Page 1 of Fox of Fox Hall

Chapter One

The summer court at Castle Saravar wasbreathtaking in its splendor. An exquisite feast for the senses—aslong as one ignored the crowded accommodations, the stifling heat,and the quivering tension beneath every laugh. A chance for themost elegant and powerful byr to exchange gossip and be entertainedby the King’s Tournament, while also hoping to impress the king sodesperately and obviously that they might as well have gone ontoall fours in front of him to show him how receptive they were.

In the day since the king and his entourage hadsettled in, the assembled nobles had done just about everything butthat, although it was likely only a matter of time until one ofthem tried it. This despite, or perhaps because of, the change tothis year’s summer court—the arrival of the king’s potentialconsorts and their families as King Byr Domvoda had finally decidedto see to the business of heirs.

Saravar was not the largest of Domvoda’sestates, but it was the oldest as well as the nearest to thetournament grounds. Tradition demanded the King’s Tournament beheld there, the one tradition it seemed Domvoda would follow evenas many more ancient ones had fallen from favor. Perhaps he wastrying to accommodate the Potentials, as Fox had privately dubbedthem, since two of them were from provinces far away from thecapital and might revere traditions Domvoda did not. One of hisadvisors might have convinced Domvoda that ancient rituals stillheld power. Or perhaps Domvoda had never considered the matter oneway or the other and so didn’t realize that some might expect theking to take part in the King’s Tournament, especially this year,with breedings and matings on everyone’s minds. But Fox supposed itwas in poor taste to remind the king of passionate rituals of thepast when he was going about a more practical courtship with onlythe pretense of affection, so no one had mentioned it.

At least, it was in poor taste among the byr.The lower classes never had a problem calling a fuck a fuck or abusiness arrangement a business arrangement. It might not even bethe habit of all the byr; Fox only really knew the nobles whoattended to and followed the king. But thinking on that in detailwould make him want to be fair to the byr, something Fox generallytried to avoid.

He lightly strummed his lute, hinting atmelodies without sticking to one, his head down to let whispers andgossip flow around him. His expression was calm, his tail still. Hegave no indication that he was listening to the speculation. Allpart of the game, as surely as everyone pretending that Domvoda wasenamored of any of the Potentials. Anyone here with any senseshould assume everyone was listening to what was said and towhom.

Fox recognized most of the assembled byr fromeither the capital or past tournaments. He had been brought to thelast three summer courts along with the rest of Domvoda’s usualentourage and didn’t think he imagined the irritation from some ofthe byr to see him here again or the surprise on the faces of someothers.

His stomach tightened uncomfortably. Fox nearlytwitched his tail but controlled himself in time, leaving his tailgracefully curled in the air behind his shoulder;Daffodil-in-the-Wind, a classic position.

Every summer, the king’s usual court and anyoneelse invited to attend the King’s Tournament came to Saravar forseveral weeks, perhaps a month, before moving on to one of thepleasure castles that lined the Valta, where cool river breezesmade what was left of the summer bearable, or heading back to thecapital if something urgently needed Domvoda’s attention. Or, once,to one of the stronger fortresses, when a dragon had threatenedmuch of the countryside until a complement of older knights hadfinally forced it to flee.

This summer’s tournament was the largest yet andthe receiving rooms at Saravar reflected that. Many of the doorshad been thrown open to let in sunshine and provide a view of oneof the castle’s many gardens—and perhaps also give the crowd somefresh air. Anyone could have left the receiving rooms to walkoutside, but none would dare step out to get a closer look at anybushes or fruit trees while the king remained on the raised daisthat put him a step above the rest of the glittering byr. If birdsdarted to and fro in the garden just a few steps away, the soundsthey made were drowned out by excited chatter about possiblemarriages and the expected brutality of the tournament.

Tournaments were an ancient practice, occurringevery summer and early fall in Kaska and its neighboring countriessince the days of near-constant beast attacks and the wars that hadformed this part of the world. The tournaments might have evenoccurred in some form since before Suluskin Hadi, the fabledempire, although the more studiously inclined byr seemed to thinkthe empire had existed solely as a story. Fox wouldn’t know; he’dnever heard of it until coming to court. Long-dead or imaginaryempires were not relevant to the lives of farmers.

The tournaments were mostly contests of skillnow, a chance for nobles and the knights among them to meet andshare accomplishments. Many a king had demonstrated their might atthe summer tournaments here, showing off for lovers, or soon-to-belovers, or, in the very old days, the mate who might bear forthem.

…Or the one they wished to bear for, althoughthat was rarer, kings being kings, and extremely unlikely thisyear, Domvoda being Domvoda.

Without ceasing his strumming, Fox glanced overto the other side of the dais, where Domvoda was seated on theroom’s only chair, a carved bench seat of dark wood, with acushioned armrest to allow him to lounge against one side whiledraping his tail over the other. The sunshine from outside hit theblue-gray of the triangular tip of his tail, making it gleambrighter than the crushed shell inlaid into the wood of his seat.The shell was vivid purple and green, the color of gems, althoughfar more expensive than mere amethysts and emeralds, yet it wasnothing to the stormy-sky brilliance of Domvoda’s tail and the tipsof his ears.

Hopeful receptives fluttered before him, curlingtheir tails to show off chains of gold wrapped around the thickbases or perhaps going all the way down the tapered length to eachtail tip. Others stretched their necks to better display thenecklaces of jewels and precious metals currently decorating theirunmarred, unbitten skin. The Potentials had not arrived yet, sosome byr were seizing this chance to show Domvoda that they wouldmake better consorts, or at least more adventurous bedpartners.That they would, of course, also welcome any favors Domvoda mightbestow upon them went unsaid along with anything abouttradition.

Domvoda looked bored, although since he had notstopped any of the fluttering, Fox assumed he enjoyed it.

Byr Domvoda Alkano Drade et micinos rested hishead on one hand, leaving his other hand splayed over a solidthigh. Hair of dark brown fell in glossy waves over his shoulders.His eyes were heavy-lidded, as though he could barely keep themopen. His mouth was full and unpainted, yet so rosy a red thatwould many would have assumed him soft or giving and would haveliked to have seen it shining with seed or slick. The red drew theeye despite the warmth of his skin tone, which was several shadesdarker than Fox’s paleness and lit from beneath with a sort of aglow, like light shining on an opal. His doublet was the color of awinter storm, and short, reaching below Domvoda’s hips when theking stood, but woven with threads of silver. His breeches reachedhis knees, and the legs beneath them were concealed by hose despitethe warm weather. The short boots were a surprise, but Domvoda mustintend to walk outside later.

He wore no adornments. He rarely did.

Behind him, where the dais ended on one side,stood several of his advisors and favorites as well as two guardsand two experienced knights; the knights tall and broad evenwithout the armor that seemed to make them double in size. Theguards, from families who had served as guards for generations,nearly disappeared from view in their garments of brown. Perhapsthat was the point, so the byr might forget they were there, unlikethe knights, who were present because Domvoda wanted them seen,although other than their size, there was nothing about them toindicate they were knights. They would not wear armor or carryweapons in the king’s receiving rooms without reason, and so shouldhave looked like any of the other byr.

They did not, and it was not because they didnot glitter, or flutter, or dress to show off the gleam of theirtail tips or ears. Fox didn’t know why they didn’t, not even afteryears of observing them. They were knights, yes, but they werebyr. Knights came from the noble class; forever above thesoldiers who sometimes assisted them. They were not expected to dobattle in the king’s receiving rooms or at court. They were noteven armed, not really, not enough to do anything should a dragonswoop in, so they could have draped themselves in jewelry or finetouches as suited their tastes and preferences. One had hoops inher ruby-red-tipped ears, but that was all. The other wore nojewelry to make him stand out.

But some did not need the assistance of glitteryrocks to draw eyes.

Fox’s gaze caught on a white surcoat, then roseto where most of an ear should have been before he forciblyreturned his attention to the king, the bee before so many eagerflowers.

One of the eager flowers was speaking. Fox heardthe end of what must have been meant as a quiet aside, if only thecrowd had not chosen that moment to fall silent.

“Niqsi is a backwoods province. It won’t takemuch to impress them. The Ovitos creature will probably be on theirback within….” The unfortunate byr, Byr Flieric Tilviks et…something Fox could not remember offhand because the byr was new tothe king’s court, trailed off as he realized his words had beenoverheard. He turned toward the dais and the king, giving as muchaway with that as with the careless way he raised his tail straightup with surprise and then forced it to relax; Startled Cat toBending Willow, much too quickly.

A titter followed that, deliberately notstifled.

Everyone in these rooms was thinking somethingsimilar about Domvoda’s as-yet-unseen potential consorts, but fewwould say any of it out loud, and certainly not here. If Domvodaended up choosing that fertile from Niqsi, word of this wouldcertainly get to him. People would be more than happy to share it.But undoubtedly worse to Byr Flieric in that moment was findingDomvoda’s gaze on him. Domvoda’s expression was possibly just lazyinterest, but he’d remember the remark more likely than not.Whether or not he actually cared was another matter.

Domvoda’s tail moved not at all. “You’vestopped, my clever Fox.”

In the silence, he didn’t have to raise hisvoice.

Fox did not give a start, although he glanceddown at his motionless hands in surprise before immediatelybeginning to play. Slowly, conversation resumed around him. He didnot look to see what Byr Flieric did.

When Domvoda noticed that Fox was playingDaylan the Fool, he smiled, and part of Fox’s tension easedaway to make his fingers light over the strings. Some of the otherslikely noticed too, including Byr Flieric.Daylan the Foolwas a pleasant enough song for anyone not prone to speaking withoutthinking. Daylan comes to no harm by the end, aside from someembarrassment. But the point was taken by the others in thereceiving rooms, including the unfortunate byr. Fox nearly feltsorry for him, but the Clever Fox must be the Clever Fox or sufferthe same fate.

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