Chapter Twelve

He took a detour on the way to the receiving rooms, partly to give him time to rid himself of the unsteady feeling in his chest, but also to pluck a new rose for his hair. Then he considered whether Conall would be right about Byr Din also wearing a rose today and plucked a few more to line his braid.

That several more of the small white roses might make his braid look crownlike did not occur to him until he entered the receiving rooms. If it had, he would have removed them, but since it was done and byr were already staring at him, Fox schooled his expression into something pleasantly blank and focused on not reacting to the shocked murmurs around him. He couldn’t be sure without a mirror, but he suspected his braid was more like a headdress for a pretty youth at a harvest festival than anything a consort might wear, not that this would save Fox from more malicious speculation.

His stomach remained a cold tangle despite what he told himself, and he kept his gaze away from Domvoda when the king entered the receiving rooms. As a shield from Domvoda’s eyes, it did not work.

In the middle of responding to one of his cousins who served as an advisor, the king abruptly went silent, and in turn, so did much of the crowd. Fox looked up before he might be ordered to, met Domvoda’s stunned stare, then bowed his head over his lute before he began to strum something light. He was a dutiful servant to the king’s whims and not a street musician playing at being the king’s honored consort.

Domvoda’s silence carried on until he was seated. Fox imagined him looking out over the expectant byr, all of them ravenous for Fox’s blood. In the crowd, Byr Din was indeed wearing a rose, though one of deep red and pinned behind an ear instead of stuck in a peasant’s braid. Domvoda would see that too, sooner or later, but Fox had no way to know the king’s thoughts on it unless Domvoda spoke of them. He might understand and mock Fox anyway, or finally send him away for this foolish misstep.

“The heat in the capital is apparently nigh unbearable,” Domvoda remarked to the rooms at large. “We will travel along the river for some time once my tournament has ended.”

It set many in the rooms to discussing the views from various castles and structures along the river. It also told Fox absolutely nothing: if he was invited or assumed to be, but would still have no certain place to stay, if his place was among the servants from now on, or if he would be left behind to find his own way back to the capital.

Domvoda did not speak to him as he listened to the byr talk of gardens and parties to last the rest of the season. Neither did he order Fox to stop playing. His Potentials were as difficult to read, although Fox only sent a few darting glances in their direction.

When it was almost the middle of the day and the heat started to seep into Saravar’s walls and the air in the receiving rooms became stifling, Domvoda, without being prompted by his advisors, suggested his Potentials walk with him in the gardens.

Fox stayed behind, along with some of the byr who were less willing to test Domvoda’s goodwill by following him when not explicitly invited to. He stopped playing but didn’t risk sitting, and ran out of things to pretend to deal with on his lute very quickly.

Conall was mistaken about how Domvoda thought of Fox. He might tolerate Fox these days, but Fox had finally gone too far. Domvoda’s already limited patience was running out, or perhaps he pitied Fox and imagined Fox had been angling for his attention again. The byr around him likely thought that.

Fox fought not to cringe. He cursed gardens and roses, and then the heat and buttoned collars while he was at it.

Fox’s pathetic wishing had nothing to do with the sudden explosion of thunder that shook the ground or the great downpour of rain that fell from the sky outside of the receiving rooms doors, but knowing that didn’t settle his stomach.

When sodden, soaked byr began to stream into the room, squealing at the crash of thunder and flashes of lightning behind them, Fox joined them as they hurried away in search of dry clothes. Domvoda would also be drenched as well as proved wrong in his predictions for the weather, which meant his mood would not be forgiving.

If he summoned Fox, then Fox would go to him, but for the moment, Fox preferred to be forgotten.

A sentiment that carried him to Kaladas but then made him freeze, because Kaladas was even more chaotic than Saravar. Knights who had been out riding or sparring were coming in, mud and water in their wake. Others were throwing on whatever cloaks they had and dashing out to help bring in the equipment of the knights who had been staying in the fields… the knights who would now need places to sleep.

Fox slowed and moved carefully across the filthy floor in his slippers, intending to head to his room to pack up what little he’d unpacked and try to come up with some sort of plan for where to go and what to do. Then Byr Rolfi startled him by tossing him a length of rope as Fox neared the end of the hall. Rolfi was already tying up one end near the fireplace, and Fox realized they were going to try to dry some of the knights’ belongings and obediently carried the line to where Rolfi directed. Although Fox wasn’t tall enough to reach where Rolfi wanted the line to go and had to quickly hand it back to him.

Feeling as useless as his slippers, he went out in search of more logs for the fireplace, or at least in search of a bigger knight or servant to help him carry them. He was rather useless there as well, stumbling in the mud, not able to carry more than a few pieces of wood at a time while worrying over splinters and tears in the clothes he couldn’t afford to replace.

When he could no longer see for the rain in his eyes, he went back inside, where he promptly slipped and fell against a dripping, wet surface that turned out to be Byr Drashnal, who then bumped into Conall, who turned around, saw Fox, and blinked rapidly several times as if he couldn’t believe the drowned rat in front of him was Fox.

Fox had a feeling several of his roses had tumbled from his braid and been trampled in the mud. Water was trailing down his back, soaking into his probably-definitely-stained doublet. “I warned the workers in the small kitchens that more knights would be in the hall,” Fox told him, both of them, then sniffled as he tried in vain to dry his face.

At least it wasn’t a cold rain, although everyone was about to be very uncomfortable in their wet clothing. Perhaps Fox should have warned the laundry workers too, but it was too late now. The byr in Saravar would have already sent their servants out with their waterlogged finery.

Byr Drashnal was regarding Fox the same way Conall was, like someone trying desperately not to remark on someone else’s appearance.

Fox didn’t want to think about his slippers. If they were as muddy as he suspected they were, he’d be down to one pair until he could get them cleaned, unless he started reusing an old pair. Not that it mattered if he had nowhere to dress and nowhere to go.

He took a deep breath and smiled for the receiving rooms. “I don’t suppose you know of someone in Kaladas willing to share a bedroom?” he tried, knowing he could try to keep his room to himself but also knowing any knight here outranked him and could simply take it. “Hopefully someone who isn’t involved in any questionable romantic or physical relationships at the moment. I will likely need somewhere to go.”

It was easier to say than he’d thought it would be. Maybe he was too worried about shelter to care about humiliation yet.

“Generous of you to offer your room,” Byr Drashnal said. He reared back when Fox glared at him.

“I offer nothing,” Fox nearly snarled it, “I just know how things are.” There would be no appealing to Domvoda unless he prostrated himself and begged. He’d angered Domvoda with his foolish vanity today so mercy was unlikely. Fox was going to end up sleeping on the ground and Domvoda would let him.

“Fox.” Large hands confidently took his and held them still, although Conall seemed worried when Fox glared up at him too. “That was kind of you to tell the kitchens.”

“They’ll need to know,” Fox huffed while water dripped steadily over one eyebrow to gather in his eyelashes. “Byr do not think of these things.”

“I suppose we don’t,” Byr Drashnal admitted.

Fox startled, turning toward him until Conall gently wiped the rainwater from his lashes for him.

“There’s mine,” Conall said, moving on to brush wisps of Fox’s hair from Fox’s forehead. “There’s room for you in mine, I mean. That is, if you would consent to share my room with me. If that would suit you.” As if only now realizing what his hands were doing and how uncertain he seemed, he stepped back and cleared his throat. He firmed his voice and spoke with his usual calm assurance. “But I can’t see to it yet. We’re still helping bring everything in.”

Fox swallowed, glancing again to Byr Drashnal, who had not received an offer to share Conall’s room unless Conall was failing to mention it.

“Excuse me,” Byr Drashnal murmured, inclining his head to both of them, irritatingly polite and likeable, and moved away.

“As a place to sleep, or to store your belongings, if you like,” Conall informed Fox in a serious, low voice. “It’s not dependent on anything else we do, or don’t do. I know staying bothers you and I won’t push.”

It was Fox’s turn to blink at Conall as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing. “You want me in your room with you?” He sounded like a blushing innocent. “You’ll tolerate me there?”

Conall leaned down then abruptly stopped, as though he’d been about to kiss Fox but had recalled himself. “Lovely,” he said it on an exhale, “get dry. Go to Saravar for a hot bath if it pleases you. Find something to eat. It will be like this in here for a while, so there’s no hurry. Then, after dinner, pack up your things and I will move them.”

“You’re sure?” Fox asked although he had no desire to sleep on the floor in the hall, or anywhere else. Possibly not even his own bed now that this was on offer.

Conall leaned in closer. “I said I’d take you in a garden with an audience. Why would my bedroom with the two of us alone be any different?”

“Those are not similar situations,” Fox answered snippily, then turned to go before immediately turning back. “Thank you.”

He thought he might get kissed after all. For several quiet seconds, they stared at each other while Fox tried not to think about tremors in his chest and the flush almost certainly turning him pink. Then Conall said urgently, “Go, so I can do what I need to,” and Fox went.

Watching Conall carry Fox’s belongings to his room had Fox as hot as a receptive youth getting wet the first time a beefy farmer lifted him up to fuck him. An experience Fox should not be thinking of, because he really ought to talk to Conall with a clear head.

He did his best to be sensible while fluttering anxiously behind Conall as Conall put down the final trunk. All the trunks took up most of the floor, making the small room even smaller. “I recognize this is not your first choice and I’ll try not to be in your way.”

A statement that would have been more convincing if they hadn’t been boxed in by all of Fox’s belongings.

“You brought all of this for the tournament?” Conall straightened before facing him. “Is this everything you own?” He was breathing harder. Fox tried not to notice that or the thin shirt and wrap Conall had thrown on to replace his wet and muddied clothes. He might as well have been naked for all they revealed.

He dragged his eyes away from the appealing sight, then flinched when he saw Conall was serious and not teasing him about packing too much. “There’s nowhere to leave it,” he admitted finally, although then thought with some resentment that anyone who bothered to look would have seen that Fox had no home and surely that could have included Conall.

Only to remember a moment later that even Fox hadn’t wanted to see that and had only dealt with it here because he’d had to.

“I’d rather it all be with me, in any event.” He tossed it out lightly, like a joke. “It means I can leave whenever I want.” Not that a wandering musician would need all of those outfits or books, or even be able to carry them. But at least he could sell them if he had to.

“Many of the older knights travel the same,” Conall remarked quietly. “Although they have less need of fine clothes, and if they do, it’s because some have families who will welcome them for the odd visit.”

The less distinguished knights would travel with all they owned, or so Fox imagined. The ones who hadn’t earned their fame and fortune but nonetheless defended whoever needed defending and played in plenty of tournaments to entertain the byr who were supposed to be their caring families. Some did have caring families, like Byr Shine. But if what Conall said was true, most had to fend for themselves. Unless they also had the choice of begging for a place to stay from their wealthier friends or relatives.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Conall said, pulling Fox from his sad thoughts. “You know I desire you, but you can just sleep here. Nothing is required or expected from you. Well… I don’t suppose you could arrange your belongings to put all the items you rarely use into one trunk that I could stack beneath one of others?” He raised his head before gesturing at himself. “I wouldn’t ask you to get rid of any of your pretty things. But it’s a small room and I’m rather large.”

“Rather,” Fox agreed faintly, once again distracted by Conall although this time he didn’t think Conall had intended to put Fox on edge. Fox stepped forward—not far, because there truly was not a lot of space left on the floor. “Just sleep?” He clucked his tongue. “Only if you want to. I’ve been wet since you picked up the first trunk, and not from the rain.”

Conall trailed a hand through Fox’s hair, down now and combed out so it could finish drying.

“Oh, you may have whatever you like of me,” Conall promised like a rash fool from a passion song who had heard the charming voice of a prince and had no choice but to find him. “But I don’t want you to think…”

“You are not Domvoda, Conall,” Fox shut him up. “Which is why I am here, and also why I would like to sit on your knot now.” He paused to bite his bottom lip and gaze imploringly into Conall’s eyes. His tail slid around the small of Conall’s back, curling tighter as Fox inched that much closer to him. “Please.”

“Whatever you like,” Conall offered again, a reckless hero from a story, and lifted Fox off his feet to kiss him.