Chapter 15 – Stardust Child #3
“It’s our valley,” he mused. “I don’t mean to do anything here because that’s how the Empire does it.
You and I will have to learn their manners, just so we don’t embarrass ourselves when we go to the capital,” he added.
“There’s no getting away from it. Noble etiquette is like the Imperial Code, you have to know it just so it can’t be used against you.
But we’ll pick and choose the parts we keep in our home. ”
“I can learn it,” she said, rousing a little.
She would learn the Imperial Code too, if that was what he wanted.
She had never imagined that he was thinking about these things, that his vision included even the manners of the civilization he was building.
It was exciting and fascinating and none of this was anything like what she had expected him to say.
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, brushing a kiss on top of her head, and he sighed.
“I can’t forgive your parents,” he said quietly.
“I never will. I don’t really know what to…
think about them, and you. Except that nothing they did is your fault.
And I love you. You are not a poisoned sweet, don’t ever say that again.
Don’t even think it. Juste said once I should write the Emperor and thank him for the peerless jewel he gave me.
He’d be kicking himself if he knew how much I love you. ”
Her lips trembled, and Ophele pressed them together.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, and his head bent and his lips moved over hers in a slow kiss that said so many things, a tender magic that melted away the last of her fear.
“I will find teachers for you,” he murmured. “If you want to learn to play music, or sing, or write symphonies. You can take up flower arranging or import exotic teas. I don’t expect anything from you beyond what you already do. Except…”
He hesitated.
“…dancing,” he said, the back of his neck reddening. “It would please me if you learned that. I want to dance with you.”
“I will,” she said, after a startled moment.
“I will, of course I will. I did like it, that time we danced before. And everything else, I want to think about what you said about manners, but it sounds lovely, and I’ll learn whatever you want me to learn, only…
I did mean it. About my blood not being any protection. I know you were…counting on it.”
“I am,” he said, with a flash of his black eyes.
“And I don’t doubt you’re right. I never imagined I would be called to defend the divinity of the House of Agnephus, but by the stars, I will do it.
I will see that the insults to you are paid for.
I imagine Juste will have a few things to say about an Emperor that devalues his own sacred blood.
But that’s not your fault and I won’t have you blaming yourself.
You’re only in danger in the first place because you’re with me. ”
“Because of the Emperor,” she corrected, and saw the quick flicker of triumph in his face.
Oh, he was so clever, to make her defend herself by defending him.
Because then it must logically follow that she was not at fault if it was the Emperor himself who disregarded the sanctity of her blood. “You are so sneaky.”
“I have to be, to keep up with you.” His thumb slid gently along her jaw. “Feel better?”
“Yes,” she admitted, even though her voice quivered and tears filled her eyes again.
But this time it was relief, relief so great that she had to stop and gather herself and breathe into his shirtfront for a moment, to convince herself it was real.
“I thought you’d be angry,” she admitted.
She still wasn’t entirely over it. “I thought you would…”
“I am angry,” he said, bending to knock his forehead lightly against hers. There was a hard light in his eyes. “But not with you, wife. Be sure of that.”
* * *
“I see,” was all Juste said the next morning, after Remin had laid out the bones of this story. His face was as placid and thoughtful as always. “I suspected something like it. Her Grace has too many gaps in her knowledge, even for a child prisoner.”
They walked together along the road the Third Company had just finished leveling off by the river, with the sun peeking over the distant mountains and a chilly breeze off the water.
It seemed a little unfair that Juste was so unperturbed by the revelation when Remin was still trying to wrap his own head around it, and everything it meant.
There was much that he bitterly regretted, but more than anything else, the words poisoned sweet kept ringing in his ears.
Ophele thought that was what she was, one of her father’s double-edged gifts, and it stung because Remin had thought that.
More than once. But stars, he’d never told her that, had he?
No one would be so cruel as to say such a thing to her, would they?
But he and his men had said those words in front of her, and she was smart enough to make the connection on her own.
Why hadn’t he seen it? Should he have forced the truth from her sooner?
He had known there was something wrong, but he had never imagined this.
Her painful shyness, her gift for invisibility, the way she flinched when spoken to, even the way she was so good at deflecting questions.
Every time he remembered how frightened she had been that he might strike her, it made him furious.
“Risking harm to a child of the stars should be unthinkable,” he told Juste, shoving the anger down for the time being.
“I never thought we’d have to remind the citizens of the Empire of that, but there must be some way we can prepare the field.
The Emperor acknowledged her before the Court of Nobility.
She is an Agnephus. To lay hands on her…
I can’t believe anyone would do that. It’s a sacrilege. ”
“In many ways,” Juste agreed gently. “I would have thought, after the attempt on the Emperor’s life, that no one would dare. But she is right, we should not make that assumption. It’s a pity she doesn’t look more like her father.”
“It is not,” Remin said, revolted.
“It would underscore her heritage.” Juste waved this away. “I have maintained ties with our singers, at least. I suppose we shall do what I purposed to do months ago. It is nearly winter, after all, and people will be huddled about their fireplaces, searching for new songs to sing.”
Remin had a nasty suspicion he knew what Juste was going to propose.
“You make an unlikely romantic hero,” the other man acknowledged, glancing up at the glowering Duke of Andelin.
“But it will serve many purposes. We will tie her to her father, and then tie her to you. She is your bridge back to society, my lord. I will have my singers write songs of the redeeming love between two people who should have been enemies. It will sway their sympathies, and when the time comes for you to make claims against her heritage, they will see that it is for her sake, and not your own.”
“Ugh,” said Remin.
It was a bizarre and distasteful thought, to use his feelings for Ophele this way, and know that it would work.
Why should anyone care about the state of his marriage or whether he loved his wife?
But he and Juste had strategized this sort of thing before, and Remin knew from hard experience that the stories people told themselves mattered.
At least this was a kinder story than most of the ones they told of him.
Being renowned as a lover was better than being a butcher. Marginally .
And the Emperor would hate it.
“Very well,” he said reluctantly. It was also a better story than the one about how the Exile Princess had been abused by her guardians; he would not broadcast her pain for any price.
“But we will find a way to claim injury from House Hurrell,” he added, his voice hardening.
“Is there a provision in the Temple for discretion on such matters? And what is this business about House Hurrell leaving Aldeburke?”
“Miche says they were gone when he arrived. Darri is investigating,” Juste replied.
“I will see what the Temple Writ has to say about such complaints. Enough time has passed that a little more will make no difference, and I will see that the Temple hears our minstrels, too. Perhaps their music will work a little magic upon the clerisy.”
“Miche would like that,” Remin said wryly. If only he had known sooner, he would have sent Miche to clean house at Aldeburke. And not for the first time, he wished Miche were here now. Juste was a good friend, but even his consolation was strategic.
“He should be back soon,” Juste noted, following Remin’s thoughts. “It’s convenient that he’s bringing a library. With your permission, my lord, I would like to take charge of the duchess’ education. We cannot afford to lose a single day.”
“I was going to ask you anyway,” Remin agreed, brightening. The rest of the walk was much more pleasant, discussing the many things she would need to learn, and a number of agreeable surprises.
When he went back to the house, Ophele was still where he had left her, curled up around a pillow in the center of the bed and so deeply asleep, she didn’t even twitch when he sat down beside her. Juste had warned him that she had not appeared to be sleeping well, while he was away.
At least he knew why.
Gently, Remin brushed her hair back from her face, noting the faint white line of a scar by her eyebrow and wondering how it had come to be there.
Anger was easy. Of course he was angry; angry that anyone would dare to hurt her, angry with himself that he hadn’t guessed it, and furious that such things could be allowed to happen on principle.
But he wasn’t Juste, to eternally be asking why.
Anger was a burning brand: useful as a goad, but the longer one held onto it, the harder it was to let it go .