“It looks like you’re ready for a war,” Ophele murmured, and Remin glanced down at her sharply. There was no insinuation in her guileless eyes, but it was truer than she knew. Beyond the high walls of the town, he and his men had dug lines of trenches all winter, deep enough that even wolf demons could not scramble out of the bottom. The base of the city walls was studded with immense pikes, long enough and strong enough to skewer even the Nandre devil.
“We’re not coming home to another Meinhem.” It was an oath. “When the devils come, we will be ready.”
He had only meant to go a short distance beyond the gates; enough to see those defenses, to reassure himself and Ophele that he had done everything he could. But when Lancer snorted and sped up the slope of the perimeter road, Remin gave him his head, jogging lightly past the snowy pastures, the shadowed forest, the sweep of bare fields that would soon turn green with planting.
Their breaths puffed white as he turned at last, one arm wrapped tight around Ophele, turning to gaze upon their city.
Their home.
Their dream.
It was still so small. A cluster of cottages by the North Gate; the distant smoke of the market and craftsmen’s quarter, barely visible above the treetops. One day, the spire of hiscathedral would top those trees, magnificent against the wild blue sky. One day, the dome of the Court of War would shine white as alabaster, a beacon visible for miles upriver. And within those walls would swell the rumble and thud of people at work, the hew and cry of humanity, the great stir of life and love and growing.
“I don’t want to go,” Ophele burst out suddenly. “I don’t. I don’t want to leave.”
“Neither do I.” Remin’s hands clenched on the reins. He had never in his life wanted to do anything less.
“It feels like we’re running away,” she said. “I know Huber and Auber will look after everyone, but we should be here. It feels like we’re leaving them behind.”
“I know.”
It could not possibly feel any other way. Remin’s jaw tightened as he looked at his town, his people, the small and vulnerable space of civilization in all the wide valley. They had bled to take it. Broken their backs to build it. And now they would have to bleed again to hold it.
“I…hatethis,” he said slowly. “I hate it so much.”
Maybe it was because of where they were. Outside of Tresingale, away from their house, there was nothing around them but the cold, quiet hills and naked trees. Maybe it was that these words had been locked inside him for so long, a weight in his chest and a lump in his throat, and he was tired of fighting them down. They clawed their way out, raw and furious.
“I don’t want to go,” he said savagely. “I should be here to protect them. The stars only know what will be coming out of that mountain, and there is nowhere the devils will come but here, to beat on the walls. I shouldbe herewhen they do. All these people have suffered so much already, I already failed them once, and now I’m supposed to tell them all will be well and go to the capital for the season? Knowing that any time—”
Ophele’s eyes were on his face, quiet and watchful.
“It’s fine. I just worry.” He was trying to leash his tongue and finding it harder than he expected. “We’ll be safe. I have planned everything, you can see the defenses, and if I really thought there was danger, I would leave more men behind. But we need—that is, I want to make sure you are protected. Not that it’s dangerous,” he added quickly. “I am taking no chances. They are good men, you haven’t begun to see what they can do yet, so you needn’t worry.”
He couldn’t keep the words back when she was looking at him like that.
“I don’t want you to worry. But sometimes, I…we have so much, and it’s safe, it is, but I…I have been so…”
“Afraid,” Ophele said softly.
“Yes.”
“I am afraid, too,” she whispered, laying her hand on his. “I’m afraid all the time.”
“Still?” he asked gratefully, running his other hand gently over her back.
“Yes. Well…of little things,” she said. “Things you can’t protect me from, I guess. I’m afraid of doing something wrong. Or saying something wrong. And of people I don’t know, and leaving home, and all those people in the capital, and…Lady Hurrell. I think I’m…better, but sometimes I still get so nervous…”
“I’ll be beside you,” he promised.
“I know. I know, I’m just…saying. Lady Hurrell has been there all this time, and you don’t know…well, you do, a little. But she knows things,” she said grimly. “She knows them, and she holds onto them until just the right moment.”
“But we have Lady Verr,” Remin said very seriously, and made her burst into giggles. He kissed the top of her ear. “There are some good people going with us, wife.”
“Yes,” she agreed, giving him a smile. “I did think of that, we have Miche and Justenin, and Edemir will be there already…and we have good people staying here, Remin. Amise and all the other ladies promised me they would take care of things. It won’t be just Auber and Tounot. The women know the devils are coming. They won’t just sit about waiting for them.”
“Really?” Remin felt his heart lift. “What did they say?”
“Well, they heard about the shell curtains your men made during the war,” she began. “They’re making those for the doors and windows, and Mistress Tregue wondered whether everyone ought to have a bell in the house, a great big loud one to warn everyone else if a strangler’s spotted. Wouldn’t that help?”
