“No,” she said, lifting her chin. “I want to hear it.”
***
If Ophele had had her way, they would’ve gone straight to Azelma’s cottage the next morning and talked about it at once. Like digging out a splinter. But though she and Remin had gotten over their disagreement—as evidenced by the fact that Remin had concluded the discussion by rolling on top of her and then into her, and did it again in the morning—he only shook his head when she proposed it.
“I have things I must see to,” he said with a glance at the windows, where true to Miche’s prediction, the storm had blown over, and the sun shone painfully bright on the hard crust of snow. “They need my help securing the last of the ferries, andthey’re hauling one up into dry dock, to see if it might be fitted for ocean travel.”
“To go to Segoile?” she guessed. That would be much faster than going in a carriage.
“Yes, though I don’t know if I want you on its maiden voyage,” he said, covering her hand with his and trying to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “And I don’t want to have to cut this conversation short. Tonight will be soon enough. Invite her to supper, and let her know that I’ll have questions after.”
“All right.”
His hand was hot. And he did not look very well, she thought, studying him over the rim of her teacup. His eyes were shadowed and red, and the downturn at the corners of his mouth didn’t seem like his habitually grim expression.
“I am sorry I made you worry,” she said suddenly. “I won’t do it again. Even if it is Azelma. I will be careful.”
“Thank you,” he said, and it felt like things were back to normal again when he bent for a kiss after breakfast before he left, bellowing for Magne.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Azelma said when Ophele went to visit her again, this time dressed appropriately for the snow and with Davi and Leonin standing just inside the door of the cottage, pretending they weren’t there. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, that His Grace might want to know. But, child, there won’t be much comfort to either of you in that business.”
“I know my mother…did something,” Ophele assured her, trying to sound brave. Inside, her heart was fluttering. “Lady Hurrell told me she did.”
“She did,” Azelma agreed, somber. “She was very ashamed of it, child. She never wanted you to know. But I believe she would have wanted His Grace to be told. He has the right, if anyone does.”
Remin had promised that he would not blame Ophele, no matter what it was. But her fingers twisted together, and suddenly she wished she hadn’t pushed this issue at all.
“Is it…very bad?” she asked softly. Azelma squeezed her hand.
“His whole family. Yes, that’s as terrible as it gets. Your mother never meant for that to happen,” Azelma added. “Though I doubt it will be much comfort. But it’s naught to do with you, no matter what Lady Hurrell told you all those years. Just you keep telling yourself that.”
“I will.”
“And truth to tell, if I expected to be questioned, I wouldn’t have expected something so gentle as a supper.” Azelma gave her a pat. “As ifIshould come and sit at table with the likes ofthem,my stars. The Knights of the Brede!”
“That’s what I said,” Ophele said, summoning a ghost of a smile at the strangeness of the world, and sat down for a nice visit. It was even more astonishing that it was not strange at all to her now, and absolutelybizarreto think that in two hours’ time, she was to go and stand before Sir Justenin of Tresingale, Knight of the Brede, and recite tongue twisters.
As promised, they sat together after supper that evening with steaming teacups and sugary plum cake. The furnishings Miche had acquired from Aldeburke had been brought up to fill the vast solar, with a seating area by the fire and a workspace at the far end of the room, making it feel warm and comfortable in a way Aldeburke never had. And best of all, he had retrieved her mother’s old armchair, soft and warm and just Ophele’s size, placed with honor beside Remin’s larger chair. Even years later, the scent of her mother’s sachet lingered.
Remin sat rigidly beside her in his chair, and Azelma faced them both, with her knobbled hands clasped in her lap and more unhappy than Ophele had ever seen her.
“I worked in the Emperor’s kitchen,” she began, heaving a gusty sigh. “When I was a girl, I came in as a baker’s apprentice. My family owned a small bakery, you know, and it was a fine opportunity to come up. In time, I got my seal, and had charge of the Divinity’s bread. He never complained.”
Her mouth twisted ruefully.
“The downstairs, we always heard gossip, even the cooks. But that’s all it is, gossip, for I never saw it with my own eyes, and most of the time I was abed while things were happening. Bakers rise terribly early. But we all knew the Emperor did not love his Empress, and took many others to his bed. I had it from the maids that sometimes the Empress even picked girls to send to him.”
“To herhusband?”Ophele asked, repulsed.
“Yes. They were long estranged by then, chi—Your Grace,” Azelma corrected, with a quick glance at Remin. “Ten years at least, and still no babe. We heard about that often in the kitchen, they were always at poor Evrou, bless him, to add this or that to the Empress’s meals, to try to encourage her to quicken. The first I heard of your mother was a call for melon sorbet from the Emperor’s chambers. He never cared much for sweets. I didn’t know until later who she was, or that she was in service to the Empress. A new girl,” Azelma added with a shake of her head. “The Empress takes debutantes into her service, if she likes the look of them; they are all presented to her, you know, Petals for the Roses. The Empress liked to have them trailing behind her about the palace.”
“She might—the Empress might have sent my mother to the Emperor?” Ophele asked, a little faintly. Lady Verr had been acquainting her with some of the more palatable depravities of Segoile society, cautious of Remin’s wrath, but the thought thatthatwas how Ophele had been made was repugnant.
“Might be. Or it could be your mother caught the Emperor’s eye on her own, and he sent for her. All I can say is that he did. Tea with honey in the morning,” Azelma added, with a flicker of grief. “Fig roll, porridge with blackberries and cream. Apples in the afternoon, and…”
“…hazelnut cookies after supper,” Ophele finished, with a grief that made her eyes burn.
“Yes,” Azelma said softly. “We knew her preferences. And one day his steward came down to the kitchen to ask if anyone would like a temporary post as kitchen mistress. I said yes. I had my seal, but it’s not the same as managing a whole kitchen. I hoped to have my own kitchen, one day. There is nothing like it, when everyone is humming along, and the smell of good food…”
