That was the only good news of the morning. Whether they wanted the keys or Wen himself, they succeeded in their goal: removing a barrier between Remin and poison.
Leaving Auber to oversee the kitchen, Remin went to search for other witnesses with Juste and Miche. The odds of finding any weren’t good. The secretaries who slept in cottages behind the storehouse had seen nothing, and neither had the Benkki Desans, whosetalimaru,a small compound of houses and gardens, was only a short distance away.
“No, noble lord,” said Master Balad. Though it was barely dawn, he was already up and on his way to the baths, with his head freshly shaved and his iron-shod staff in hand. “We heard something happened.”
“News travels fast,” Miche observed sourly.
“I think Imari heard it herself,” Master Balad offered, apologetic. “I will get her.”
Remin had almost forgotten Madam Sanai’s first name until she appeared a moment later, her face flushed as if from exercise.
“I heard shouting,” she said, her eyes widening. “I thought it was just Master Wen, we hear sometimes. Noble lord, please forgive, I never thought—”
“Nor should you,” Remin replied gruffly. He didn’t want his people to hear shouts and immediately assume someone was being murdered. But along with his guilt and fury wasthe familiarembarrassment,that he was the cause of this. The Emperor’s loathing had been a plague on him all his life, striking down innocent people all around him.
“Please ask among the others,” Juste told them, looking from Madam Sanai to Master Balad. “It would be a great help if you could remind them to watch carefully for anything strange.”
“We will, noble knight,” Madam Sanai promised, and both Benkki Desans bowed them out of the compound.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go poke around myself,” Miche said as they mounted their horses. “People might be nervous to speak with their lord asking them directly.”
“Are you thinking of anyone in particular?” Remin asked, glancing at him sidelong.
“No. I wish.” Miche gave him a crooked smile. “The stars made me charming, Rem, let me see what I can make of it. Juste—”
“We will collect Auber on the way to the barracks,” Juste promised. Remin’s men would take no chances of his safety today, and Juste’s shoulder was not healed enough to make him a fit bodyguard.
Remin didn’t want bodyguards. As they rode around the bend of Eugene Street, his eyes went to the manor on its hilltop, the windows of his bedchamber visible even from the road. He had dragged Leonin and Davi out of bed and ordered them not to leave Ophele alone for even a moment, but he was sick at the thought that danger could come so close to her. That note. The open window. And now the man that cooked her food.
He knew, he hadknownthat with so many people coming into Tresingale, it was inevitable that the Emperor’s servants would be among them. But it made himfuriousto think of the people he knew and wonder which of them might be a liar, a betrayer, a murderer. Was it one of the craftsmen? One of the refugees from his villages? One of the people he had allowed tocome across the river, one of those people from the Empire who had come to the Andelin Valley against his wishes, who he had forgiven, and welcomed into his lands?
One person? More than one?
Someone Ophele had invited into his home?
“Your Grace,” Juste said gently. “Anger will not help.”
Both he and Auber were looking at Remin, their eyes filled with compassion. And he was right, but it was a long time before Remin could even bring himself to speak. There was nothing he could hit, no one he could shout at, no enemy he could fight.
“I am wondering if we ought to bother trying to stop the rumors,” he said, his voice crushed flat with the effort of controlling himself. “I expect it’s already too late to keep it quiet.”
“I think that ship has sailed,” Auber agreed. “Too many people heard the racket by the cookhouse.”
“I would discourage trying,” Juste advised. “Whoever attacked Wen knows they failed. It might even be best to spread the word, to have as many eyes watching as possible. It will make further attempts more difficult.”
“Do you think that’s what Miche is doing?” Remin said a moment later, in tones of revelation, and Juste gave a rare bark of laughter.
“It would not surprise me.”
That was one bright spot in a day that was otherwise infuriatingly like any other. Remin could hardly go about interrogating people himself; it would be counterproductive and dangerous, and not only to him. Too often, it was the people around him that suffered. Every one of his knights had scars from some attempt on his life, where they had given their bodies in place of his own.
Instead, Remin left the matter to Juste and went to the practice yards, burning off his fury so he could at least try towork. This was how it was, with assassins. The attempt on Wen’s life didn’t change anything. Perhaps they would get lucky and find witnesses, clues, but every single day of his life, Remin knew someone might come for him. And someone else might be hurt because of him.
And there was nothing he could do but wait for it to happen.
It was midafternoon when Juste appeared, bringing one small, anxious witness.
“Tell His Grace what you told me,” Juste instructed, as Remin crouched down in front of the boy and reminded himself not to glare.
