Page 3 of Fox of Fox Hall

“Byr Tana anticipated this summer’s crowding,wise fellow, and has brought hunting tents so that his people cansleep outside the castle.” This was whispered but Fox heard wellenough. He was perhaps meant to. “Butsomehave never haddifficulty finding a bed.”

They had the misfortune of saying that tooloudly—and also perhaps Fox stopped playing so that the sound ofmalice would travel.

The words and the implied insult in them carriedbeyond Fox to the dais. An expectant quiet followed; the byrwaiting to see the king react before they would. The speaker mighthave been sweating, but that was not Fox’s concern, which was thevery real possibility that Domvoda would offer no remark in Fox’sdefense because he did not feel the need or because it was moreamusing to leave Fox to face the beasts alone.

“On the matter of housing,” a new voice cutthrough the silence, making Fox shiver, “the guardian of the estateassures me there will be room enough. Her staff are working on iteven now. The master of the stables assures me of the same for thehorses, although the issue of summer storms still looms.”

Nearly everyone in the room turned toward theedge of the dais, where the Dragonslayer had not left his positionat the king’s side or indeed even looked at anyone else butDomvoda. Domvoda flicked his tail restlessly, irritated at eitherthe problem of logistics for so many guests or the reminder thatnot even the king could control the weather. Probably the latter.Domvoda, though he greatly inconvenienced his servants often,trusted them to attend to their business without his personaloversight.

Fox didn’t understand what storms had to do withhousing, since sturdy hunting tents—small wooden shelters that weretents in name only—would do well enough in most downpours. ButDomvoda must have, because he sighed heavily, then actually turnedhis head to look directly at the knight who had dared to mentionreality. His tail twitched again.

The Dragonslayer stared back, waiting forwhatever Domvoda might do or say with the calm expression ofsomeone who had faced much greater dangers than one spoiledking.

Battling dragons was not as frequent now as ithad once been, but it was not so unusual that only one knightshould be known by the name of the Dragonslayer. What had earnedByr Conall Zainvilk Vulpets et suntene the title that no one elsewould dare claim was the incredible fact that he had slain a dragonalone, defeating the beast after it had killed the company ofknights and soldiers with him and then captured Byr Conall.

Fox had not been anywhere near the capital then,but he knew the story as well as anyone except possibly Domvoda,who could have been given details that had not appeared in thesongs. The story might have been why Byr Conall was permitted towear a weapon around the king when no one else was, although thelarge knife sheathed and kept at his hip would do no good against adragon, or so Fox imagined.

Permission to wear the weapon could also havebeen some sign of respect for Byr Conall’s family, although Fox didnot know noble histories and couldn’t have said for sure. Allknights were byr, but usually they were younger children withlittle to do or inherit, or from the less wealthy families. A fewseemed to be the adventurous sort out to make their own names andfortunes, so enamored with danger they were happy to become knightsand be sacrificed by the king when necessary.

Byr Conall might also have some other connectionto Domvoda to allow him the honor. The two of them spoke familiarlyat times and were near each other in age, neither with silver intheir hair although that might appear any day.

Fox studied Domvoda’s tail, now motionless,before taking a breath and allowing his gaze to linger on theDragonslayer.

Maybe Domvoda allowed Byr Conall to be armed inhis presence because he was aware that the knife would not makemuch difference if Byr Conall ever decided to become a threat. TheDragonslayer was a mountain of a man, or perhaps more comparable toa massive tree. That size was nothing to a dragon, which could riptrees from the ground, but was still impressive. Byr Conall wasbroad, even with one slightly sloped shoulder, and as tall as hisking. He had at least a decade on Fox, which meant he wasconsidered aged by knightly standards—that was, when it came tocompeting in tournaments, not for other knightly duties. Ifsomething attacked again, knights of all ages would respond, orwere supposed to.

Fox looked from the dark sheath of the knife tothe long, plain surcoat normally worn over armor but probably wornnow to conceal the Dragonslayer’s equally plain doublet. He glancedto the uneven shoulders, a consequence of being partially crushedby a dragon and the bones not healing as they should have; aninjury that would have ended the career of any other knight and yetsomehow hadn’t ended his. His hair was short. Many a knight cuttheir hair before the summer tournaments began, something to dowith helmets, and the heat, and offering no handholds in battle.Byr Conall had combed his trimmed hair neatly and swept it backfrom his face.

Byr Conall had no adornments. No adornmentsmeant he was not receptive, or perhaps that he was private aboutit, or perhaps that he simply could not afford any adornments ordidn’t like them. Byr Conall did not follow fashion much except towear the current trend of breeches and hose, although when outsideof court, he tended toward long and not short breeches. Hissurcoats had once been less plain, Fox was nearly sure of it,despite how he could not fully recall what had decorated them sincehe had last seen them years ago when he had first played for theking’s court. There was a clue in Byr Conall’s armor, which hadfigures etched onto it that probably matched whatever had once beenon his surcoats. But Fox made it a point to not study anyone atcourt for too long and found it difficult to watch tournaments. Hedid not care for the byr, it was true, but tournaments werebruising, bloody things and he had no stomach for them, somethingthat amused most of those in these rooms, including the king.

At the thought, Fox returned his gaze toDomvoda, who regarded his famous knight in what felt like endlesssilence, although it probably did not last more than a second ortwo.

“There is not a cloud in the sky,” Domvodaobserved at last.

Byr Conall inclined his head as if toacknowledge the point but didn’t actually agree. He didn’t frown orcurve his remarkable lips into a smile. Not even his unusual short,neat beard could conceal that plush mouth. They liked such beardsin the west, though the ability to grow one became much less commonas one approached the capital. They had strange eye colors out westas well, although Byr Conall’s were the same brown-with-yellow asmost in this room. His ears and tail were tipped with a burnishedsort of dark gold, almost unnoticeable with his skin the samecolor. That was unusual in the province where Fox had grown up andaround the capital unless one spoke of the king’s family, but theDragonslayer was far from the only byr with a faint metallic sheento his skin.

If dragons had thoughts like people did, thenperhaps the dragon had taken Byr Conall because it had seen hisstrange beauty and wanted it.

Fox glanced away, looking to the crowd nowwaiting to see what Domvoda would do. He didn’t dare look back toByr Conall.

Fox had no proof that the Dragonslayer hadspoken up to pull the room’s attention from him. Byr Conallcertainly had no reason to. But neither had he reason to speak upas he had, in that moment, when Domvoda would have been moreagreeable with words said in private.

Pity might make Byr Conall intervene. Or it wasthe habit of a hero to rescue small creatures, even ones that bit.Whatever the possible reason, it had not been an accident. ByrConall was the one person in these rooms aside from Domvoda whomight notice that the Fox needed a rescue and had the power tooffer one.

Pity then, Fox decided, and swallowed thebitter taste in his mouth.

“Surely there are more important matters for ahero to attend to than available beds,” Fox remarked languidly,although clear enough to be heard at the far corners of thereceiving rooms. He kept his gaze on his lute as he continued toplay.

He did not look over to see if Byr Conallinclined his head once again. His silence said enough.

“Consorting with the staff, Conall?” Domvodadrawled, delighted with the idea and very probably also the subjectchange.

The laughter that went through the room was highand nervous but nonetheless audible. That was how they treatedtheir Dragonslayer, the hero who had fought to save them before andsince that incident. They wanted to please the king or were wary ofattracting Fox’s attention, but none of that forced them tolaugh.

Fox was expected to pull and prod and tease. Thenoble byr had no such excuse. Anyway, a great many of them were nodoubt fucking their servants or being fucked by them so they had nobusiness laughing at such a joke.

Fox realized his mouth was open as if heintended to say that out loud—drawing the ire of every byr in thecourt for the sake of one knight who pitied him—and was saved byDomvoda, who likely did not realize he was doing it.

Domvoda rose to his feet in one smooth motion,flicking his tail to the side before leaving it to fall nearly tothe floor.

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