Chapter Twenty

At the end of the first day of the tournament, there were many who had done well, with clear champions in several of the events and others who seemed truly happy to have been ground into the dust. But of all the competitors, two were especially notable for their impressive skill.

None were surprised when Byr Drashnal and Byr Conall stood with the others before the king to be congratulated, nor when they were each then given the role of war-leader for the following day’s mock-battle. Conall to lead one side, Drashnal the other.

Conall had played that role before. Byr Drashnal had not, at least not at a tournament of this size. The knowledge should have reduced Fox’s tension but somehow didn’t. Domvoda was genial and approving, then sent them on their way, since prizes would not be handed out until the third day. That signaled the start of the evening’s festivities, with many byr returning to Saravar with the king to feast and be merry, and others staying outside in the cooler evening air to drink, a few even joining the commoners doing the same.

Fox pressed his lips together while Conall and the others were addressed by the king and glanced away as the knights left to eat or wash up or get all their carefully hidden injuries seen to. He stepped from the box before he could discover if he was expected to return with Domvoda or had again been left to fend for himself, and waited at a distance until the king’s party was gone before he went out into the field.

Stars had begun to appear in the darkest part of the sky and light breezes stirred the cloth strips on each event’s boundary markers; the kind of night where sleeping out in the open could be so pleasant that Fox would forget about huddling beneath trees and hoping he wouldn’t freeze or drown in a surprise flood during the winters. He walked slowly around the sparring rings and damaged straw targets that he’d avoided looking at all day, then approached a large tent full of knights eating their fill of meat and bread. No wine, surprisingly, but then, they did have an early morning and a long day ahead of them.

He took a plum when they called for him to join them, and then had some dark bread and tart cheese while politely listening to their tales of victory or defeat. He asked if any of them needed healers and received a chorus of denials and then a detailed list of their aches and bruises. That was all he asked, and yet after he had clucked his tongue sympathetically and teased a few of them, he was given directions to the healers’ tent, though no one thought Conall was there. He was then informed that Conall had already eaten, and if he was not with the healers, Fox should try his tent.

It was no wonder that Domvoda had heard rumors. The knights were well-meaning, boisterous, and loud. Fox dimly supposed there was no helping it now, and yet the thought of being just as loud and obvious about who he was seeking made him cold all over. Rumors were one thing. So was sharing a room because there was nowhere else to go. Even fucking Conall might have been overlooked or forgiven by Domvoda, but what would he say if Fox admitted to his concern for him now, and what would the other byr say? How would Conall react to Fox’s silliness over what was nothing more than a tournament affair? Those at court would delight in mocking Fox, and Fox would have no defense, because he should have known better.

Yet he went to the healers’ tent, where he saw Rolfi’s lover, who sent Fox off in a new direction, with instructions to go left and right and left again to find the rows of tents and sleeping mats. Once there, knights tending gently to each other’s more minor injuries or playing dice and card games pointed him toward one tent in the back row without Fox saying a word to them.

Fox was cold but his face burned.

The tent in question was not large, which might have been why Conall stood outside to go through a series of stretches that Fox hadn’t seen him do on the nights they had slept next to each other. But they’d had other things on their minds then. The stretches might have been to help Conall’s muscles, since his motions were slightly stiff. Fox guessed that meant Conall was sore indeed, not that Conall would likely admit to it.

Conall’s boots were gone, along with his shirt, and when he turned at the sound of Fox’s footsteps, the bruise over his sloped shoulder was visible even in starlight and the glow of a few distant torches. His knight friends had probably been eager to go for the obvious weakness.

Fox kept his furious thoughts about that to himself.

Conall stepped to the side and opened the flap serving as the tent’s door for Fox to walk in, then followed Fox inside before letting it fall.

Fox could stand straight in the tent but Conall probably had to duck. Not much was visible in the dark in the first seconds, hints of shapes to one side, likely armor or weapons. Under Fox’s feet was crushed grass and then softer cushioning, a sleeping mat, which he moved away from as he turned to face Conall.

Closer to the door, Conall was easier to make out than whatever else was in the tent; a giant, slightly crooked shape blocking out the light. With his eyes unused to the dark, Fox couldn’t determine Conall’s expression. That was what probably allowed him to surge forward until he bumbled onto Conall’s bare feet in his slippers, and to stay there despite the discomfort he must have caused. Fox put his lips over the bruise, where Conall’s skin was hottest, then let out a breath.

“Fox?” Conall was hushed, apparently concerned for who might hear though he had been the one to kiss Fox hungrily where anyone could have found them.

Fox slid an arm around Conall’s back the way Conall had done to him. Fox would never lift him, but the memory was bright and good for all that it also made Fox tremble. He’d trembled all afternoon and that was Conall’s fault. He was trembling now, which might have been why Conall barely hesitated before wrapping both arms around Fox and tugging him closer.

He smelled of sweat. Fox didn’t object, but when he turned his head to press his cheek to the bruise, Conall tensed and that was enough to have Fox darting away again. He could see Conall’s face now, although his eyes were dark and told Fox little. He stared at Fox for several seconds, then sighed and lowered his shoulders.

“You’re upset.” He didn’t seem to be guessing. “About earlier.”

“Your friends,” who had done that to Conall but Fox wasn’t talking about it, “thought you should be with the healers. Yet you’re not.” It was not the most important fact to bring up, but it was the one that didn’t make Fox cold again.

“They’re injuries for time to heal,” Conall returned, then paused. “There is a salve that will do something, if you’d like to help me with it. You don’t have to.”

As though Fox didn’t know that. He gave a twitchy frown, then a twitchier nod, then finally agreed aloud in case Conall hadn’t seen the nod.

Conall took Fox’s hand and pulled him to the bedroll before sitting with his back to him. Fox followed Conall down, kneeling behind him and accepting the tiny tub of pungent salve he was handed.

“Around my shoulders especially, but the whole back, if you don’t mind.” Conall had not raised his voice since they’d entered the tent. “It will make my morning easier.”

The salve was warming to the touch and made Fox’s fingers tingle. He was generous with it, focusing on the work and the heat in front of him.

“No more scolding?” Conall wondered when Fox had begun to massage his shoulders again. He tipped his head back to sigh out the words.

Abruptly reminded of why Conall was sore and what the next day would bring, Fox stopped. “Do you have something for me to wipe my hands on? This isn’t going anywhere near my clothes.”

“Never,” Conall agreed, and stretched to one side before tossing a rag to Fox.

Fox took his time ensuring his fingers and palms were absolutely clean, if still tingling, then set the pot and the rag to the side. He was in Conall’s lap in the next second, his face against Conall’s throat. After a moment, Conall’s arms came around him once again, a settled, heavy weight. But his hands didn’t wander, and strangely, neither did Fox’s though his palms were pressed to Conall’s chest.

Conall inhaled deeply, then exhaled over Fox’s curls.

“Are you tired?” Fox breathed in sweat and warming salve.

“Exhausted,” Conall admitted.

Fox rubbed his nose back and forth over Conall’s skin. “Sleeping on the ground won’t help.”

“No, but it’s a mock-battle.” Conall brought one hand up to stroke through Fox’s hair. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he confessed before carrying calmly on. “Most do not sleep in soft beds the night before battles, so I suspect this is intentional.” It had to be suspicion; there had been no large battles in their lifetimes. Fox vaguely felt this was something that he could credit to Domvoda or perhaps Domvoda’s parent, but for the moment he was happy to shove aside any thoughts of royals.

Conall, however, must have been considering them. “Should you be out here?” He was sliding Fox’s hair through his fingers, gently dealing with tangled curls when he encountered them. It sent a hundred exquisite shivers down Fox’s spine straight to the tip of his tail. “Being close in Kaladas could be explained away by the lack of space. You have no such excuse to visit me in my tent here and people will have noticed the beautiful Fox walking through the encampment.”

Fox parted his lips, thinking of giving Conall a new bruise. “Plenty of the byr are drinking in the cool night air and will probably have to be carted back. I won’t be missed for a while.”

“But you will be missed,” Conall said pointedly, and Fox was reminded of what they had and had not discussed earlier. Some might even have said they argued, although not Fox, who had done no such thing.

He closed his eyes. “He liked this hair as you said he would.” They both knew who he was. “And he suspects. At least, he suspects I have grown friendlier with you.” He stopped for a moment, expecting Conall to scoff or laugh at the word ‘friendlier’ but Conall didn’t. Fox went on more slowly. “I can’t tell if he’s angry, or annoyed, or merely bothered, or if he doesn’t really care and he’s more interested in using me to poke his three potential consorts, or… to poke you, for whatever reason.” He could have brought Fox to sit next to him to vex Conall and not Fox. But if Domvoda wasn’t jealous, then he had no reason to bother Conall, unless…. Fox raised his head. “Is he in love with you?”

“What?” Conall jolted, then peered at Fox, eyes still dark and impossible to read. “You don’t understand what you do to him.” He slowly drew Fox down so they could rest as they had before, curled up with each other like sleepy cats. “First, there was the Fox, the oddity brought forth from the streets to amuse him.” He gave Fox’s ear point a kiss as if to soften that. “And then there was his pet Fox who bit on command. And now, there is this Fox, who shows his disapproval of Domvoda’s choices and continues to stun others with his taste and beauty, and who will not beg as perhaps the king wants him to so that the king does not have to. And with each version of you that you offer, I try to anticipate how he will react and with each I am never entirely right. He must feel the same way so many of us do, mystified, lost, and awed.” Conall bestowed another kiss. “I don’t think he enjoys the feeling. Then again, maybe he does, since he cannot look away from you.”

Fox kept his head down. He curled his fingers but there was nothing to hold to but warm skin and chest hair. “You keep saying these things. As if I’ve done something other than try to belong.”

“That’s not anything bad.” Conall lowered his voice even more and ran a hand over Fox’s back. “Except that you hurt yourself in the process. You don’t belong among them and nothing will make that happen. You’re extraordinary. You can’t help it.”

Fox was not proud of the whine that escaped him but he didn’t know what else to do. He was all out of words.

He eventually decided to put a bruise where there ought to be one, sucking lightly, then harder when Conall slid his hand into Fox’s hair again and hummed so Fox could feel it against his tongue. “Some think you won’t have the strength for tomorrow,” Fox murmured when he felt the love mark was perfect, “so I won’t touch you now.”

The hand in his hair tightened, then released. “Thank you.” There was a delicious hum for those words too. “Because I wouldn’t say no and would likely regret it with all of my old bones in the morning.”

“As if you are ancient.” He was a decade or so older than Fox. That was nothing. “If you don’t want me to worry, then that does not help.” Fox wished he could see the love mark he’d just made. He wished he could see it tomorrow from where he’d be sitting, far, far away from the mock-battle with its real danger. That would suit him better than a hidden ribbon on a lock of hair. “What if something goes wrong? What if…?”

“Then I lose,” Conall gently cut into Fox’s fretting. “That is always a possibility.”

“And what if you win?” Fox blurted, then shut his mouth too late. He pressed closer. “What if you win and he gives you the large purse, on top of the smaller prizes for the events you won today? What then? They gossip about you, your family, your land and estate. Is it for that?”

Conall waited before he spoke again, either surprised or considering his words carefully, which Fox did not like because this was not Domvoda’s court. “That has been my plan for a while. I’ve been thinking of it for years now. Then, this summer, Domvoda offered that larger purse to impress his three guests. So I decided that this would be my final tournament, that I would leave when it was over. I don’t have to win but I’d like to leave as someone remembered for more than that song. And the extra money would be useful.”

Money was always useful. Fox didn’t voice the thought. His throat was tight. He must have done something, tensed, because Conall stroked over his shoulders.

“I could stay a knight in the king’s service,” Conall continued, slower and softer. “But I don’t have many more years of competition left in me and no heart for it. I’ve been thinking of home, and my remaining parent, and my sister, and all the others who have stayed with us despite our misfortune. The hall is all that is left that is livable, though it’s a hall in name only, and is in fact much larger than Kaladas or even Saravar. The land is good and people are fed and comfortable, but the estate needs some repair, and for that I have saved and won whatever I can. Including this, if I am lucky. That’s been my plan for years, Fox. And this year… that purse. I thought it a sign that it was time for me to move on. That it outweighed any reason I might stay.”

He seemed to expect Fox to say something.

“Oh,” Fox managed, swallowing. “That’s good. That you can go home.”

“Yes.” Conall petted him gently and steadily while Fox sat there and let him. “Home again at last. For me… and for the others.” He had to feel Fox’s tremors because he kept on. “I am not the only aging knight, but I am one of the few who has someplace where I might go and be happy. Some can return to their families, but many can’t or have no wish to. So I’ve told them that when I go, they are welcome to follow, now or in the future. As long as they help with the duties there, they will have a place.”

“Lovely,” Fox said, and hoped it didn’t sound as bitter as he felt as he imagined it. Then warmth began to seep into the chill inside him, and he sighed, the bitterness melting away. “Though I can’t see many of them as farmers.”

Conall dared to laugh, but it was short and quiet. “There are farmers there already. Although if some knights chose that, I would help them if I can. What my family needs more of is… family. People to ride out where needed. Anyone can learn to listen to tenants, and every knight has dug a ditch or two. The estate is not falling down, don’t misunderstand me. But three and some servants can only do so much with what money is available, and I have been away, unable to help. It will be work to get it repaired and then to something like its former splendor. I don’t dream any grander that. Fox? It’s perhaps not a shining, glorious life, but it could be a good one.”

Fox nodded to show he understood. Conall had every reason to go and none to stay. “When will you leave? If you win… or even if you don’t, I suppose.”

“Quickly.” A hard note entered Conall’s voice. “And you know why. Domvoda will let me go, but once my plans are known, he will be unpleasant because he won’t like to see me leave—and no, he is not in love with me. Even if he was, that’s not why he’ll be upset. A large part of what made me hesitate for so long was knowing that he will throw his version of tantrums and others will suffer for it.”

“Yes.” It would not be pleasant. Conall was correct about that.

“That was part of why,” Conall went on. “A large part but not the sole reason. Fox?” Conall took a breath. “I never expected you to look to me. That was a surprise—a good one. But….”

“I expect you’re tired of court life as well.” Fox interrupted. “But he will hopefully have other things on his mind if he chooses one of these three. He’ll have less need of you, so you shouldn’t worry over his tantrums.”

Domvoda did need Conall; a funny realization to have after this long of knowing them, but Fox had not been raised in court circles and had taken longer to learn its ways. Despite his posturing, the king listened to Conall. He let Conall contradict him in public. Domvoda would not want Conall to go, although he couldn’t deny his right to.

As for what Conall was trying to tell him with soft words and gentle touches, Fox already knew that their time together had an end date. He had always known that, even if he hadn’t wanted to discuss it. He had let himself be a little foolish by hoping for more than these days at Saravar. But of course, anyone who could escape the court at the capital would. Those who didn’t like the viciousness left early on, and those that stayed were the worst of the lot. It didn’t have to be that way, but that was how it was. The consequence of Domvoda’s unhappiness.

Ridiculous for Fox to feel upset about it now, to drop his tail and keep his face hidden so Conall wouldn’t know he was sad. How would they even have gone about an affair? Fox had a place at court at the king’s whim. He had no way to sneak about the capital, even had Conall been inclined to. Conall thought Fox beautiful and wanted him, but Fox had been right to say what he had that afternoon. The byr did not keep commoner foxes in their beds. Not for long.

Conall would go, and the court would become a little colder, regardless of whichever fertile Domvoda chose. More than likely even Byr Falnya would not tolerate Fox around and Domvoda probably wouldn’t think Fox worth fighting for. Fox would go back to playing in taverns. The same Fox but in nicer clothes. Thoughts of where he’d play next, how much coin he had, his next meal, would concern him. He’d have no time to dwell on his time at court or on anything that had taken place during this tournament. Their affair had only been a few days, hardly time enough to really change anything in Fox’s life.

“Fox?” His silence must have bothered Conall. “I should not have acted. When you needed help, I wanted to offer it. I was happy to. And whatever you felt for him, I wasn’t going to step in. But you approached me.”

“And you reacted,” Fox replied as if untouched, “the way that knights are supposed to.” Conall had quickly and decisively entered into this with Fox because Fox had offered. Fox pulled back and tossed his head. His smile was light and cool. “I like knowing you’ll have someplace to go. And I’m sure you’ll do well tomorrow, whether or not the purse ends up being yours.” He didn’t mention the prize he had offered. “You have a byr’s privilege of getting to leave as you like.” He wasn’t even bitter about it, although Conall made a sound as if he might object, so Fox carried on. “I know you’re not as wealthy as some of them, but I somehow doubt you’re on my level either, no matter how plain you choose to keep your surcoats.”

“Fox,” Conall returned softly as if they were quietly arguing again, “this was my plan for years. I never thought you would approach me the way you did.”

He’d said that before.

Fox slipped out of Conall’s arms and stood up. He turned away as Conall followed him. “I’m not blaming you, my lovely. It’s fair and good that you want to do this, to go home and share that home with others. And you certainly put in your time. There’s no way for the king or any other byr to fault you in the future. Now, I should leave you to rest. Knowing this means it’s even more important that you do well tomorrow.” Fox stopped before the door. “Is it all right that I continue to stay in your room?”

“Fox.”

The unsteady way Conall said it made Fox pause, then turn back toward him. “You made me feel as if I wasn’t all by myself. That was rather mean of you.” He remembered Conall’s words to him. “But you’re extraordinary. I don’t suppose you could help it.”

“I could stay.”

Fox stared at him and stared at him, growing hot and wondering distantly if Conall had spoken without thinking for once.

“Those knightly urges of yours are dangerous,” he whispered at last.

Conall had to stoop in the tent and yet still loomed over Fox in the dark. “I could have left years ago but I stayed. Do you understand?” He made the sound of objection again although Fox hadn’t said anything or even had a chance to. “You could come with me,” Conall said next, trying to stop Fox’s heart.

“Pity,” Fox bit out before tossing his head again. He quite literally could not afford to turn down pity. “Is your home to the west? Maybe someday you’ll have a visit from an aging musician. But only a visit, mind you. I know my place.”

Conall found Fox’s hand and took it in both of his. He raised it to his mouth and held it there, his breath warm across the back. “When this is all done with, we need to talk.” His tone said this talk would take place, but he gently kissed Fox’s knuckles when Fox shivered. “I had no plan because I didn’t think this would happen, and if I’d had, it wouldn’t have worked because I wouldn’t have known how much you don’t understand.” He trailed to silence but only for a moment. “I wouldn’t have known you beyond the small facts I’d squirreled away for myself. I fell for the act, as badly as everyone else did. The Fox, lovely, clever, witty… and cruel if it would please the king for him to be so.” He released Fox’s hand to cup his cheek. “But never as cruel as he could have been. Sometimes even gentle when he could get away with it. But always turned from me, so I forgot who you were when I first saw you.”

Fox spoke against Conall’s palm. “A lost little commoner?”

“A remarkably innocent outsider, standing all alone.” Conall swept his thumb over Fox’s cheekbone. “Chin up while they whispered about you, outshining all their glitter in simple wool. But your back to the wall, and so alone. I’m sorry.”

He continued to say these things and then apologize for them. Fox turned his face to speak into Conall’s palm. “This is sweet enough, Conall. You don’t need to sit me down to tell me this will end. I’m not that innocent.”

But he didn’t protest when Conall swept him close with his other arm and his tail around Fox’s back and murmured into his hair. “That’s not what I’ll tell you. I don’t know if you’ll understand any better. But wait. Please.”

“I’m always shaky around you,” Fox said, as shakily as he’d complained of. Conall tipped his chin up and kissed him. It was slow and careful, a question and then the answer pressed to Fox’s hungry mouth. Fox clung to Conall when Conall finally broke the kiss.

“Beautiful,” Conall murmured, kissing the corners of Fox’s mouth and the tip of his nose before raising his head. “And yes, you were right to tease me; I was afraid to ask for your favor.”

Fox shook his head in absentminded refusal of even the idea of saying no. “Because of him? I didn’t ask to sit by him.”

Fox’s mouth was adored again, given several lingering, aching kisses to leave him on his toes and make him slow to open his eyes. He didn’t know what Conall saw, but he let out a little satisfied growl for whatever it was.

“If you don’t stop, I won’t be able to leave,” Fox warned him breathlessly.

“…Never understand him,” Conall muttered, his hands tightening. “I couldn’t do it.” He released Fox but didn’t step back. “You’re feeling better now? All day I was glancing toward that box, worried for you.”

“For me?” Fox put his palm over the bruise and pushed to give Conall a harsh reminder. “Focus on yourself and what needs to be done. Please,” he remembered to add. “I can take care of myself.”

“As can I, and yet you grumble at me even now.” Conall took Fox’s hand from his chest and held it.

Fox lowered his head. Conall continued to say things and leave Fox to feel as though they were facing the tournament and the king together. He might do that with everyone; the other knights admired him for a reason. In the same manner, he was going to sit Fox down and end the affair and insist they were friends. And Fox was going to let him.

He ducked in to kiss the back of Conall’s hand then pulled away. “Win tomorrow. Don’t waste my ribbon. It was expensive.” Then he was out of the tent and heading back the way he came.