Chapter 15 – Stardust Child #2
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Her tongue was rooted in sudden terror, and her ears filled with a vast, distant roaring. But slowly, she forced her hand out, prying her wooden fingers apart to show him the scrap of silk.
“It’s f-for you,” she whispered. Her mouth was dry.
She was really going to do this. The worry in his black eyes made her chest tighten, squeezed and suffocating at the thought of seeing his love bleed away, gone forever, but the time had come.
“I was trying to make it. For your birthday. But Lady Hurrell never taught me how.”
* * *
“You don’t know how to…sew?” Remin asked, looking from her to the handkerchief with some confusion.
“No.” Ophele drew a quivering breath and took his hands, steering him toward a chair.
“While you were gone, Sir Miche sent a message,” she began.
“House Hurrell isn’t at Aldeburke. They left in August, and no one knows where they went.
Sir Justenin said they were communicating with the Emperor, and since Lady Hurrell hates me, I’m afraid they will make trouble—”
“Let them,” Remin said, puzzled. “I already know she schemed against you, wife. What’s really wrong?”
“It’s not just that,” Ophele said wretchedly. “Lady Hurrell always said that my mother ruined House Hurrell, but…Remin, it was my mother that destroyed your House.”
His breath caught. Her hand slipped from his fingers.
“My mother knew your family was innocent,” Ophele went on, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “And she betrayed them. It was her fault they were all killed. Only I don’t know why, but Lady Hurrell does, she knows everything, she knows things and waits until just the right moment—”
“It’s not your fault,” Remin said stubbornly. His eyes were huge. “Ophele. You know I don’t blame you for anything your parents—”
“I lied to you!” she cried, jerking away from his consoling hands.
“I’ve been lying to you all this time! I didn’t want you to know what I am, why Lady Hurrell hated me, why my father…
all of you are counting on me, you think I’ll be safe because I’m a Daughter of the Stars, and so our children will be too, but I’m not, I’m not!
I’m not a princess at all, I’m only the Emperor’s bastard. ”
There. She had said it.
“No one cared. Because I’m not the Emperor’s trueborn daughter, they said I wasn’t a real princess, and they never worried—they…
they weren’t afraid to…and the Emperor, I don’t think he would care, either.
Not if it meant he could get you. I mean, I don’t think anyone would fuss about hurting me, they never cared before, and I’m sorry, I should have told you, but I didn’t think…
I thought, I could at least do this much… ”
Somehow, she got it all out. Sobs escaped in solitary, staccato bursts as she told him all of it, everything, all the things she did not know, the things she could not do. The things she could not be, neither shield for him nor foundation for his House.
“You were right,” she finished, her voice squeaking.
“My father gave me to you to hurt you. Lady Hurrell will find a way to use me against you. And I’m not fit to be your wife, I’ll only embarrass you.
A poisoned sweet. And I knew it, but all this time I thought if I tried, I tried…
I did try, so hard. I wanted to be…a lady.
Your lady. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I…I lied. ”
And that was it. That was everything. Her heart jerked in her chest and her hands were so cold, she had to knot them together, her shoulders braced as if for a blow.
On one level, she knew he would never strike her, but she almost wished he would.
It would be better than his hate. Anything would be better than that.
He could hit her all he liked, if that was what he needed, if only he would hold her and love her again afterward.
“Ophele.” His voice was more furious than she had ever heard it, and she was so scared, she was very nearly sick. “What do you mean, they never fussed over hurting you? Did someone lay their hands on you?”
“N-No,” she said automatically. Heat rose to her face, hot and sticky and prickling. He knew she was lying.
“More than once?” he snarled.
“It was because…what my mother did, she ruined H-House Hurrell…” Ophele did not want to talk about this.
“Who?” he demanded.
“Lady Hurrell,” she whispered, as a scalding wave of anger and shame and fear washed over her. Because if she had deserved it from the Hurrells, surely she must deserve so much worse from Remin. “Lord Hurrell. And Leise. And N-Nenot…”
“Your maids. Look at me.” His fingers caught her chin, pushing it upward. His teeth flashed, bared like he meant to bite. “I remember them. Did they do it while I was there?”
She couldn’t answer. The sob tore from her throat, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to silence the terrible sound as all of it finally ripped loose inside her, all the knots tied up in her belly and her chest and head, sick and twisting for so long. Tears blinded her.
“Oh, Ophele, no,” she heard him say in quite a different tone, and then he swiftly moved them both to his own chair, pulling her into him. “I’m sorry. Don’t cry, wife, don’t cry… ”
That was impossible. The best she could do was muffle it in his chest as it poured forth, all the grief and hurt and betrayal that she had never been permitted to speak.
It wasn’t fair that she grew up despised, while Lisabe got to have toys and dresses and teachers and learned all about the world.
It wasn’t fair that her mother had done something so terrible, Ophele had been a prisoner for it from the day she was born, and then her mother died and left her behind, to bear it all alone.
It wasn’t fair that her father had never cared enough to lay eyes on her, then betrayed her to her abusers.
And how could she even begin to tell him about Lady Hurrell?
Ophele would hate and fear that woman until she died.
Lady Hurrell, who had starved her and slapped her, who only showed her love to better feed her poison.
Ophele would never be free of the voice in her head that whispered and jeered, ugly girl, stupid girl, plain as a sparrow. A mouse. A bastard. A shame.
She cried and cried, because it was true.
“I miss my mother,” she wept. “I know sh-she did something terrible, but I loved her. She was kind, and gentle, and everyone said she was the perfect lady, and I tried to be like you need me to be…but I couldn’t learn it alone, I’m sorry, I’m so—”
“You are.” It was the first time he had spoken in a long time.
His hand stroked her hair, pushing it gently back from her face, making her look up at him, and she saw that he didn’t look angry anymore.
“Ophele. You are everything I need. So this was what was bothering you, all this time. I wish you had told me.”
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t apologize. Stars and ancestors. Here. That’s enough crying, little owl.” He produced a handkerchief and Ophele straightened to blow her nose, too wrung out even to be embarrassed.
“You aren’t angry?” she asked, squinting up at him through swollen eyes. “I lied to you.”
“No, I’m not. Come here.” Gently, he nudged her back against him, his fingers running through her hair, and Ophele closed her eyes and drifted. Her head was muzzy from crying. All she wanted was to lean against him and listen to the fire crackling, low and constant in the hearth .
“I’ve never really thought of myself as a nobleman,” Remin said after a while, low. “I was born one, but I don’t remember that much of it, when I was a boy. Duke Ereguil did his best to teach me, and the duchess, but it’s hard to feel yourself an aristocrat when people spit when you walk by.”
She looked up at him in surprise and he gave her a squeeze, unsmiling.
“I am saying I am probably not a proper duke, whatever that means in the Empire. But this isn’t the Empire,” he said pointedly.
“I told you, I don’t want that Segoile nonsense here.
Duchess Ereguil once said that a lady’s task is to invite people in and make them comfortable.
But it seemed to me, in the capital, all those rules are about keeping people out. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” she said. “My mother said something like that, too.”
“That’s what I want from you.” He shifted, nudging her a little more upright.
“From both of us. I like the niceties as much as anyone else, and I like to see things done well, but I don’t ever want to be so fine that my folk will be afraid to ask for help.
And if someone needs me to pick up an axe or help them move something, I’ll do it, whatever Juste and Edemir say.
I want to set a fine table, but I’d rather my guests enjoyed the food than counted its cost. The conversation is more important to me than the cutlery.
And the stars know you’ve begun some fascinating discussions at my table, wife. ”
She gave him a weak smile, remembering Remin and his knights arguing over how to best obliterate Barnabe Town with trebuchets.
“I’ve thought about it a bit,” he said, relaxing.
“What I liked about Segoile, and what I didn’t like, and why I didn’t like it.
That’s what I mean when I say I don’t want that foolishness here.
I don’t see why we need to import a lot of aristocrats from the Empire if you and I want to have a ball this winter.
Maybe we should just do it and invite whoever we like. ”
“I would like that,” she agreed, though she was mostly just listening to his voice, warm and thoughtful and comforting. This was better than she had ever dared to hope.