“Not in this kitchen.” Wen snorted, settling the crock in the center of the hamper. He did not like anyone in the valley to know it, but Wen was the son of a cook of some fame, and when disturbed, he had a tendency toplatethings in attractive ways, which included the arrangement of crockery. “You’re expecting someone to tamper with Her Grace’s food?”
“It’s a possibility. Inform me if there are any further adjustments to her diet,” Juste said, hefting the basket, and departed. It was not a negligible burden.
Their Graces were occupied when he arrived at the manor. Sighing, Juste set the basket on the floor of the grand entry. Emi was scrubbing the evening mud from the stairs, Sim was bringing enough firewood to heat the house overnight, and the builders were wrapping up the day’s work, sweeping away sawdust and plaster. So many people occupied with so many different tasks, and Juste’s sharp eye noted all of them, alert to both shoddy work and new faces. He was the steward of Remin’s house in all ways.
The work went well. The grand entry was well on its way to being grand, and the whole second floor had been framed out, with plasterers hard at work in the west wing of the second floor. Soon Juste, Miche, and Lady Verr would occupy their own suitesthere, the luxurious chambers of high-ranking members of the household. Juste had spent a few hours with Master Didion a few days ago, choosing his furnishings and selecting basic items for the delinquent Miche. By the new year, work would shift to the first floor.
Which meant they would have to find a new home for the Benkki Desan tree that currently occupied a sunny nook overlooking the courtyard. Turning that way, Juste found a pair of dark violet eyes peeping at him through the branches, framed with tiny white and purple flowers.
“Noble lord,” said Madam Imari Sanai.
“Madam,” Juste replied politely. “Well met. His Grace’s gift flourishes in your care.”
“It has come to a good spot,” she agreed, in the liquid syllables of Benkki Desa. They had exchanged pleasantries several times before.
“It was a generous gift. I must thank you again, on his behalf.” Juste inclined his head. “Though I still wonder why all of you chose to come to this spot, in all the world. Was it so great an opportunity?”
“The river here is wide and wild.” Madam Sanai clipped away a branch.
“The greatest river in the Empire,” Juste agreed, his eyes narrowing. “But all the great cities of Benkki Desa are built upon the river, are they not?”
“The Oboro-sati,” she replied, nodding. “The river of all rivers, which flows straight from the sea to the great western ocean. Yet it is slow and sleepy, and I had never seen a river so wild. Would you not go and see such a wonder?”
“I have seen enough wonders in my life,” Juste replied, interested enough to allow the evasion, and passed an agreeable time learning about her homeland, as her long fingers snipped buds from the tree, making room for others to grow. BenkkiDesans called themselves the People of Twilight, for they were last born to the world, and moved through time in their own rhythm.
It was the sort of small talk that Ophele would have to learn before her departure to the capital, and Juste had to own it could be pleasant, though he was not a man that greatly enjoyed society. He nearly forgot his original purpose until the door to the solar opened upstairs.
“Please excuse me,” he said, dipping his head again and snatching up the hamper.
He had been looking forward to this meeting.
The inspiration had burst upon him a few days before, a solution to the problem he had been turning over in his mind ever since Remin had come to him about Ophele’s education. There was no such thing as a useless person. Juste’s delight had always been in finding theirbestuse, like slotting a perfect piece into the machine of the world. And all it had taken was a few words from Sousten Didion to make this solution strike him like a bolt of lightning.
“My lord, my lady,” Juste said as he entered the solar. “Wen sends his compliments and hopes you will enjoy your meal. My lady, there is a pudding for you in particular.”
“Thank you for fetching it.” Remin rose, digging into the hamper to distribute its contents. It was not the place of a lord to serve food to his guests, but Juste was beginning to despair of ever making Remin a lord in the mode of the empire.
He would be content with shaping the lady instead.
“I have been considering Her Grace for much of the last week,” he said when the meal was over and Ophele was serving tea. Her eyes lifted, instantly anxious, and Juste could imagine exactly what was going through her head: she would assume this was a test and she had failed it, and her greatest fear was failing Remin.
Justenin had learned the most potent lever that moved this lady.
“On all subjects,” he clarified. “And I believe it is prudent that we accept now that absent many years of training, she is unlikely to ever become a Rose of Segoile.”
The lamplight glowed on Ophele’s face, illuminating the swift hurt in her eyes, though he only had an instant to glimpse it. The lady was very, very good at concealing herself. Juste observed it as it happened, a…shrinking, a withdrawal, a subtle alteration in her posture that made him feel as if she might disappear altogether the moment he took his eyes from her. And especially when she was seated beside the Duke of Andelin, who couldn’t hide the enormous force of his presence if he tried.
Perfect.
“Explain,” said His Grace, his mouth tightening in a hard line of displeasure.
“It is not merely a question of learning manners and conventions,” said Juste. “A Rose of Segoile haspresence.Some women naturally have that vitality, that commanding air, while others must learn it. In four months, Her Grace may learn graceful speech, and may even learn to offer it at an audible volume. But the confident bearing of a Rose of Segoile, much less the ready wit and sharp tongue of a lioness like Lady Verr—no. Not if we had ten years.”
“Ready wit?” Remin echoed, his face darkening. “There are none that could match—”
“There is a difference between quick wit and intelligence, my lord,” Justenin interrupted. It was time to put Ophele out of her misery. “My lady,” he said, shifting his attention to her. “Has anyone assisted you with your lessons?”
She shook her head, mute and unhappy.
