Ophele’s soft voice moved up and down the hall as she went to dress for the meal, as she would in Segoile. In the capital, noblewomen might change clothes three or four times a day.
It wasn’t only Ophele that he feared for. His men, his friends, the knights that he thought of as his brothers. His servants, who were proving to be good and faithful. His people. He had so much, now.
So much to lose.
***
Remin had not spoken a single word to her.
In the dark, he was only a few inches away, but it might as well have been miles. Lying on his side with his broad back to her, it felt like an insurmountable wall lay between them. As far as she could tell, when he had finally come to bed, he had laid down, closed his eyes, and gone instantly to sleep.
He hadn’t evenlookedat her.
All through supper and the conversation that followed, she had been braced for him to bring up Azelma again, because she was positive she hadn’t heard the last ofthat.She had been prepared for a scolding, knowing full well that Davi and Leonin would have told him what had happened; even if Leonin was as pleasant as ever, it was written all over Davi’s face. And Ophele was guiltily aware that she had done the one thing that would anger Remin most: gone somewhere alone, and shut the door on her guards.
But he hadn’t said anything. He had spoken very little through supper. Miche, Leonin, and Lady Verr bore the burden of the conversation, comparing various banquets of the capital. She hadn’t noticed it before, but even with Leonin and Lady Verr’s exquisite manners before her, Miche was every bit their equal.
“I think I will go to bed,” she said, when she had picked at her food and could bear it no longer. It was still snowing outside.
“Good night, my lady,” said Miche, glancing from her to Remin with a glint of sympathy. “The storm will blow over by morning, you’ll see.”
Davi, Leonin, and Justenin murmured farewells, but Remin only moved further down the table to fill everyone’s cups with wine.
“Do not take it too much to heart, my lady,” Lady Verr murmured as she removed the ribbons from Ophele’s carefully curled hair. Remin hadn’t even noticed them. “It is natural to have disagreements.”
“Did you often argue with…Lord Verr?” Ophele asked, wondering again that the lady could look so untroubled at the mention of her dead husband.
“Yes,” she said serenely. “But if you are right, you must not let him persuade you that you are not.”
Opheledidthink she was right. But it was very hard not to be shaken when she was sitting by the fire alone, trying to read her calculus book and absorbing nothing at all. It felt like hours passed before Remin finally appeared in the door, and when he did, he went straight to the bed, undressed, and slid under the covers without even sayinggood night.
Well,fine.
Blowing out the candles, Ophele pulled the covers up to her chin and pointedly turned her own back. She didn’t want to talk to him, either.
It washorribleto be so suspicious of people. It was a terrible way to live. And even if Remin wouldn’t trust Azelma himself, didn’t he trust Ophele’s judgment? Wasn’t he always saying that she had a good deal of sense? Or did that only apply when she was sensible enough to agree withhim?
As the fire crackled and the endless minutes ticked by, Ophele realized she was waiting for him to roll over and talk to her, to speak first, to be the first to apologize. Ever since her sun sickness, he had always been the first to reach out and ask what was wrong, what was she thinking, to coax her into confiding in him. Without even realizing it, she had been sure he would do that again.
Except…
Shehadsaid something terrible to him this morning. Even more terrible because it was true, and the truth hurt worse than any lie. In the beginning, Remin hadn’t trusted her, and he had punished her unjustly, and she knew he still felt guilty about it.She had used that against him, even though he had apologized and tried to make up for it ever since.
What if he didn’t forgive her?
What if things were never right between them again?
That thought was almost enough to make her turn and wake him and beg his pardon at once. But there was also a secret, sneaky part of herself, carefully nurtured by Lady Verr and Justenin, that knew there was another way. All she had to do was cry. If she cried and then gave him a nudge or two, Remin would wake up and ask what was wrong and give her anything she wanted.
But Ophele did not want to stoop to such tricks. She wanted him to agree with her because she was right, not because he wanted her to stop crying.
A few tears did escape as she lay there and thought about it. It wasn’t just abstract principles of trust and judgment. She had hoped he would like Azelma. She had imagined them sitting together in the solar of an evening, and the look on Remin’s face when Azelma teased him in the same tart way she had always done to Ophele. They were the two dearest people in the world to her, and she had been so pleased at the thought that Azelma would get to know Remin, and see how wonderful he was…
Neither she nor Remin had parents, after all.
It might have been hours or years, lying there in the dark with the glow of the fire dimming beyond the bed hangings. Sometimes its crackling seemed very far away and indistinct, and other times real and present. She dozed, and then came back to herself as Remin jerked beside her, letting out a single gasp.
“Remin?” she said before she could think the better of it, and was already reaching for him when he turned over and caught her. In spite of the cold, he was drenched with sweat. “Oh, Remin,” she whispered, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Was it a bad dream?”
