“Still better than you,” Juste replied in a reedy whisper. “You made us worry for a little while, my lord.”
“It would take more than a fever to finish me off. Do you know what’s been happening?” Remin managed to deliver this without coughing and then quit while he was ahead. There was a basin of water on the floor beside Juste’s bed, and he soaked and then replaced the cloth on Juste’s forehead, feeling the heat baking from the man.
“I spoke with Her Grace last night,” Juste whispered. “Auber and Jinmin have been guarding her. But you ought not be alone either, my lord. Someone was in the house. One of the windows in the solar was left open, and Davi saw a print in the snow on the balcony.”
“No guards are assigned there,” Remin said slowly, his brows lowering.
“There are now.” Juste covered his mouth, coughing. “I thought someone would try for you, my lord. I didn’t realize they’d gotten so close.”
“I’ll have a care,” Remin promised, flicking open his cloak to reveal the mailcoat underneath. “How many guards down?”
“Six. But we will have a full complement tonight.”
“Good. I don’t suppose we managed to track who—” This time, Remin coughed. “—ever it was?”
“No, my lord. Dol said the footprints joined the paths to the library, and disappeared.”
“East rather than west,” Remin muttered. But that was all; there was nothing more to glean from that information, and no further action he could take. Yes, he could order Ophele home now, lock the doors, and harden the manor into a fortress, but all that would accomplish was informing the traitor or traitors that they had been detected.
And then they would lie low. And wait.
Because sooner or later, he would have to come out again.
“I’ll speak to the guards,” he snarled. The thought that someone had been so close, maybe eveninside the solarwhen Ophele arrived home last night, made him want to break things. “Tell me the rest.”
“Genon has been spared so far,” Juste whispered. “Most of the town has it. Her Grace said two-thirds. They’ve set up quarantines.”
“And why does she know all that?” Remin asked flatly.
“Who was going to stop her? I heard her telling off Leonin this morning, when he tried to follow her.” A smile twitched at Juste’s mouth. “She shouted.”
“Ophele shouted?” Remin’s mind briefly boggled, until he remembered her glaring up at him as she blocked the bedroom door. That whole confrontation was rather fuzzy in his memory, but he was almost sure it had happened.
“Leonin had it badly. Water,” Juste said, gesturing to the cup on the table above his head, and sipped slowly as he conveyed the remaining details he knew. It wasn’t much. He had heard Ophele and Emi moving through the cottages twice a day distributing food, and Emi came on her own to knock on doors and make sure everyone had fires and was taking their medicine. Genon had visited several times and told Juste as much as he thought it was good for him to know.
“I see,” Remin said when he was done. He rose and added another log to the fire. “Go back to sleep, Juste. Get better.”
“You—do the same.” Juste was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Rem…she’ll be back soon. Just wait. Genon says…trust her…”
There was no one this side of the Brede that could stop him from going wherever he wanted, but Remin paused, scowling down at the sick man. Even halfway conscious, Juste made a compelling argument.
Rewrapping the muffler around his face, he went outside again. He was roasting under the many layers of clothing and fur, but it was better than taking a chill as he moved from one cottage to the next.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Leonin said the moment he opened the door. “I know I should be with Her Grace, but she…strongly opposed the idea of my accompanying her.”
“What did she say?”
Leonin shifted.
“She said if I came outside, she would take off her cloak and sit in the snow until I went back in,” he said stiffly, and Remin could very easily imagine Ophele issuing this threat, no doubt with a stomp of her small foot.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to risk that,” Remin replied, torn between anger and pride. “Thank you, Leonin.”
He could not be easy in his mind until he had checked on everyone else, amused by the horror of his servants as they realized their lord was at the door. What Juste had said was true. Almost all of them were sick, in various levels of croaking, feverish discomfort, but someone answered every door except one.
Hell.
“Lady Verr,” he repeated, knocking again. Her cottage was between Miche’s and the maids’, and was the only one where smoke was not rising from the chimney. For a moment, he hesitated, glowering, but he was not about to leave the lady’scorpse to be discovered by Ophele, the manners of Segoile be damned. “Lady Verr. I’m coming in.”
