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“The Andelin for my duchy,” Remin said. The words came to him like prophecy. “The Brede for my own. And your daughter for my wife.”
But Remin Grimjaw was equal parts hero and bogeyman,
But the Duke of Andelin would be married with the same thoroughness he did everything else: inarguably, irrevocably, smashing through all resistance to stamp the act on the pages of history, so even scholars in generations to come could not contest his will.
He had commanded whole armies and ordered thousands of men to march to their deaths, but he had never been responsible for anything as fragile as a girl.
Ophele prepared herself to be brave.
He knew less about women than he knew about his horse.
She had to be bullied into accepting a second formal gown, but was willing to rob a tinker if it was books.
When Miche had something on his mind, nothing could shut him up. Remin could have threatened him at spearpoint and he would have cheerfully impaled himself and delivered his remarks with his dying breath.
He was clean, freshly shaved, and reenergized, and now his men were going to pay for it.
This was why he was doing his best to keep away from her. To train his eyes to pass her by. But no matter what he did, she persisted in being seen.
there was no single act of heroism that won the war, and no single act of heroism was going to save his people.
Not every man died a hero. Many men died to be planks in a bridge, or stones in a wall.
He faced devils every night, but to Remin Grimjaw there was no creature in the world so dangerous as this girl, asleep in the grass with wildflowers dancing above her.
My cooking puts meat on bones! Meat! Soldiers march the length of the Empire and chew up armies by teatime because I feed them! I will not be defeated by a picky teenage girl!”
Even if he had survived another night without anyone trying to murder him, living in such a small space meant he lived in constant, hunched terror of knocking things over.
He was not wrong to worry. It would be many months before he learned that there were now two traitors in Tresingale.
recalling the architect to mundane reality. Life was hard, for a man with a vision.
