Page 35 of Last of His Blood
“No. Thank you.” Ophele smiled, her throat was suddenly tight. She had never expected to see any of these things again. “Oh, Azelma, thank you. Lorene really did that for me?”
“Right out from under the lady’s nose, as she was flinging all her things higgledy-piggledy into trunks.”
That made her laugh, at least enough to keep from crying. She had to gather her courage just to touch the opal pendant; it had caused her a great deal of trouble, once. But she could remember the light sparking off that pendant at her mother’s throat, and Rache Pavot’s voice laughing as she saidthere, there, my heart, only a moment and you shall have a proper look…
There was so much to talk about. Had it really only been nine months since she left Aldeburke? It seemed incredible that so much had happened in so short a time, and Ophele forgot all about her manners and chattered away until Sim and Jaose appeared to say that Mistress Bessin’s cottage was ready. Reluctantly, Ophele rose to help her to the little house on the back row of the servants’ quarters, overlooking the river. But Azelma ought to have time to wash and rest a little, if she wanted to. It was a long journey from Aldeburke.
“I’ll come back later this afternoon,” she promised, pausing for one last embrace. “Oh, Iamglad you’ve come.”
Miche had brought back something even better than a library. He had brought back her friend.
And a cook. It had been a matter of concern, especially after the first dusting of snow; Ophele and Wen had discussed already how the manor was going to manage meals over the winter. Who was going to want to trek down to the cookhouse in a blizzard?
“She was your cook, m’lady?” Davi asked as he and Leonin fell into step behind her, winning a resigned sigh from Leonin. Davi never bothered to pretend he hadn’t overheard every single word.
“Yes. For my mother, too. She was always…kind to me,” Ophele said a little awkwardly, wondering if she could explain how hard it had been, and how much those quiet hours in the kitchen had meant to her. “So I would like to make sure she’s quite comfortable. Does it get very cold in the cottages?”
“Not so long as the fire is there. But it would be better if you met her in the solar in future, my lady,” said Leonin as he and Davi moved to either side of her, prepared to shield her from falling bricks and flying implements with their bodies, if necessary. “We will endeavor to give you privacy, but we cannot fail in our duty.”
“I shouldn’t like to trouble her with those stairs, and Azelma is my friend,” Ophele replied firmly, scanning the building site for the artful orange curls of Sousten Didion. “She would never hurt me. If she wanted to, she might have done it a thousand times already.”
“Please speak to His Grace about it,” Leonin replied, equally firm. “We will be pleased to abide by your wishes.”
He meantyourin the plural sense. Leonin was tricky that way.
She found Master Didion by the shell of the library, which was currently connected to the rest of the house by the skeleton of a corridor. It would be a glorious structure, when it was done, with vaulted ceilings, miles of curving shelves, and sculptures and murals enough to employ dozens of artists and artisans.
“A Segoile-trained cook? Here?” Master Didion asked at once, seizing on the most exciting part of her question.
“Well, I know she joined my mother’s household in the capital,” Ophele said, wondering if cooks fell under the Court of Artisans and if there was a sash. And suddenly, looking at Master Didion, she really understood that her mother had been the Emperor’smistress.Not his wife. And Master Didion was oldenough that he might have been there in Segoile, when all of it was happening.
Ophele suddenly felt as if she had flung open the doors of her wardrobe to publicly display her chemises.
“…possiblyplease me more!” Master Didion was saying. “I believe the masons have just finished, so it should be quite safe to offer you a tour, my lady, provided you allow me to solicit Mistress Bessin’s opinion. Any cook put forward by the offices of the Emperor is assuredly of the highest quality, subtle and sublime. How I have longed for the cuisine of the capital!”
Master Didion enjoyed his alliteration. But it pleased her to think Azelma would be so respected for her own sake, and while Master Didion was effusive in his compliments when they met again later that afternoon, he was also quite serious about consulting her opinion.
“We shall have to smooth this path out,” he noted, offering his arm to the elderly woman as they moved around the steep trail at the back of the manor. Azelma looked much refreshed after a wash and rest, and ready to set straight to work. “The servants’ quarters are still under construction, please mind your head…”
Ophele had rarely visited the back of the house herself, and looked with some awe at the towering edifice, where three underground levels were excavated from the back of the hill. The kitchens, bakeries, butteries, and pantries would be on the level immediately below the main house, to help keep it heated and ensure food did not get cold in transit. Davi had to redirect her more than once as she twisted her head back to look up at the wide banks of windows overlooking the river, which would let some natural light into the lower house.
“It’s big enough, isn’t it?” Azelma observed as they stood in the huge empty kitchen, a vast cavern of brick and plasterand wooden beams forming a wide grid in the high ceiling. “You might fit a cow on one of those spits.”
“His Grace will be feeding a great many people one day,” Master Didion said, puffing at the prospect.
“He’ll need a proper army to do it,” Azelma agreed, and Ophele was pleased just to listen as Master Didion questioned her about the operation required. As duchess, she did not need to know such details, but oh, to think Azelma could be here, to help Remin set a table as fine as the Emperor’s…
“…and we must of course consult Her Grace’s preferences,” Master Didion added courteously. He always remembered to ask at least once.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ophele said with a start. “I don’t know much about running kitchens. But I should like it to be…comfortable, please. Weren’t you always saying those hard floors pained your back, Azelma? And poor Alcide and Clio always came out of the scullery looking as if they’d been boiled.”
“That is a consideration,” Master Didion agreed. “There are some comforts I might show you today, my lady. Mistress Bessin, this way, if you please, and mind the troughs of plaster…”
If the servants’ quarters were not quite so fine as the rooms upstairs, they were at least going to be warm and comfortable. The plastering was not nearly so far advanced downstairs, but Ophele could see the frames of wide halls and generously sized rooms, with suites granted to higher-ranking servants like Adelan and the eventual housekeeper.
“And Mistress Bessin, though the cook’s rooms are usually nearer the kitchen,” Master Didion said, pleased with the arrangements. “Much of the décor from upstairs will be echoed down here, my lady, wooden floors and beams, and these long hallways will be perfect for the paintings we discussed.”
“Remin said he wants the servants to be comfortable, and proud of their House,” Ophele explained to Azelma, trying not to sound as if she were boasting. She failed utterly.
