He had been having them almost every night, but he refused to talk about them. And he didn’t now, either, only held her tightly for a long time, drawing long, deep breaths with his face buried in her hair.
“You went to see Azelma alone,” he said finally, low.
“Yes. I—”
“Don’t do that again. Bring her up to the house if you want to see her. And don’t eat or drink anything she gives you.”
Even with his heart still racing under her cheek, this was too much. Ophele lifted her head.
“Remin,” she began, exasperated. “I understand you’re worried, but Iknowher. She is my fr—”
“Or I will send her away,” he said. The words were quiet but implacable. “Don’t push me on this.”
The threat rendered her temporarily speechless.
“You wouldn’t,” she managed, a pitiful response when it was abundantly clear that he would. “That isn’tfair.”
“Many things in this world are not.”
“But—but…you can’tdothat!” she exclaimed, shoving at his chest until he let her up, gobsmacked by theirrationalityof his position. Did he think they could live like this all their lives, never trusting anyone but the small circle of people that had passed some horrific psychological test of his devising? “We can’t…live like that! I can’t. If you would just—”
“Wife.” Just that one word silenced her. “Did you know that Wen tastes all our food before he sends it up to the house?”
“No,” she said, resigned.
“He was poisoned three times during the war, tasting my food. Not just from the Emperor, Valleth tried too. Wen always says he’s too fat to poison. The dosages involved…” Remin trailed off. “But Bon died. He drank from a cup that was meant for me, pure luck. Gen stuffed charcoal down his throat and tried to make him sick it back up. It didn’t work. He died badly.”
She could not think of anything to say.
“Poison isn’t like anything else,” he went on quietly. “You can’t see it. You can’t fight it. Once you know it’s there, it’s already too late. And it hurts. Nothing hurts like poison.”
The way he said that, so sharp and so brittle. Ophele gave up and flung her arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as she could, and felt his arms go around her so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“But that won’t happen,” she told him, when he had held her for long enough. “Azelma wouldn’t. Ever.”
“You’re willing to bet your life on that?”
“Yes.”
“What about mine?”
She wanted to say yes, right away. Not an instant’s hesitation. But what he had just told her shook her. Because if there was the slightest chance she was wrong…
“I don’t know,” she said finally, honestly. “But it’s not fair to not even give her a chance. Does that mean you’re just not going to let her cook for us, ever?”
But his silence told her that was exactly what that meant. It had never even crossed her mind that he might feel that way. Azelma had been the perfect solution to their problem, a capital-trained cook that suited even Lady Hurrell’s picky palate, a cook who Ophele knew personally, who could be trusted never to hurt him. And Remin intended to turn her away without even a hearing? Without evendiscussingit?
“You never gave me a chance to defend myself, and I hated it,” she burst out. “I know why you didn’t trust me. I understand, Remin, I really do. My fa—the Emperor. But we never talked about it, and there was nothing I could do or say. And what will we do, if it’s not her? Will Wen just cook for us forever? He’s much older than we are.”
She touched his cheek to make him look at her.
“I don’t know,” he said reluctantly. But that was a start.
“I would’ve told you I was sorry sooner,” she said softly. “If we had talked. And that I had never spoken to the Emperor, not once, and that I wanted to help. I wanted to tell you that all along. Couldn’t you listen to her? Pleasetry,Remin.”
“It does no harm to listen,” he said, and laid his brow against hers with a sigh she felt through her own body. “I won’t promise to change my mind. I meant to talk to her anyway. She was there with your mother, in the capital. She might know what happened. Or at least your mother’s part. I won’t blame you,” he added, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But I have to know. You don’t have to listen, if you don’t want to.”
But he didn’t say that the way he usually would. It wasn’t a reassurance. And even in the dim light she saw the challenge in his dark eyes, a gauntlet thrown down. If she wanted to make such dangerous decisions, then she would have to listen, too. In a strange way, this would be the price she paid for allowing Azelma in striking distance of them both.
