Chapter Five

Fox bit his tongue for most of the afternoon, responding to Domvoda but only to say, “Yes, my king,” or “No, my king,” as required. From how Domvoda began to ask Fox more and more questions, Fox guessed that his simple answers did not please.

What he expected Fox to do, Fox did not want to contemplate while he was still before the byr and already red-faced from the heat and the previous humiliation. The byr had taken to referring to Fox as the Knightly Fox for most of the afternoon until the title had begun to visibly irritate the king. Domvoda did not order them to stop, but his tail began to twitch and all but the silliest of the byr took that to mean the joke had run its course.

It was not a defense, nor was it an apology or whatever Domvoda might consider an apology. Domvoda also did not leave Fox to exist, apparently forgotten, in his shadow as he often did. Fox was called to stay with the group following the king and then prodded about his opinion on the festivities planned for after the tournament when it became clear that he was not going to offer it on his own.

“Whatever you think best will surely be perfect, my king,” Fox told him, nearly simpering the way any of the byr present would have done if Domvoda had turned to them. He got the satisfaction of Domvoda’s momentary silence before he must have decided to forget about Fox again.

To appear to forget about Fox. Fox kept his gaze on the king while keeping to the corner of the hall during the evening meal. Like every other time in past years when Fox had found himself outside Domvoda’s circle, he was not allowed to leave until dismissed. Which meant Domvoda had not forgotten Fox at all and the exile was intentional.

Fox didn’t understand why Domvoda would bother. He could have sent Fox from court whenever he pleased. He could banish Fox from Saravar that very instant. After all this time, he should have grown bored of tormenting Fox or moved on to mocking Fox openly. He hadn’t until today, when he had insulted Fox and let the others do the same.

Perhaps he felt Fox should have found it amusing too, or snapped back, or begged forgiveness for whatever crime it was he felt Fox had committed.

Fox watched him and played his lute and said not a word unless spoken to. He observed the king and his three Potentials seated near him and met no one’s eyes. By the time one of the Potentials asked about hearing some music, Fox’s head was pounding and his muscles were tense from holding himself so stiffly. He stood up despite that, and bowed his head to Matlin Loriloft, and sang about the Dragonslayer, because naturally that song was called for after the day’s events. He sang other things as well, old tales of passion and uncontrollable matings, then anything about love that the byr asked for until Domvoda had enough and waved him off.

Fox left the hall without any dinner but in no mood to eat.

He made it to Kaladas without a single person daring to cross his path—or perhaps purposefully avoiding the target of Domvoda’s scorn. He reached the crowded hall and then kept going, too agitated to be still, although he had no destination unless he decided to cross the courtyard in search of food.

He made it as far as the stables, where he stopped to gaze up at the darkened sky and scattered clouds and pull open his doublet to catch what cooler air he could.

“Fox?” Conall’s voice was low and careful, like someone approaching a wild animal and not a street musician playing at being a byr.

“You should stay back, Byr Conall,” Fox answered without turning around. “Being around me will not endear you to the king. It might even anger him, though I can’t see why.”

“You can’t?” Conall wondered, so softly Fox barely heard it.

Fox brushed off the question. “The Fox is not meant to ignore him, but to be ignored by him—until the moment when that is no longer what he wants. I am also not meant to speak of others… not if I speak well of them.”

“Did you?” Conall stayed where he was despite Fox’s warning.

Fox spun around to glare at him. “I am not one of your anxious young knights in need of soothing.”

“And yet I think you would also like to pick a fight this evening.” Conall was in his informal clothing. No torturous feasts among the other byr for him.

Fox scoffed. “What possible good would that do? There’s no contest here for me to win.” When Conall said nothing, Fox felt his tail start to thrash and did not waste energy trying to stop it. “Silent with me now, too? As though I am Domvoda, purposefully cruel—” He shut his mouth and looked around the courtyard, turning his face from the stable hands and the few knights on their way back to the hall.

Conall stepped closer. “What did he do to you?”

No one could have heard him. Fox shivered anyway.

“It hardly matters,” he insisted tightly and regained control of his tail. “You have more important things to worry about. Go fuss over your chicks and avoid incurring the king’s wrath by talking to me.”

Conall let out a long breath. “I angered him today,” he admitted. “I should not have said what I did.”

Fox threw up his hands. “Are you even listening? You were yourself. I was reckless. Too used to being indulged to think before I spoke.”

“Indulged?” Conall echoed incredulously. “How long did you play tonight? After how many hours dancing attendance on him in the heat of the sun with a dozen byr watching your every move?”

Fox really marveled at the byr, even apparently relatively impoverished byr, and their ability to imagine their freedoms were freedoms for all.

“Some of us have no choice, as you well know.” Fox kept himself from making his words hurt but knew there would still be a small burn. “And I was. I was indulged, until today. As you are indulging me now, letting me snap my teeth at you when you do not have to.”

He jumped at the quick, forceful whip of Conall’s tail. Then Conall bent his head to look Fox in the eye. “What I do and what he does are not the same. I am listening, not indulging. I’m sorry you don’t know the difference.”

Fox caught the howl in his throat and looked at the mountain with fury. “Fuck your pity.”

“Is this pity?” The mountain continued to stand his ground. “What did he do, Fox?”

“Fucking byr,” Fox swore, giving Conall a long, fierce stare before he tore himself away. He pulled in a breath, then let it out, releasing most of his anger with it. “You let me yell at you. Why did you do that?”

“I’m used to sparring. Some bruising won’t kill me.” Conall may or may not have been making a joke. Fox stared at his aching feet in his delicate slippers, then back at Conall. “It can feel like being indulged,” Conall said next. “For a while, it can. Being permitted to do as you please as long as you entertain. It will also feel that way for the knights who do well in this tournament when they are celebrated and praised, until they are forced to relearn how expendable they are. I try to warn them because I don’t want them hurt, but neither do I want them to despair, so I must be careful.”

Fox grimaced for both the lives of the knights and the quiet pain behind the words. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, used to it or not.” He sent another glance around them, hoping they hadn’t attracted too much attention. Moonlight and starlight were more than enough to tell Conall’s bulk from the small and distinctly unknightlike Fox.

“Maybe you needed to yell,” Conall answered before hardening his voice. “What did he do, Fox?”

Conall would find out by tomorrow if the story was still of interest to the byr, which of course it would be, just in places where Domvoda wouldn’t hear.

Fox made his tone light and airily waved a hand. “One day with the knights and I foolishly tried to defend them. Ridiculous, aren’t I? I don’t know why I… no, I know why I did it. But it was still foolish.” He expected silence, not an immediate soft question.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m tired,” Fox replied without thinking, his shoulders falling the moment it was out. He straightened an instant later. “It’s nothing. I need to eat, I suppose. Have something to drink. It was warm today and I’m… I’m so tired.”

That was what came of speaking the truth, it become natural again and he kept doing it.

“Is it the noise?” Conall glanced back toward the hall. The doors were open, sending the glow from the fireplace out into the courtyard. “Or the room here does not suit you? Or… is it that you would still rather be in an entirely different room?”

Fox stared up at him blankly, then understood all at once. Conall meant in the king’s bedroom. Fox quickly shook his head and started to speak, his voice too high. “The king…”

“Perhaps whatever you are about to say would be best said in private,” Conall interrupted, sensibly lowering his voice even more.

He was right but Fox glared at him anyway. “I would find no rest there,” he hissed, but quietly. “Which you know as well as I.” His own words brought a new heat to his face, which only made him want to hiss again. “Not in any sense of rest,” he added furiously.

“And you are already so tired,” Conall answered, as if he truly understood.

Fox stared at him, unaccountably lost. His anger was still there, but set aside while he gazed wonderingly at Conall.

“Why do the others speak of you as though your one use is violence and even that use is fading?” Fox had thought he’d marveled at the splendors of the king’s court when he’d first been introduced to them. But he looked at Conall now in confused awe. “Because you fought a dragon by yourself? As if one deed is all there is to you?”

Conall closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say and glanced over his shoulder toward the hall.

“I wasn’t meant to be by myself,” he said as he turned back. “The song says what happened but it tells it all as though I chose to be the Dragonslayer, and not that the dragon had killed all the others with me.” Fox froze. Conall gave him the story in clear, simple words. “That’s what happened. I’m not sure why it took me instead of killing me like the others. To eat me?” Conall suggested it calmly. “Everyone assumes that but do dragons actually devour us? Outside of stories, is that true?” When Fox shook his head because he didn’t know, Conall glanced over his shoulder again. “They destroy plenty, and eat livestock, but us? I’ve never seen it. Have you?”

Fox shook his head again.

“The deed disturbs others,” Conall continued. “Not that I killed something, but the way I did it. Those at court can’t imagine themselves climbing scales that cut through gloves and armor, or digging with their bare hands to get a hold. I made a wound to kill it, and I fell with it, and I was with it as it died. Just the two of us.” He still appeared calm. “It is not something they can imagine themselves doing, so that makes me unusual. Frightening.”

He met Fox’s stare. “And now I might not be able to do that anymore, which makes me slightly less frightening, so they say what they will say and think of themselves as the ones slaying dragons. Do you know,” he went on before Fox could summon any sort of remark, clever or stupid, “it had a nest nearby? They discovered that later. Sometimes I wonder what I am not supposed to wonder; if it was defending its nest from us and if it was right to. You have to smash the eggs to make jewelry from the shell pieces. Only the byr wear that jewelry.”

“Conall,” Fox murmured, then fell silent because what was there to say to that?

“As someone else who has dug in and held on by his fingernails, do you still feel like picking a fight?” Conall dared to give Fox a small, quick smile after saying what he’d just said. “It’s understandable. And as I told you, I can take it.”

Fox dropped his head, then slowly raised it again. He couldn’t make his face blank although he let his tail fall. “And I’d be like all your baby chicks in there?”

“Oh, the older knights do it too,” Conall assured him. “Usually before riding out, since fewer of them compete in tournaments. But the older knights also have a less contentious way to relieve tension—well, less contentious most of the time.” He gave Fox his small smile again. “The younger ones learn it from them. It still creates problems, but at least not injuries.” He paused to frown. “Well, that’s also most of the time.” Fox must have looked confused, because Conall added, “If you can’t expend your excess energy and nerves in the sparring ring, fuck them out elsewhere.”

Fox didn’t mean to squeak. He didn’t even know where the sound came from and suspected it was caused by Conall saying ‘fuck’ so bluntly.

He pulled in a breath and hoped any hungry noises he made would be ignored. “That explains the scenes and arguments that have been waking me up.”

Conall nodded.

Fox stared at him while considering the fucking that had apparently been going on around him without his knowledge. Then, because he was too tired to fight it and Conall had said ‘fuck,’ he wondered about Conall and who he might be relieving tension with.

Conall watched him, probably patiently waiting for Fox to say something sharp or to pick the fight Conall seemed to think he wanted. When Fox just blinked, Conall stepped closer. Heat rushed through Fox, his heart growing loud in his ears.

“You could find someone for that too,” Conall said while Fox could not seem to get his tongue to work. “If you’d rather. Several someones,” he continued, oblivious to Fox’s distraction, “if it takes a few knots to get you sweet.”

Fox was going to sputter. He was going to make a cutting remark. Any moment now, he was going to do one of those things. Or remind Conall that what knots he did or did not take were not Conall’s business… unless Conall was offering.

Fox blinked again, vaguely aware that Conall’s suggestion was working because he was definitely no longer thinking about the day’s events.

Then, suddenly, he was again.

“If Domvoda wouldn’t mind,” Conall added. He was wise as well as sensible.

Nonetheless, Fox found it easy to sneer and step back. “He has no say in anything I do.”

Bold words considering Fox had never tested them. He had never needed to, either invited back to Domvoda’s bed or taking moments in the capital with strangers outside the castle and court. A regular, or semi-regular lover, a lover Domvoda might know, was something else.

Might know.Fox saved a sneer for himself. Would know. There was only one among the knights who Fox wanted.

No, Domvoda would not react well at all if he discovered Fox was fucking the Dragonslayer.

“But you still want him?” Conall was as careful as ever.

He was right to be but Fox gave him a frown anyway. “Did I even want him then? Or was he the king and I was a flattered farmer’s child?”

He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth but it had been said and Conall had heard it.

Conall breathed in, a steadying sound, although Fox didn’t know why he’d need to be steadied. Fox was the one who couldn’t seem to control himself.

“Maybe,” Conall said, projecting calm again as if he really did think of Fox as one of his anxious baby knights, “you could do something else with your energy and to help you find a place here without relying on him as much. Write a new song for the consort? Something nice and flattering to make them your supporter.”

The court had no idea how crafty Conall could be.

Fox narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know which one it will be.”

“Don’t you?” Conall seemed surprised. “I bet you already have some thoughts. It’s one of the reasons he keeps you near, to let you observe.”

He would keep bringing up Domvoda. But since he had, Fox tossed his head and sighed the answer Conall wanted. “He’ll want a bit of a challenge. Which means possibly Matlin Loriloft, but since she traveled all the way here to subject herself to this, she clearly wants the position of consort. So she won’t be too much of a challenge. That leaves Byr Falnya, who is… cautious.”

Conall nodded, accepting Fox’s assessment without any questions. “If you don’t want a fight,” he left Fox shivering but didn’t mention the second option again, “you should find something. A task to exhaust you. I’d set you to helping with the horses if I thought you’d actually be any good.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Fox huffed in return. “Anyway, mucking out stalls takes strength and a weak nose but no skill.” His mind would continue to run while he threw around shit and straw.

“And calluses that you do not have,” Conall agreed.

“Not anymore.” Fox’s hands were marked only by the use of a lute.

“But you feel somewhat better now?” Conall pressed. “You can always speak to me, if that helps you. I don’t mind. I feel….” He looked away. “I feel as though you’ve needed someone to talk to. I’m not witty as those at court fancy themselves, but I can listen.” He turned back to Fox. “I am happy to help you, however I can.”

A few knots to get you sweet, Fox’s mind gave him those words again at the worst possible time.

A presumptuous thing to say, he tried to tell himself, even if apparently the knights had a ‘the more fucks the better’ policy he had been unaware of. And he was not sweet. That was one thing Fox had never been called.

Well, his mouth a few times, but not as Conall meant it.

Fox swallowed. His throat was dry.

“I need to get some water,” he told Conall in a rasping voice. “Food, maybe, also. But first water. It was a hot day and I… I am thirsty.”

A few knots. That would require the emotional or physical investment of a real lover, or lovers. “I am not sweet,” he heard himself say, and met Conall’s eyes while his heart flailed against his ribs. “And I’m sure a few knots wouldn’t make me so.”

Conall was motionless, silent and very warm.

Fox’s cheeks and neck burned with desire and embarrassment in equal measure. He took a step to the side, then another. “But I will consider your advice, my lovely,” he called out, smart and not at all flustered.

“Get some food,” Conall said, quite obviously not a knight with passion on his mind. At least, not for Fox. Not if he thought food was the priority.

Fox nodded and smiled vaguely before turning on his heels to head toward the small kitchens while the fires were still going and the kitchens still had staff in them to serve him.