Fox of fox hall, p.15
Fox of Fox Hall, page 15
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.
Chapter Thirteen
Staying in bed with Conall had been more appealing to Fox than adhering to his usual nighttime routine. Unfortunately, that choice to do nothing had left Fox with hair that had dried badly and no other option but to braid it and pin it up again come morning. This time, he had foregone roses and stuck with ribbons, leaving several to trail down the side of his neck. The effect would have worked better if Fox’s neck were completely bare, but since the marks from Conall’s mouth were steadily darkening, Fox thought it best to keep them hidden and again buttoned his doublet all the way to the top.
An idea that seemed wiser and wiser as the rain lessened but continued to fall and Domvoda’s mood grew worse.
The air remained hot but was now damp as well, and all the nervous energy and anticipation that the tournament should have taken care of had nowhere to be spent. The byr would have been miserable and mean even without a sullen Domvoda there to make them anxious.
Nothing pleased the king and he did not seem to care that his potential consorts could see his temper. If there was one consolation to be had, it was that Fox was not the only one vexing him. Nonetheless, Fox had spent the morning standing tensely in his usual place and sending surreptitious longing glances toward the open doors and whatever breezes might be found there.
He was not told to play and neither was he told to stop playing, so he played but did not sing, and the assembled byr grew increasingly tense with every irritated flick of the tip of Domvoda’s tail. Someone had brought in tables and chairs, probably the day before during the worst of the rain, as if to make the receiving rooms a vast withdrawing room. When Domvoda did not indicate what anyone should talk about or do, several of the byr had sat down to play games or read or simply drink tea and eat cake. The Potentials each had their own table, including chairs for family or friends. Each had left a seat empty, presumably in invitation for the king to join them.
Domvoda stayed where he was. He was so restless and dissatisfied with any amusements presented to him that it spoiled even small moments of gaiety.
Some of the byr kept glancing to Fox, as if Fox was supposed to soothe and settle the king for them. Fox would risk as much for them as they’d risk for him, which was exactly nothing. But when the end of Domvoda’s tail began to regularly twitch back and forth and Fox found Domvoda’s gaze steady on him, he braced himself and spoke.
“If not for the lightning, I’d suggest a hunt,” Fox called out merrily enough. “Or if not that, a hard ride.”
Domvoda was no knight but he did like to be active, and Fox privately thought his moods were better when given something to actually do. However, one of those activities was also the reason Domvoda had so many ex-lovers. Once he had said it, Fox realized a hard ride might be seen as a reference to Domvoda’s bed, or as an invitation to have Fox there.
Domvoda stared at him, his eyes nearly glittering, before easing back against his seat and slowing his tail. He glanced out at the rest of the people in the receiving rooms, pausing on each Potential before looking back to Fox.
“I hear that is how the knights occupy themselves before a tournament,” he remarked. Fox did not think it was said idly.
Fox was grateful that the heat already had him flushed so no blushes would give him away. “Kaladas is not a quiet hall,” he answered, tactful and delicate. Someone in the crowd snickered.
Domvoda spared them not even a second’s attention. He didn’t let Fox look away. “You seem rested, despite that,” he observed. “Has the Fox found himself a cozy den?”
If Conall had heard that Byr Din had worn his hair the way Fox had, then it was equally possible that Domvoda had been told that the knights were sharing rooms and perhaps even whose room Fox was currently in.
“Truthfully, is a bit tightly packed in Kaladas since the rain yesterday brought in the rest of the knights from the fields.” Fox’s playing didn’t falter although he did not feel well with everyone listening to him speak. “But spirits are high and it’s not altogether unpleasant.”
Which was not how Fox would describe his night with Conall, but did well enough to sketch the situation in the rest of the hall.
“Like your childhood, you said,” Domvoda commented, nearly startling Fox into letting his tail drop because Domvoda had remembered Fox’s words from yesterday and brought them up publicly. “Rooms in Saravar would be far more comfortable for you.”
A fine thing to say now. And still not followed with any orders to find Fox a place. Perhaps he expected Fox to ask him for one. Perhaps he wanted Fox to.
Fox smiled. “And far more crowded,” he replied lightly. “No space for a den here at the moment,” he added with a graceful but vague gesture toward the byr and the Potentials.
Domvoda’s tail was still. “Wary of them, my Fox? A bold creature like you? Come nearer to me, if you please.”
An order, though a nicely phrased one.
Fox’s shoulders tensed, probably visibly, but he stopped playing, making the rooms quiet and the air a hundred times more strained, then stepped up onto the dais and did not look anywhere else as he went to Domvoda’s side.
Domvoda swept a look over Fox that had to be for show since he hadn’t glanced away from Fox for some time now. “No roses today?”
Overly warm and already flushed he might be, Fox nonetheless worried that another dusting of pink would fall over the first. He didn’t have an excuse for his thoughtless crown of flowers the day before. But Domvoda seemed satisfied with the single pointed remark, at least for now, because he didn’t press the issue when Fox shrugged and waved toward the door to the gardens and the rain.
“As for the other matter,” Fox went on softly, leaving the byr in the room to inch forward and hope to hear him, “all reasonable creatures would be wary of the situation, bold or not.”
Domvoda leaned forward. “You claim not to be a fighter, but you’ve shown teeth on more than one occasion.”
As any cornered animal did. Fox kept his smile and shrugged again. “Even a rabbit will kick.”
Domvoda heaved a sigh and leaned back again, playing at being bored but his tail was unmoving and his gaze did not waver. “Have you been worried, my Fox, as you watch all of this? Waiting is what makes people worry, and that can be useful. But to me, it’s mostly a tedious business.”
Domvoda could wait months or longer to make a decision. At least, to announce his decision or sign anything. Fox suspected Domvoda actually made up his mind almost immediately but acted when he deemed the time was right. His decisions, often eventually shown to be correct, were presented to the public long after whatever counsel his advisors gave him to ensure the edicts were well received. In that sense, waiting might indeed be tedious.
Fox allowed himself a slight frown. Domvoda was telling him not to worry, as if a decision had already been made and the king was simply biding his time before announcing it instead of getting more intimate with his Potentials or beginning to court any or all of them. Playing the eager lover should have been anything but tedious, unless Domvoda had chosen a fertile but did not care for them. Or possibly he’d decided but the Potential and their family were reluctant to agree, and his advisors were debating the matter in private.
“I don’t understand,” Fox admitted at last.
He felt as young and inexperienced as Byr Shine when Domvoda clucked his tongue and replied with fond amusement, “Of course you don’t, unfamiliar with the ways of the byr as you are.” The amusement faded quickly. “None of it really matters and it will be over soon enough.”
Fox had known the meetings were arranged. Everyone knew that. The families had been negotiating about this visit for over a year beforehand. He’d also known that Domvoda was not obligated to make any of them consort, although favors and some power certainly went along with bearing an heir for the king. But he had expected something more than this.
“You don’t seem…” he stopped, about to be foolish again, but Domvoda watched him with interest and waved him on, so there was little else to do but stumblingly add, “interested in even a breeding, much less a mating.”
“A mating?” Domvoda was astonished. He said it loud enough for it to carry across the rooms before he settled down to study Fox anew. Everyone was likely studying Fox now. Fox could imagine the speculation after that. “I speak of finding a place for you and tell you not to worry, and you speak of a mating? Is that what has been on your mind?”
Fox held still, not even risking moving his tail, although the pleasant Daffodil-in-the-Wind seemed ridiculous with the tension in the air.
Domvoda ought to have mocked him or dismissed him. He did neither, sharpening his focus on Fox. “No, this would not be a mating for me, my Fox. A mating…. Is that you have been wishing for with your change in hairstyle to bare your neck more?” He nearly smiled when Fox gave a start and raised a hand to his throat. “Or is your hairstyle truly about its origins and you are reminding us of where you came from?”
“I doubt anyone has forgotten.” It was snapped. Fox didn’t apologize.
Domvoda only seemed to grow fond again.
“The Loriloft family in particular find your presence irksome.” Which clearly entertained him. “Although Matlin did comment favorably on your music in her first days here. Tell me, is it my selection of possible consorts which has turned your thoughts to matings? Or were you considering the subject before? Are you romantic by nature and have kept your tender yearning hidden all this time?”
He could have been teasing. It was just as likely that he wasn’t.
Fox did not have tender yearning for Domvoda. If that had ever existed as more than the fantasy of someone who knew every passion song by heart and expected kings and ancient chieftains to fall in love with their enemies, or commoners, or the consort of another—and it might have, because Domvoda had been the one to gently teach Fox tail poses and gift him the books and paper—that yearning had withered in the time since Fox had been shut out from Domvoda’s bed.
Since Fox couldn’t say that without getting thrown onto his ass in the rain, he gestured vaguely again.
“I think everyone is thinking of it.” He was a careful, tactful fox. “I know it’s calculated for you and for the families of those you are considering, but everyone should have a chance for affection and love, perhaps a mating. Even a king should be happy there, if he can.”
For a moment, Fox thought Domvoda’s eyes went wide.
When Domvoda spoke, he was quiet. “There are other paths to a mating beyond the one from songs and stories. People dream of passionate couplings, but even an arranged meeting could grow to that.” If Domvoda dreamed of it, any version of it, he did not say. “If those presenting themselves were not doing so for position and favors, that is. But a true breeding is the traditional way to go about it, if one needs an heir.” He smiled coolly, though his eyes were gleaming and fixed on Fox. “The emotions of a mating need not be there. They are unlikely to be in my case. Which I don’t think surprises you.”
Fox pushed his lute to his back before answering. “Real life is not a passion song. Those songs are fanciful tales. Falling in love is certainly real for most, as is desire. But generals throwing battles because of a single glimpse of someone else?” Fox scoffed, making Domvoda’s eyes go wide again. “A queen marrying a blacksmith because no one can deny a true mating? That doesn’t happen and I wouldn’t expect it to. But you could get to know the Poten… that is, your potential consorts. You might find more than tedium.”
“Clever Fox,” Domvoda said under his breath, then finally looked away. He studied the other byr, or perhaps he studied the three carefully selected fertiles waiting on him. But he kept his voice low when he spoke, still only addressing Fox. “What do you think of them, then? As someone who knows me and what I want.”
He couldn’t see Fox’s sharp glance at him.
“I don’t know them well enough to say,” Fox demurred. “What are your thoughts? Yours are the ones that matter here.” Along with theirs, but it didn’t feel wise to say so now.
“Din seems to admire you.” Domvoda had noticed the rose in Byr Din’s hair. “Which is not unexpected.”
Fox gave him another sharp glance. “Matlin Loriloft does not admire me,” he argued.
Domvoda cut his tail through the air dismissively. Fox risked a look out over the rooms. Everyone was watching them, some not even pretending they weren’t. They were all dying to know what Fox and the king were talking about. Which likely amused Domvoda and at least had improved his mood.
Fox nodded to himself. “But you can assure her I will stay far from her if she prefers it.”
“What of what I prefer?” Domvoda did not raise his voice but he slapped the tip of his tail against the arm of the seat. Then he went still again, his tone level and perhaps even bored. “I suspect she also admires you and that is what bothers her. But they are not you and can never be.”
Fox stared at the side of Domvoda’s head and then looked blankly to the crowd. “And what am I?”
“Not byr,” Domvoda answered after several moments of silence. That answer was so obvious Fox wondered why Domvoda would bother to say it. “Some have suggested this is no place for you.”
Fox couldn’t help but scoff again. “That’s not a surprise to me, my king.”
Domvoda laughed, which probably made several byr in the room jump. “They tell me a musician is a servant and should not offer comment on anything.”
