“Heard and witnessed,” echoed Filipin, Ortaire, and the rest. Remin had written this into the latest version of his will, with all proper ceremony and witnesses, but it was important for these men to hear it from him directly. And at length, Auber and Tounot lowered their heads and said the words. Juste only looked at Remin, cool and still.
“I will not agree,” he said softly. “For as long as I live, I will have vengeance. But I will swear, if you fall, that I will not risk your lands or your people in its pursuit. And if I live, I will acknowledge Auber as your successor.”
That was all Remin could ask. Juste had as much right as he did to pursue revenge, and Remin knew that a large part of himself that could die content if he knew that Juste would tear down the House of Agnephus, kill the Emperor, and ideally slay the Emperor’s family before a screaming mob.Thatwas justice. But he did not think it would make him as happy as knowingthat Juste was alive somewhere, safe and happy, to die in his bed after a good, long life.
That was what he wanted for all of them.
They had so many plans to make. Contingencies upon contingencies. If House Andelin went to war, then Auber and Huber would be the last of Remin’s knights left behind. Tounot was charged with moving men and supplies downriver and then marching with Jinmin to the capital, a lightning strike that—if things went well—would be too fast and overwhelming for anyone to oppose. The longer things dragged out, the worse it would be for all of them.
This was treason. A crime for which every man in the barracks could be executed, up to and including the pages. But it was a treason that had never been far from Remin’s heart.
The question was, who else might suffer for it.
Every day the snow melted a little more. Drifts that had brushed the eaves of the cottages now only reached the windowsills. And after the long and biting cold of winter, even a cool day felt almost balmy when Remin stole Ophele from Juste one afternoon for a ride around town.
“I can’t believe you still have them shoveling,” Ophele said in an undertone as they rode down Eugene Street on Lancer, seated together as they had been the day they arrived in Tresingale. But she was far from the unhappy little waif she had been; dressed in a fawn-colored velvet gown with red and cream trim, she looked as soft and warm as a robin. She looked like a duchess.
His duchess.
“There will be four or five new roads for them to shovel, this time next year,” he said wryly. Four or five new roads to name.
They passed Genon outside his infirmary, pulling a hood over his head as he bustled off on some errand. They saw thestableboys working in the yard, hauling in the day’s allotment of hay. Ophele lifted a hand to greet one of the Mistresses Conbour—Remin still couldn’t tell them apart—and leaned down from the saddle to exchange greetings.
“Of course I will come,” she said, pleased, when Mistress Conbour invited her to tea in the cookhouse a few days hence. “Should I bring anything? Or would you like Azelma to make something?”
“Just yourself, m’lady,” Mistress Conbour replied, offering a respectful nod to Remin. “Mistress Tregue says she’s heard from a lady that might like to set up a teahouse in town, we’re writing a letter…”
Ophele, of course, was delighted to add her signature in support, along with a postscript describing several lovely lots available in town to entice the new tea-mistress to emigrate. Rumblings of this proposal had already reached Remin, and it pleased him beyond telling that the women of his town were taking part in its growth.
They rode on. There was Elder Brodrim, bearded and wizened, already a prominent man despite his deafness. He had forgotten more about running a town than Remin had ever learned, and Remin was not so grand that he would refuse to make use of his experience.
Turning before the North Gate, they ran into Siyoun Arpelle, the fisherman from Isigne, whose stutter had improved over the last couple months. Both he and his little girl looked much less emaciated as he lifted the child up to say hello to Their Graces.
“One of the ladies is minding her during the day while I work, in exchange for b-bass and trout,” he explained to Remin, with only a little flinching and ducking. “We’ll have boats on the water every day, come spring.”
“That will be a sight,” Remin said, wishing he would be there to see it. “Have you been making progress with Master Gibel on the fish market?”
“Aye, m’lord, and p-plans for eel ponds besides…” Warming to his subject, the fisherman was soon explaining their plans at length, as well as offering a recipe for fish fried with butter and peppers that made Remin’s stomach growl.
Everyone was abroad, enjoying the sunshine. Remin even greeted Master Forgess when they spotted him in the market, trailed by his retinue of journeymen. The scholars had redeemed themselves somewhat, in his opinion; they might have been tardy in recognizing Ophele’s brilliance, but they’d gotten there in the end. Their letters recommending Ophele to the Tower had been so effusive in their praise, Remin really had toworkto glare at them.
But his glare appeared again as they passed Master Brestle’s cottage just outside town, where a wagon was piled high with household goods.
“Your Grace,” said the herbman, starting as he came out the front door. “I must…I must ask you to forgive me. My…wife is wanting to visit her family…”
“It is important to keep peace with your wife’s family,” Remin agreed flatly. “I wish you a safe journey.”
“And you, my lord. We are all hoping that you will return safely,” the man said, with a deep bow. “Genon says there are other healers on the way, so I believe I won’t be leaving you short.”
“Yes. From Lusse,” Remin replied curtly, giving Lancer a nudge with his heels. Ophele turned to look over Remin’s shoulder as they rode away, her eyes solemn.
“He’s not coming back, is he?” she asked. “He wouldn’t be taking furniture if he was coming back.”
“No.”
But Remin couldn’t completely despise the man, now that he had a wife of his own. What would he have done in Brestle’s place, with devils bearing down from one side and the possibility of war with the Empire from the other? The tales from Nandre, Meinhem, Isigne, and Selgin were all over town, and while Remin and his men had been focused on the Emperor, the people of Tresingale were worried about what might be coming out of the mountains when the snow melted.
Remin had been preparing for that, too.
