“How could I say so?” Isilde replied. “When he is so good to us both, and really he needn’t trouble himself at all.”
“He ought to at least trouble himself to make up his mind, the great lummox,” said Amise Conbour, who had been standing nearby. She had no reverence at all for her brother-in-law.
“Please don’t fuss at him for it, I am sure he has his reasons,” Isilde replied, with a glance in Auber’s direction that wounded Ophele’s tender heart.
“Well, if he can’t make up his mind, there’s no reason you can’t change yours,” Lisset Conbour pointed out. “What about that nice young guardsman who came to call?”
“Oh, no, but you love Auber, don’t you?” Ophele asked, dismayed as Isilde looked away. She had been looking forward to having another lady in the valley to invite to tea, and sewing, and shopping…
“Sometimes love is not the trouble,” Mionet said wisely, which was probably true, but so very sad.
“Isn’t Auber going to propose to Isilde?” Ophele demanded later, when she and Remin finally returned home. They had both had to stand in the courtyard and get doused with buckets of steaming water before they could go inside.
“I don’t know,” Remin replied, looking taken aback. “He didn’t already?”
“No, and Isilde is unhappy, and there’s a guardsman that’s coming and bothering her, and Amise and Lisset are telling her to go ahead and invite him to supper if Auber can’t make up his mind,” Ophele replied severely. “What if he steals her away?”
“I would say it’s her business if she goes, and it’s not up to us either way, wife,” Remin replied, seated opposite Ophele in their large bathtub and patiently washing her feet.
“But what could he be thinking, when they love each other? He was so upset when she and Vinzetin were sick. And Isilde would be a lady and everything,” she said, disappointed.
“I am not going to encourage him to propose to her just because you want another friend to go about town with,” Remin replied, amused. But his face quickly sobered. “And to be fair, he might have good reasons, for the present. It mightn’t be about her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am not going to speak for him,” Remin said firmly. “Nor should you. I would just guess—if it were me, perhaps I might wait a few months, before I tied her to me.”
Ophele considered this, her brow furrowed. Then her eyes flew open.
“Because of the Emperor?” she asked. “Because of what might happen after we go to Segoile, if he wants to do something dreadful? And so there might be danger, because Auber is your friend? And if he had married Isilde, and he was punished—”
“Stars, I will never say another word in front of you.” Remin pinched her toes and gave them a shake. “No. It’s enough that he has his reasons, wife, and don’t you go interfering. People have to sort these things out themselves.”
“I wasn’t going to. And we’re leaving, anyway,” Ophele replied, grieved. “But it seems a shame to let them flounderabout and be unhappy when a few words might put things right. Won’t you warn him, at least? Isilde thinks that maybe she isn’t good enough for him after all. Wouldn’t you want someone to tell you, if I was troubled and you didn’t know?”
“I wonder that you can say that to my face, when you have Miche informing on me.” Remin reached out a long arm to drag her into his lap, settling her comfortably against his chest. “We will see Auber for supper tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do.”
“We might have a new kitchen girl to help,” Ophele remembered, and told him about Amalie as he gently washed the last of the Tresingale dirt from her body, their final scattering of seeds before they left home.
Chapter 15 – Last of His Blood
Year 800 of the Divine House of Agnephus
It was unpardonably late when Bastin arrived at Duke Ereguil’s estate in Segoile.
If there was anyone in the world he could trust, it was Laud Ereguil. Bastin’s father had chosen many blue-blooded sons to be his companion when he was a child, and over the last twenty years, every single one of those early friends had come to him for some favor, to capitalize on that relationship. To Bastin, it was inevitable.
If Laud was ever going to collect, it would be now.
The famous mimosa trees lined the long avenue to the manor, all pink flowers and lacy leaves, ending in a grand courtyard before the ancient house. It was one of the finest estates in the city.
“Divinity?” Duke Ereguil descended the steps in a hurry, looking as if he had dressed hastily in the dark. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes. I must speak with you now,” said Bastin, with a pointed look at the servants. He had dismissed all his own servants and ordered his guards to remain outside. He could not trust them.
“Yes, Divinity. My office,” Laud replied, recovering quickly. “Nencion, bring us a bite from the kitchen. See that we are not otherwise disturbed.”
“Thank you.” Bastin followed the other man down a long corridor with moonlight streaming through wide windows on either side. “I know it is very late.”
