady Rache Pavot, who had died young after a long illness, which spoke of nothing to him but poison.
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