Chapter 5 – The Crimes of Lady Pavot #5
All through supper and the conversation that followed, she had been braced for him to bring up Azelma again, because she was positive she hadn’t heard the last of that.
She had been prepared for a scolding, knowing full well that Davi and Leonin would have told him what had happened; even if Leonin was as pleasant as ever, it was written all over Davi’s face.
And Ophele was guiltily aware that she had done the one thing that would anger Remin most: gone somewhere alone, and shut the door on her guards.
But he hadn’t said anything. He had spoken very little through supper.
Miche, Leonin, and Lady Verr bore the burden of the conversation, comparing various banquets of the capital.
She hadn’t noticed it before, but even with Leonin and Lady Verr’s exquisite manners before her, Miche was every bit their equal.
“I think I will go to bed,” she said, when she had picked at her food and could bear it no longer. It was still snowing outside.
“Good night, my lady,” said Miche, glancing from her to Remin with a glint of sympathy. “The storm will blow over by morning, you’ll see.”
Davi, Leonin, and Justenin murmured farewells, but Remin only moved further down the table to fill everyone’s cups with wine.
“Do not take it too much to heart, my lady,” Lady Verr murmured as she removed the ribbons from Ophele’s carefully curled hair. Remin hadn’t even noticed them. “It is natural to have disagreements.”
“Did you often argue with…Lord Verr?” Ophele asked, wondering again that the lady could look so untroubled at the mention of her dead husband.
“Yes,” she said serenely. “But if you are right, you must not let him persuade you that you are not.”
Ophele did think she was right. But it was very hard not to be shaken when she was sitting by the fire alone, trying to read her calculus book and absorbing nothing at all.
It felt like hours passed before Remin finally appeared in the door, and when he did, he went straight to the bed, undressed, and slid under the covers without even saying good night.
Well, fine.
Blowing out the candles, Ophele pulled the covers up to her chin and pointedly turned her own back. She didn’t want to talk to him, either.
It was horrible to be so suspicious of people. It was a terrible way to live. And even if Remin wouldn’t trust Azelma himself, didn’t he trust Ophele’s judgment? Wasn’t he always saying that she had a good deal of sense? Or did that only apply when she was sensible enough to agree with him?
As the fire crackled and the endless minutes ticked by, Ophele realized she was waiting for him to roll over and talk to her, to speak first, to be the first to apologize.
Ever since her sun sickness, he had always been the first to reach out and ask what was wrong, what was she thinking, to coax her into confiding in him.
Without even realizing it, she had been sure he would do that again.
Except…
She had said something terrible to him this morning.
Even more terrible because it was true, and the truth hurt worse than any lie.
In the beginning, Remin hadn’t trusted her, and he had punished her unjustly, and she knew he still felt guilty about it.
She had used that against him, even though he had apologized and tried to make up for it ever since.
What if he didn’t forgive her?
What if things were never right between them again?
That thought was almost enough to make her turn and wake him and beg his pardon at once.
But there was also a secret, sneaky part of herself, carefully nurtured by Lady Verr and Justenin, that knew there was another way.
All she had to do was cry. If she cried and then gave him a nudge or two, Remin would wake up and ask what was wrong and give her anything she wanted.
But Ophele did not want to stoop to such tricks. She wanted him to agree with her because she was right, not because he wanted her to stop crying.
A few tears did escape as she lay there and thought about it.
It wasn’t just abstract principles of trust and judgment.
She had hoped he would like Azelma. She had imagined them sitting together in the solar of an evening, and the look on Remin’s face when Azelma teased him in the same tart way she had always done to Ophele.
They were the two dearest people in the world to her, and she had been so pleased at the thought that Azelma would get to know Remin, and see how wonderful he was…
Neither she nor Remin had parents, after all.
It might have been hours or years, lying there in the dark with the glow of the fire dimming beyond the bed hangings.
Sometimes its crackling seemed very far away and indistinct, and other times real and present.
She dozed, and then came back to herself as Remin jerked beside her, letting out a single gasp.
“Remin?” she said before she could think the better of it, and was already reaching for him when he turned over and caught her. In spite of the cold, he was drenched with sweat. “Oh, Remin,” she whispered, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Was it a bad dream?”
He had been having them almost every night, but he refused to talk about them. And he didn’t now, either, only held her tightly for a long time, drawing long, deep breaths with his face buried in her hair.
“You went to see Azelma alone,” he said finally, low.
“Yes. I—”
“Don’t do that again. Bring her up to the house if you want to see her. And don’t eat or drink anything she gives you.”
Even with his heart still racing under her cheek, this was too much. Ophele lifted her head.
“Remin,” she began, exasperated. “I understand you’re worried, but I know her. She is my fr—”
“Or I will send her away,” he said. The words were quiet but implacable. “Don’t push me on this.”
The threat rendered her temporarily speechless.
“You wouldn’t,” she managed, a pitiful response when it was abundantly clear that he would. “That isn’t fair.”
“Many things in this world are not.”
“But—but…you can’t do that!” she exclaimed, shoving at his chest until he let her up, gobsmacked by the irrationality of his position.
Did he think they could live like this all their lives, never trusting anyone but the small circle of people that had passed some horrific psychological test of his devising?
“We can’t…live like that! I can’t. If you would just—”
“Wife.” Just that one word silenced her. “Did you know that Wen tastes all our food before he sends it up to the house?”
“No,” she said, resigned.
“He was poisoned three times during the war, tasting my food. Not just from the Emperor, Valleth tried too. Wen always says he’s too fat to poison.
The dosages involved…” Remin trailed off.
“But Bon died. He drank from a cup that was meant for me, pure luck. Gen stuffed charcoal down his throat and tried to make him sick it back up. It didn’t work. He died badly.”
She could not think of anything to say.
“Poison isn’t like anything else,” he went on quietly. “You can’t see it. You can’t fight it. Once you know it’s there, it’s already too late. And it hurts. Nothing hurts like poison.”
The way he said that, so sharp and so brittle. Ophele gave up and flung her arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as she could, and felt his arms go around her so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“But that won’t happen,” she told him, when he had held her for long enough. “Azelma wouldn’t. Ever.”
“You’re willing to bet your life on that?”
“Yes.”
“What about mine?”
She wanted to say yes, right away. Not an instant’s hesitation. But what he had just told her shook her. Because if there was the slightest chance she was wrong…
“I don’t know,” she said finally, honestly. “But it’s not fair to not even give her a chance. Does that mean you’re just not going to let her cook for us, ever?”
But his silence told her that was exactly what that meant.
It had never even crossed her mind that he might feel that way.
Azelma had been the perfect solution to their problem, a capital-trained cook that suited even Lady Hurrell’s picky palate, a cook who Ophele knew personally, who could be trusted never to hurt him.
And Remin intended to turn her away without even a hearing? Without even discussing it?
“You never gave me a chance to defend myself, and I hated it,” she burst out.
“I know why you didn’t trust me. I understand, Remin, I really do.
My fa—the Emperor. But we never talked about it, and there was nothing I could do or say.
And what will we do, if it’s not her? Will Wen just cook for us forever? He’s much older than we are.”
She touched his cheek to make him look at her.
“I don’t know,” he said reluctantly. But that was a start.
“I would’ve told you I was sorry sooner,” she said softly. “If we had talked. And that I had never spoken to the Emperor, not once, and that I wanted to help. I wanted to tell you that all along. Couldn’t you listen to her? Please try, Remin.”
“It does no harm to listen,” he said, and laid his brow against hers with a sigh she felt through her own body.
“I won’t promise to change my mind. I meant to talk to her anyway.
She was there with your mother, in the capital.
She might know what happened. Or at least your mother’s part.
I won’t blame you,” he added, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“But I have to know. You don’t have to listen, if you don’t want to. ”
But he didn’t say that the way he usually would.
It wasn’t a reassurance. And even in the dim light she saw the challenge in his dark eyes, a gauntlet thrown down.
If she wanted to make such dangerous decisions, then she would have to listen, too.
In a strange way, this would be the price she paid for allowing Azelma in striking distance of them both.
“No,” she said, lifting her chin. “I want to hear it.”
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