Page 77

Moving day.

Ophele woke up shivering, pulling the blankets over her head and searching for Remin.

He had a knack for building fires that lasted until morning, and banked the heat with the warmth of his big body.

Sleepily, she squirmed backward, and found only cool sheets on his side of the bed.

He was gone, miles and miles away now, sleeping in the forest where the devils were.

And she had just spent her last night in their cottage alone.

Ophele sat up and went to stoke the fire.

She ought not to think that way.

Lady Verr said she should think of it as an opportunity to arrange the manor just as she liked and see how pleased he would be when he came home to find everything in order, with a pretty wife to greet him.

But what if everything wasn’t in order?

“Your Grace? It is morning, my lady,”

called Lady Verr from the door, and Ophele straightened and went to let her in.

Somehow, Lady Verr had conjured a lovely new gown for the occasion, or an old one so extensively refurbished that Ophele hardly recognized it.

Yes, that was her old blue dress redone with cheerful touches of peach and cream, tailored so it fit her like a glove.

New sleeves belled from her elbows to her wrists, and there was just enough fabric left over for a pretty cap to nestle against the knot of curls on the back of her head.

She was admiring her reflection in the mirror when Sir Justenin appeared with breakfast, handing it through the window.

“Your Grace. My lady,”

he said, with a polite bow.

“The wagon will be here in a quarter hour.”

There was no reason that this should make her anxious.

The only thing Ophele had to do for moving day was get out of the way of it.

Remin had made arrangements for the next six months of her life, before he left, and Lady Verr seemed determined to manage the rest; she had scarcely finished her tea before she was diving into their trunks with an industry Ophele would never have expected from a Rose of Segoile.

The servants arrived next, with Adelan driving the box wagon and Sim and Jaose in the back, hopping nimbly down as he drew Brambles to a halt.

Adelan immediately took matters in hand, identifying the precious and breakable items for careful packing.

Those belonged to Ophele, for the most part: there was the glass bear, the rosewood jewelry box Miche had given her for her birthday, the peacock from Tounot, and Remin’s mother’s embroidery box.

The teacups, which would rejoin the tea service Duchess Ereguil had sent all those months ago.

All of it was wrapped carefully in the pink blanket, put in a crate, and stowed in the front of the wagon, where Sim would cling to it all the way up to the manor.

The contents of the washstand went next, wrapped in bed linens and placed in Remin’s trunk, with Ophele’s smaller trunk nestled alongside it in the back of the wagon.

The washstand itself.

Remin’s armor stand, empty of both armor and sword.

Ophele’s books, which had grown to a collection of over two dozen, enough to fill a crate by themselves.

Then the lamps, the hearth tools, and the kettle, and when the table and chairs were gone, Ophele stood alone in the cottage, with dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight.

This was the first real home she had had since her mother died.

It looked small.

And empty.

Ophele turned a small circle, remembering how strange it had looked, the day she arrived.

Remin had been so angry, and she had been so frightened she had nearly gone out that window.

But that same night he had spread out his bedroll and gone to sleep on the floor, his familiar silhouette stretched to guard the door like a small mountain range.

His face in the firelight, so stern.

His big body seated in one of the chairs, drawing her over to stand between his knees so he could help her brush her hair.

There was no task he would not attempt.

Whether it was her bathtub or her laundry, he had never hesitated to do the work with his own hands.

And maybe that was what had done it, in the fullness of time: his simple, honest care for her had won her heart.

It would never have happened if they hadn’t begun in this cottage.

If they’d gone straight to the manor house, with servants and ladies-in-waiting and all the luxuries of a duke and duchess, they might never have known each other at all.

Ophele had to smile to herself, and laugh at the strangeness of the world.

She was glad he hadn’t gotten her a maid.

* * *

By the time they made the trek up the hill to the manor, Ophele had a new appreciation for servants.

It was astonishing how many things she and Remin had accumulated over the last seven months, to say nothing of all the things Remin had ordered, unbeknownst to her, that had been sitting in various warehouses against this day.

Shaded by her parasol, she rode with Adelan to the storehouse and the harbor, watching as everything was loaded and trying to pretend she wasn’t just more baggage.

Master Didion was waiting to greet them before the steps of the manor with a surprise of his own.

Snarling from the pedestals on either side of the wide, curving steps were two stone wolf demons, so spiky and lifelike that Ophele gave a start when she saw them.

The guardian dogs of the Duke of Andelin, standing watch over his house.

“Your home is well warded, Your Grace!”

Master Didion declared, flinging out his arms as Ophele laughed and clapped her hands together.

“Master Didion!”

she exclaimed as Sir Leonin helped her down from the wagon.

“However did you do it? I only gave you the drawings a few weeks ago.”

“Well, my dear lady, we know the shape of a wolf well enough, do we not?”

he asked, puffing with the success of his surprise.

“We only needed those last details from you to make them breathe, as you see.

Those multiple rows of teeth were a surprise, but fortunately the sculptor hadn’t finished the mouths.

I don’t mind telling you they’ve scared off a few builders, first thing in the morning.”

“I guess they would,”

Ophele laughed, moving forward to examine those fearsome fangs.

She had seen enough sketches, and even glimpsed a real specimen, but a devil would hardly hold still long enough for her to examine its forked tongue.

“These are the creatures you are studying, my lady?”

asked Lady Verr, appearing from the other side of the wagon.

“The most terrible of the Andelin devils,”

said Master Didion, bowing.

“Mionet, I had no notion you were coming.”

“Far from the Golden Leaf,”

she agreed, and noticed Ophele looking curiously at them both.

“We are acquainted, my lady,”

she explained.

“We frequented many of the same salons until His Grace hired Master Didion away.

They are still telling stories of your rampage through the art district, Sousten.”

“I should hope so, I was hung over for a week afterward,”

he replied, without the least embarrassment.

“But it was worth it.

I will employ only the most skilled hands in this endeavor.”

“Those who cannot do command those who can,”

Lady Verr observed tartly.

“But to some beautiful effect, I daresay even Dardot Melun would be jealous to have these dogs leashed to his door…”

They were marvelous.

The wolf demons stood nearly as tall as Ophele did, but the sculptor had given them a noble sort of savagery rather than just making them horrors.

Ophele turned reluctantly away as Master Didion gestured to the massive house before them, white plaster and gray stone, elegantly framed with black-lacquered timbers.

Large diamond-paned windows were flung open to the cool morning air, and she could just imagine waking up on the other side of those windows to look out onto the valley.

Her imagination sketched over the muddy courtyard with hydrangeas and lilac, rambling honeysuckle and ornamental pines, with ivy on the walls and enormous Noreven sentry roses blooming under the window sashes.

“Anywhere else in the Empire, we would proof the threshold against magic, with prayers to the stars and oaths sworn to the Divinity,”

Master Didion was saying, beckoning her onward.

“But what better blessing could there be than the sacred presence of a Daughter of the Stars? Come, come, Your Grace.

Mind the step.”

“This floor is safe to walk on?”

Lady Verr asked, eying the rough timbers under their feet.

The olive wood from Sachar Veche was on its way .

“No.

Wear shoes on the first floor, and mind your skirts, I beg,”

the architect replied immediately.

“I did have the carpenters finish the second floor, so it will be safe in your suite, though I doubt you will want to run around barefoot in November in any case.

But all floors are temporary until the olive wood arrives.

I am told the tariff men at Vatan Port are paying particular attention to all imports destined for the Andelin Valley.

The Divinity is concerned about foreign…contaminants.”

“Is he?”

Ophele’s stomach lurched.

“Does that…often concern him?”

“The gift of the Divinity’s attention is rare and precious,”

Master Didion replied diplomatically, but Ophele heard the words loud and clear: poisoned sweet.

“But all things come in their own good time, my lady, and we have more pleasant prospects before us, do we not? Beginning with this entry hall…”

Snapping his fingers briskly, he produced two assistants as if by magic, holding up another of his now-familiar sketches.

It was a gorgeous stairway from several perspectives, with huge planters filling the space between the curve of the stairs and the wall.

It was so unexpected and lovely that Ophele involuntarily stepped forward a few paces to see it better.

“For your approval,”

the architect explained, puffing with pleasure.

“We will bring the forest into the manor, you see.

More of the Sachar Veche olive for the handrail and treads, and then these curving sections of wrought iron shaped like branches and vines, very natural, very beautiful.

The leaf details are made of polished stone: moss agate, fluorite, and such.

The plants will thrive indoors, so you need go no further than your grand entry for bouquets of star lilies, gardenia, and clover rose.”

“Do you like it, my lady?”

asked Lady Verr, bending to examine the picture more closely.

“I love it,”

she breathed, her eyes skimming the neatly labeled plants on the diagram, with notes in fine, spidery handwriting.

“I even love this picture, the flowers are so pretty, it looks like the illustrations in a botany book.

Could we save it?”

she asked impulsively, glancing at Master Didion.

“It seems a shame to throw these away.”

“I—that is, if you would like, Your Grace,”

he replied, looking surprised at the idea .

“We could even frame them.

Did you see, the notes say how to take care of the plants?”

she asked, pointing them out to Lady Verr.

“It wouldn’t look strange in the solar, would it?”

“It’s certainly no stranger than pictures I’ve seen in other houses,”

Lady Verr agreed.

“The others could go in the servants’ quarters.

It is important to make them comfortable and give them pride in their House.”

“And have the artists sign them, please.”

Ophele had just noticed that the assistant on the right side of the large sheet of paper was trying to hide behind it, and his obvious nervousness won her sympathy.

She smiled at him.

“Did you draw this?”

“I did, Your Grace.

I mean, both me and Matissen,”

he said, bobbing his head.

He was a lean young man with a great quantity of flyaway brown curls.

“I’m Aubin Rachard, if it please.”

“Then you both must sign all of them,”

she said.

“It is part of the history of the house.

And you too, Master Didion.

You thought of all of it, didn’t you?”

She was surprised to see the architect turn pink, waving away her praise.

“Of course, of course, if that is your wish, sweet lady.

We have saved them to this point, and with proper frames…ahem.”

He cleared his throat.

“We will bear it in mind, with future designs, when we add our notes.

Shall we proceed with the staircase, then?”

“Yes? Yes,”

Ophele said more firmly, her pulse jump-scuttling in her throat.

She liked it, but what if Remin didn’t? And how could she say otherwise to Master Didion, in any case? He was such an important architect and knew all about the capital, surely he knew what was best…

Biting her lip, she looked again at the place where the staircase would go, in all its curving elegance.

Anything would be an improvement over the current structure, which was somewhere between a stairway and a ladder.

It proved a tricky object to negotiate as the morning wore on, and Ophele could only watch Sim, Jaose, and Adelan clambering up it a few times before she turned away, convinced on some instinctive level that no one would fall off it as long as she didn’t watch.

Fortunately, there were other distractions at hand.

“I don’t mind telling you that we will be glad to get these out of the way,”

said Master Didion, gesturing toward the line of crates currently being unloaded through the back door, where Sir Justenin was in shirtsleeves, ripping off their lids.

“Gifts from Duchess Ereguil,”

Sir Justenin explained, and Ophele dove in, wishing again that Remin was there.

There were so many packages.

Some of them were mundane but necessary items like sweet-scented candles and soap, while another box contained an entire set of dinnerware with a scrolling pattern in black and silver, the colors of House Andelin.

There were salvers and tureens, a set of crystal with matching decanters, and several large, lovely vases that Ophele put aside with delight, to fill later with flowers and bold autumn leaves.

In a tall, narrow box there was a mirror, immense and fanciful, with a motif of palms and birds that Lady Verr said was traditional in Ereguil.

It turned out that the cloth wrapped around the mirror was a tapestry of two black-beaked swans, birds that famously mated for life.

The pattern of gentians and moonflowers around the border of the tapestry left no doubt that it was a wedding gift.

“It can go in the bedroom,”

Ophele said, as Sir Justenin held it up so they could both admire the details.

The tapestry was as tall as he was.

For Remin, Duchess Ereguil had sent a half-dozen doublets, jerkins, and shirts, along with a note admonishing him to try to keep them in one piece until Magne the valet arrived.

There were also several boot stands that made Master Didion extemporize a blessing to the stars on the spot, and a number of other similar conveniences, from blanket racks to bootjacks and a handsome bench to go by the front door, where visiting men would be able to replace their muddy boots with clean house shoes.

Apparently, the duchess shared Master Didion’s reverence for clean floors.

“It will be even more important this winter, while you still have these rough timber floors,”

Master Didion lectured, as Ophele and Lady Verr eyed the growing collection of boot-related objects.

“You cannot wash timbers like you can a fine wood floor, the maids will have to wait for the mud to dry and then scrub it off—”

“It is very generous of Duchess Ereguil to provide so many,”

Lady Verr said, politely uncomprehending, and Ophele hid a smile.

Remin and Master Didion had already had words about Remin’s tendency to track in puddles wherever he went.

“It will be one less thing for us to order,”

Master Didion said, turning his attention to Ophele.

“If you would grant me some time later, my lady, several sample books have arrived, and we can begin planning the décor for those rooms that are completed.

If we dispatch the orders before winter, they might arrive this spring.”

Much of the indoor work would be completed over the next six months, if the materials were not too delayed.

It was incredible to think that by next fall, this place would be as lovely as any other noble house.

No, more lovely, Ophele thought, imagining paper murals and the colors of leaves and berries.

It would look like no other house in the world.

It would also be an eclectic house.

The object in the largest box was for Ophele, a honey-colored dressing table in the Noreveni style, with a gratifying number of cubbies and drawers.

She couldn’t help exclaiming when she opened them to find more small gifts inside.

“Oh, Lady Verr, look!”

she exclaimed, opening a wide, shallow drawer, where a set of gorgeous brushes and combs were scattered over blue velvet.

“This looks like Lady Carolen’s mischief,”

said Lady Verr fondly.

“With Sannet and Fiorie’s help, I shouldn’t wonder, as a way to welcome you to the family.

They are Duchess Ereguil’s daughters-in-law and will be glad to know you, when you go to the capital.”

That was too much to contemplate right now.

Together, they dug into the other drawers, finding gorgeous hair ornaments made of jade and tortoiseshell, several small pots of lip dye and lash powder, and a dozen tiny glass tubes of perfume, carefully labeled.

They were luxuries Ophele would never have thought to ask for herself, and she dabbed one lovely scent onto her wrists, a light and vaguely spicy fragrance that the label said contained orange blossom and pink pepper.

There was an entire drawer filled with ribbons that she would go through with Elodie later: woven, embroidered, and even jeweled.

They had barely finished opening the first set of crates when another arrived from the storehouse, filled with items variously identified by Remin, herself, or his men as needing placement somewhere in the house.

And that was where Sir Justenin found a different sort of weaving, all but forgotten over the last seven months .

“Here, my lady,”

he said, extending the object with careful hands.

“It is customary to hang this above the bed.”

It was her wedding knot.

Mute, Ophele took it, tracing the slender cords with her fingers.

Silver, white, and blue, they formed a perfect and infinite spiral, with crystal beads to represent the stars.

The knot had been packed away with the rest of their baggage after Celderline, and neither of them had thought to look for it again.

Now, she touched the loops where Remin’s massive wrists had been tied to her own, vein to vein, blood to blood, bound together even unto their dwelling among the stars.

“I’ll take it upstairs,” she said.