Chapter Seven
The morning bustle of Kaladas roused Fox enough to make him pull a pillow over his head. The second time he woke, truly woke, his mind abruptly sharp and focused, was because of a knock on his door.
Byr Rolfi stood on the other side, regarding Fox with a knowing grin lurking about his lips. He greeted Fox pleasantly and informed him that it was nearly midday, and then, before Fox could panic, went on to tell him that the king had gone for a hunt that morning and had not yet returned.
A reprieve. Domvoda wouldn’t have expected Fox to be with him during a hunt, even if anyone had bothered to share Domvoda’s plans with him. Strange that Domvoda had chosen to ride out, but perhaps he was already bored of his Potentials’ company and had grown restless.
…Unless his potential consorts had gone with him. But that was a thought for later. Fox thanked Byr Rolfi for the news and only once the door was closed after the knight did Fox realize that he was in an overly large shirt that clearly did not belong to him.
Another thought for later, like any worries about Conall possibly being pulled from his bed at dawn to accompany Domvoda on his hunt. Of more importance was getting cleaned and dressed and making his way to the receiving rooms.
Alone and truly awake, various pulls and aches made themselves known, although a look in a mirror assured Fox that, once dressed, he would have no visible marks from the night’s activities. He had completely forgotten to attend to his hair, however, or any of the rest of his nightly routine.
He grabbed some things to throw on to keep him decent on his way to the hall’s outdoor showers—a much more awkward arrangement when it was the middle of the day, he found—and then hurried to his room to properly dress and deal with his hair as much as he could, braiding it and pinning it up around his ears as some laborers did while working, adding a ribbon as an adornment. Then he grabbed his lute and darted out the door toward Saravar.
He felt rather like he’d sat on a knot for the whole night, which he very nearly had. His lips curved in a smile despite himself, and not even slowing to stroll into the receiving rooms could completely banish it.
What could was the information being shared eagerly from byr to byr that some knight from the western lands, someone from a family Conall might know, had made it to this year’s tournament. The knight, Byr Drashnal Tiner et verag, young and bold enough to show up with little notice, had won most of another tournament the year before. The betting seemed to already be shifting in this knight’s favor, although Fox noticed that some of the betting seemed to be more about whether or not the young knight would capture Domvoda’s interest.
That would be an upset, although Fox had never seen Domvoda pursue any knights in his time at court. Byr Drashnal must be a pretty creature if people thought that a possibility.
If he was prettier than Fox, he was in real danger—or was it the Potentials who were in danger? Fox debated the question while ignoring the stares he got for arriving late or perhaps for his choice of hairstyle. The ends of the ribbon hung against his neck where his curls normally rested, drawing attention to his bare skin. He rather liked the look and suspected that the byr liked it as well. If they could figure out a way to imitate the style without acknowledging Fox—or the workers it had come from—they would, and then it would be all over the capital within months. Although, of course, the byr would wear theirs with jewels or gold wire.
Then Domvoda stormed into the room and hair was the last thing on Fox’s mind.
Trailing after Domvoda, who looked to have barely paused to change from his hunting kit, were servants and several byr, including his Potentials and some of their family members, all of their faces blank. Domvoda stopped, glancing over the room and narrowing his eyes when he saw Fox.
Fox pulled his lute to his chest, but Domvoda looked away without requesting a song and said not a word. Not to Fox, not to his possible consorts or fertiles, and not to any of the byr in the room. Neither did he sit.
Fox’s stomach, thankfully empty, tightened.
“There will be quite the feast tonight,” one of the byr who had followed Domvoda in offered timidly, choosing a subtle way to let the crowd know the hunt had been successful and was not the reason for Domvoda’s foul mood.
“Will Byr Drashnal be there?” some fool asked for all to hear in the tensely quiet room.
“He chooses to sleep in the fields with his horse,” someone else informed them, full of disdain at the idea.
Fox wondered if the new hero had not presented himself to the king, but that didn’t seem something for Domvoda to sulk over when he could sneer at the knight later in front of others or deny him tournament prizes.
“Please tell more stories of this remarkable knight who so fascinates you all,” Domvoda said, exaggerated interest in his tone as he finally slouched into his seat. “I suppose I should expect such talk near my tournament, but there isn’t much to knights, is there?”
Fox’s attention was briefly caught by Byr Falnya, who shifted slightly, probably thinking of his cousin. Fox looked away a second later, intending to keep his head down, but had to respond when he heard his name.
“Is there, Fox?” Domvoda asked again, targeting Fox specifically. His gaze passed over Fox’s hair before the dragon-shell gleam of his eyes returned to Fox’s face.
Fox swallowed, reminding himself there were no marks on him, that he had looked several times and found nothing. That he had every right to do as he pleased in his own bed—or whoever’s bed. And that this was probably about yesterday, not last night.
“I have never found talk of tournaments, or the tournaments themselves, of much interest,” Fox answered, carefully honest.
“No bets for my Fox.” Domvoda leaned back. “Even though he surely must have information the rest of us do not, being so close to the competitors.”
Fox looked down to adjust the strap helping hold the weight of the lute although it did not need adjusting. “I’m afraid I have not yet met or even seen the new arrival, my king.”
“Ah, well then,” Domvoda said airily, and Fox was about to sigh in relief until Domvoda continued, “since Fox can provide no clues as to who you all should wager on, perhaps our new arrival should demonstrate for us tonight before the evening meal. A little sparring—if your stomach can bear it, of course, Fox. Would it spoil the tournament, do you think, to have this knight spar with our Dragonslayer? Or would it whet appetites?”
Fox’s stomach was indeed protesting the idea. “From what I understand, the new knight has only just arrived.”
“So soft on the knights is my Fox.” Whether or not Domvoda had forgiven Fox’s displeasure with him yesterday, he certainly hadn’t forgotten it. “But alas, he is also right. It wouldn’t be fair, would it, if he hasn’t rested?”
“Some of the other knights then?” Fox suggested, gaze flicking to Byr Falnya again. “To demonstrate individual skills?”
“My cousin would be happy to.” Byr Falnya obediently stepped in, his manner so like Conall’s that Fox wanted to demand to know if they were related.
Domvoda waved a hand, then seemed to remember he was supposed to be pleasing his guests and turned away from Fox to look at Byr Falnya.
“Do you take an interest in tournaments?” he asked but before receiving an answer, tossed out, “Charm us with some music, Fox.”
Fox gratefully bent his head and began to play.