Huber’s throat worked.
“Go away, Rem,” he whispered, and turned his face away, his shoulders shaking as he wept.
***
In the waning days of the year, the people of Tresingale kept the solstice night.
Ophele’s solar actually felt crowded with the whole household gathered, sitting in a semicircle about the hearth. She had planned the event with customary care, to ensure everyone who wanted chairs would have them, and a full tea service sat on the sideboard, gently steaming. It would be a long night.
It was something, to see everyone together at once. Mionet was elegant in a dark gray gown, seated with Justenin and Miche on either side of her, the men freshly shaved and dressed in somber finery. Leonin and Davi took their usual places behind Ophele, while Azelma and Magne had seats by the fire, in deference to their age. Crowded nearby were the maids and stableboys, footmen and laundresses, and seven-year-old Samin sat on the floor by the woodbox, doomed by his youth to stoking the fire. Over twenty people, the first members of the Duke of Andelin’s household.
If it were possible, Ophele would have invited everyone in town.
They had been through so much. In her mind’s eye was the memory of Genon by the fire in the tavern, that day he had fallen asleep sitting up and everyone else tiptoed out the door so he might nap a little longer. There was the eternal vision of Adelan in only his drawers, crouched beside Magne and frustrated out of his wits as he tried to coax the simple man to take his medicine. Auber, good and solid as the earth, weeping with his sweetheart when Genon finally assured them that her son would live. For a dreadful day, there had been serious doubt.
All of them would be watching. Right now, Genon would be standing outside the infirmary, watching for the smoke to rise from the chimney of the manor house, signaling the start of prayers. In the North Gate cottages, Amise and Elodie would be looking out their window. From one of the upper windows of the barracks, Tounot would see it, and call all the rest of the soldiers there to the litany.
Next year, they would be together and hold solstice night properly.
“I believe everything is in order, my lord,” said Brother Oleare, turning from the table where he had laid out an assortment of incense, the sacred powders that were the nearest thing to magic the Empire possessed. In an assortment of hues and scents, they drew the all-seeing eyes of the stars, and he took up a handful of red powder to call their attention.
“Go ahead,” said Remin. He had been very quiet, the last few days.
“Your Grace.” Brother Oleare bowed and then sprinkled the red powder on the leaping flames.
It puffed and sparked, to Samin’s obvious delight, and then red smoke rolled up, scarlet as an anemone. All of Tresingale would see that smoke in the moonlight, and it was a signal to begin their own vigils, the simplesegardethat Brother Oleare had taught them all.
He was dressed in the robes of a mystic, with a rope belt that signified an ascetic order, in the pale blue of an incense scribe. By daylight, he was a thin old man with a quavering voice, but there was a curious power in his face as he stood before the fire, his dark eyes shining. The red incense burned sharp and spicy.
“My lord and lady,” the holy man said. “Though we would prefer to stand bare before the stars, and look upon them with our mortal eyes, we may have faith thattheyseeus.Stone walls do not blind the eyes of heaven. Clouds do not obscure their sight. They are the celestial divine that observes all, understands all, and knows the truth of our ways. Beyond the clouds, the sky is dark and infinite, and you may be sure those stars are shining.”
So saying, he turned to wash his hands in the basin on the table, dried them carefully, and then took a handful of pale blue powder.
“This is the air of cleansing and healing. Breathe it slowly, but deep,” he said, sprinkling it over the fire. It smelled like…juniper, small blue berries, sharp-scented and clean. “Thesegardeis a litany of reflection. There is a reason it is performed at the end of the year, so that we may come before the divine celestial presence and seek the judgment of the stars.”
Light smoke rose from the burning incense, silver-blue and vaporous, coiling upward in tendrils. Brother Oleare bowed his head.
“Ur Se, first among the stars, know my mind. Ur Se, first among the stars, witness the work of my hands. Ur Se, first among the stars, weigh the worth of my heart.”
That was the prayer. He repeated it once more, and then Remin joined him, his deep voice clear and steady. His right hand reached for Ophele, and his left for Miche, his dark head bowed as he repeated the words.Know my mind. Witness the work of my hands. Weigh the worth of my heart.
It was a prayer meant for a winter night, when the cold dark lingered and granted time for reflection. Ophele had never kept a solstice night. She had never even heard of it. But she liked hearing everyone’s voices murmuring together, speaking the names of the stars, and seeing their hands joined.
Brother Oleare gave them new stars. He knew all their names. He knew their place in the heavens and he knew their governance. His voice went on, calling the attention of each star in turn, asking them to stand in judgment of the year’s work. And though at first Ophele was just interested in this new thing, and trying to memorize the new stars, as the litany went on, she began to wonder.
Remin’s stars were easy. Bet Agasse and Memech: she loved them both, the defender and the nurturer. But what stars governedher?What would they think of the work of her hands? The worth of her heart?
If there was a star that appreciatedeffort,maybe that one would look upon her kindly. If Ophele could say one thing of her year, it was this: she had tried. She thought of that day all those months ago, when she had come to Tresingale, afraid of everything and resolved to help, without the least idea how.
She had worked hard. She would never forget those days beneath the wall, the hot sting of blisters as she hauled bucket after bucket of water. The weary miles she had walked with Eugene the donkey at her side, day after day. Honestly, that time was hazy in her memory, an endless, grueling toil by day and nights filled with the terror of the devils.
Culminating in the haziest day of all, the day she had fallen from sun sickness, and awakened to find Remin sitting on the floor beside her bed, his face drawn with worry and fear, promising that things would be different.
He had meant it.
Looking back, she wondered if there hadn’t been signs of his true heart even before that day. Clumsy efforts to ask what she needed. They had missed each other, and misunderstood each other, and though she would never forget his cold suspicion, at least she understood it.
And how many mistakes she had made. How often she had failed. If Remin hadn’t taken care of her,shehadn’t taken care of herself, at all. Ophele knew whose fault it was that she was not yet with child. She and Remin had come together often enough to make a hundred children. How could Remin be expected to know something was wrong with her body ifshedidn’t? She had been ignorant, and cowardly, and if Remin had ignored her…well, she did not like to think she was so helpless that she needed a keeper.
