Chapter Nine

Fox’s morning wasn’t nearly as lovely as his evening. A little wobbly but otherwise awake and aware, Fox arrived at Saravar and barely had time to eat an apple before a flustered servant found him and nearly dragged him to the series of open rooms outside of Domvoda’s bedroom. The rooms were not as busy as the receiving rooms but still had plenty of byr in them to take up space and make noise.

The byr selected to be there appeared more self-satisfied than usual, which Fox understood once he grasped the reason for the more private gathering; someone must have advised Domvoda to spend more time with the Potentials beyond dinner conversation.

Domvoda was currently sitting before a wide, opened window, his eyes heavy lidded as if exhausted or bored, while Byr Din Stilbis Zilbici et tzuks sat next to him, his long hair arranged prettily over one shoulder.

Fox had one more reason to be glad his night had been too busy to bother styling his hair as he usually did. He debated saying something, but in the end kept silent, intending to stay in a corner unless music was called for.

But Domvoda saw him and sent a ripple through the crowd by waving Fox over and then waving again to direct Fox to sit on a small seat not far from him. Fox did as ordered, greeting the king and nodding to Byr Din before sending his gaze to a vague point in the distance.

There was no one, even in an arranged match that had nothing to do with affection, who would want their potential lover’s former lover there with them as they got to know one another… if ‘former lover’ was even how Domvoda would have described Fox. The byr in the room might have—until Domvoda had specially called Fox to his side like this. Now they were clearly less certain. They weren’t the only ones.

It had been strange enough when the Potentials had first arrived and Fox had felt each of them study him in turn. Domvoda had many discarded lovers, but Fox was well-known because he was common and because he’d stayed in Domvoda’s bed so long, and because he was still permitted near him. The byr loved to tell stories of Fox and if the Potentials had not heard those stories before agreeing to these meetings—which Fox doubted—they would have heard them since.

Byr Din’s voice faltered in his description of a plant, which was an unexpected interest although likely not one Domvoda would care for. Fox pretended not to notice that, or indeed much of anything, while he searched the room for familiar faces.

The other Potentials and their families were seated or standing elsewhere. Every window was opened, creating cross-breezes that cooled the room considerably. Byr Falnya was seemingly absorbed in reading. Matlin Loriloft held a small harp, leaving Fox to wonder if the harp was to entertain herself or if she planned to play for Domvoda.

The lute hanging from Fox’s shoulders seemed heavier and especially obvious, but Fox could hardly have left it behind. He hadn’t realized why he’d been summoned, only that he had been. Though now he expected he probably wouldn’t play today, except possibly at dinner. Fox wasn’t here to entertain in that sense. Domvoda had brought him here and had him sit close to embarrass his Potentials or to see what they would do about it. That was not something Fox could control, although it would create more gossip.

He resigned himself to hunger and boredom as well as more malicious rumors, though happily reflected that he at least got to sit while the byr schemed and wished for his doom. He angled his legs to the side, with his ankles crossed to show off his pretty, painful slippers, and watched from the corner of his eye as Byr Din did the same.

When the room began to get more sun, Domvoda got to his feet and his court-in-miniature followed him out to the gardens. He’d interrupted Byr Falnya’s reading, not that Fox thought this bothered Domvoda in the slightest. Byr Falnya found a way to continue before long, sitting stiffly on a bench in the shade before anyone else could claim it and opening his book with an annoyed, clearly audible sigh.

Fox, beneath a towering rose bush, was not lucky enough to get a seat this time unless he asked Matlin Loriloft to scoot over, which he of course didn’t dare to do. He also did not touch his lute and kept his tail partially lowered.

Matlin Loriloft nonetheless gave him an icy look as though Fox had chosen to stand over her shoulder while she played her harp and hadn’t been ordered there by Domvoda. Her playing was fair and the harp was an instrument perhaps suited to elegant gardens, although Fox had never cared to learn it.

Whether or not Domvoda did, he clearly didn’t enjoy being forced to listen. The subtle twitch to his tail was the sort of thing to make Fox wonder what Domvoda truly felt about choosing a fertile and a possible consort. Fox had used to worry over such gestures on long, sleepless nights, convinced Domvoda played at disinterest he did not actually feel.

He still believed that. He also believed that whatever Domvoda felt, he would not share with anyone. Or at least, he would not share it with Fox.

When the harp strings finally went still and silent, many of the byr praised Matlin Loriloft’s skill. Fox started to offer his compliments as well, only to close his mouth with a snap when Matlin Loriloft turned away from him before he could finish.

The shoulder she kept turned to him sent a message, one Fox should have expected. To make her message clearer, she spoke to Domvoda. “Though I understand you prefer to have your musician present, I am not accustomed to being addressed by the lesser classes.”

Domvoda, suddenly smiling brightly, glanced to Fox. “What did you think of her playing, Fox?”

Perhaps some in the garden did not hear him, but Fox doubted it.

“I thought it very fair,” Fox answered honestly, though mindful of Matlin Loriloft’s stiff shoulder. “Suited well to time in the sun in a pleasant garden.”

“You see,” Domvoda’s smile lingered as he glanced to his second potential consort, “you have nothing to fear. Not even time among brutish knights has destroyed the Fox’s light touch.”

Fox curved his tail up into the Pouncing Fox and let that say what it would, although he didn’t know if Matlin Loriloft would know the tail positions used in the capital. And of course, she’d have to look at him to see it.

Without waiting for a response from her, Domvoda looked at Fox again. “I do wonder at your new fondness for the knights, Fox. I’ve heard of the chaos they create as they wait for tournaments and imagined you would not find it pleasant.”

But had done nothing to ensure Fox had a room within Saravar proper. Although that was the least of Fox’s current concerns. Domvoda had not indicated he was inquiring for any particular reason. Nonetheless, Fox’s heart began to pound and his growling stomach tightened. Domvoda didn’t notice everything, but he noticed far more than he let on, and if he was jealous or angry, then this might be deliberate torment. The whole day might be, or Fox’s future at court, or just this moment, depending on how Fox answered.

Or Domvoda knew nothing and was tormenting Matlin Loriloft, using Fox as the whip.

Fox lifted his brows to seem politely interested in the subject of knights and sidestepped the original question. “I didn’t want to displace anyone here, especially if it storms.”

Domvoda moved the end of his tail in an airy gesture. “How sweet of you.”

Fox didn’t freeze but it was a near thing. Strange enough to be called sweet several times in a few days, stranger still for Domvoda to say it.

But he couldn’t tell if it was deliberate and didn’t want to stare at Domvoda as he tried to figure it out. He looked at the back of Matlin Loriloft’s head and the side of one of her ears. “Being around them actually reminds me of my younger years, when I worked on farms. There were a lot of brawny youths in barns or bunkhouses and they often got up to mischief. So I suppose, as someone common, I was already used to it.”

Matlin Loriloft acknowledged not a single word. Domvoda gazed at Fox with widened, almost startled eyes before he turned away again.

Fox thought Domvoda would mock him again for speaking openly and fondly, of “the lesser classes” in front of his chosen few byr. But when Domvoda next spoke, it was about the overpowering scent of roses in the heat. The party took the hint and moved elsewhere.

The wooing, if it was wooing and not simply more awkward conversation, paused for the midday meal. Fox sat to one side of the hall, trying not to stuff too much bread in his mouth at once and watching Domvoda silently observe everyone, including Fox.

News came from the capital after that, news which might not have been urgent but was enough to take Domvoda from his guests for several hours. Trapped, Fox had no choice but to stay among the byr, keeping to himself, until the evening meal.

If Byr Falnya minded his time with Domvoda being postponed and then combined with dinner, he showed no sign. Fox would have not have expected him to at this point. Of the three, Byr Falnya was the cleverest. On that, Fox would wager, and that Domvoda was also aware of it.

This time, Fox was too far away in the noisy hall to hear the conversation between Domvoda and his last potential fertile and consort, but close enough for his eyes to meet Domvoda’s more than once and Byr Falnya’s twice. Then Fox bent his head over his plate to focus on his meal and save himself.

Whether Domvoda wanted Fox’s reaction or his opinion, he couldn’t have either now, and while he was occupied, Fox took the chance to slip away for the night, stopping briefly to take a bowl of fruit from one of the tables and stack some honeyed rolls on top of that. The talk of the farmhands he’d known as a child had reminded him of how hungry they had always been, strong, growing, and forever energetic. The knights were byr, but most of them ate from the small kitchens for staff and servants, hardly what was served at the king’s table.