Page 4 of Fox of Fox Hall

“I am certain my byr will be generous if itcomes to bad weather,” he declared, just shy of making it an order.Fox exhaled with relief. Domvoda studied the people studying him,his tail indicating exactly nothing. “The tournament this year hasbrought more knights than usual.” The unprecedented size of theprize purses this year had brought more knights than usual. “Wewill have quite a summer, with new acts of courage and daring.”

The byr took that as a cue and began to talkamongst themselves again, their conversation returning to thetournament and the feasts and parties that would follow, ignoringthe unpleasant reality of too few resources even for those of theirrank.

Fox let his fingers choose the song and was onlyslightly surprised when he realized he playedThe Song of theDragonslayerwith that same Dragonslayer in attendance.

He turned his head as he raised his eyes andstartled as he fell into a gaze like the brown and yellow of earlyautumn. His hands knew their work but his lungs seemed to forgettheirs as he stared, and parted his lips, and could not blink.

Then the gaze was gone, turned elsewhere, andFox slid a look to the king and startled again.

Domvoda arched an eyebrow.

Asking about the choice of song, Foxrealized with his heart pounding, and forced a smile beforechanging the tune to something else.

ChapterTwo

When the receiving rooms had completely emptied,Domvoda too absorbed in a gossipy tale of a byr from the south tocare about music as he walked through the gardens, all of his eagerbees trailing after him, Fox allowed himself to drop, sitting atlast on the edge of the dais. He released the strap securing hislute to a button on his doublet and set his lute to one side, thenawkwardly bent his knees so he could put his elbows on them andrest his head in his hands.

It was not comfortable, the step too short evenfor Fox who was not tall, and anyone could walk in at any moment.But he needed to relax his tense muscles and catch his breath. Thesoles of his feet thanked him as well, throbbing from hoursstanding in one position in silly byr slippers.

His stomach grumbled but he’d deal with thatafter this, snatching whatever he could while he waited to becalled again.Ifhe was called again, but that thought wouldnot ease the tension from his neck and back so he tried to ignoreit.

Breathe, rest, then eat. He’d straighten hisappearance as he waited. That was all he had to do for now.

He might have a long wait. His heart began tobeat faster with panic which he tried to soothe by making plans.He’d stay in his room, giving the excuse of resting or reading ifsomeone appeared to summon him, and if no one did, then, then he’dhave to deal with what he already suspected, and his nerves woulddo they always did when it was time for Fox to move on.

He'd been through this before, though admittedlynever from the court of the Kaskan king himself. But he had and hecould do it again, even if he had no idea of where to go onceDomvoda finished growing bored with the very idea of Fox at hiscourt. Fox didn’t even know where he would end up in Saravar overthe next few days. He had a room now butnoblesin Saravarwere being forced to share accommodations or to bring their own.Fox was a street musician who had risen to unprecedented heights…and was about to be thrown from them. He couldn’t sleep in thestables. Or rather, he could, and had many times in his life, butnever when also expected to appear before the king the next daylooking untouchable. One fragment of straw in his hair and the byrwould tear him to pieces.

That was not how Fox wanted to leave, if he hadto. But if he couldn’t recapture Domvoda’s interest or friendshipand couldn’t please the new consort, then he must. The few amongthe byr who found him amusing would not want to risk Domvoda’sdispleasure by sheltering him, although Fox wondered if Domvodawould care all that much by then. Maybe in the way that spoiledchildren did not like to share even the toys they no longerwanted.

For nearly five years, Fox had not had toworry—much—about a roof over his head and a clean place to sleep.For almost three years, he had been in the king’s court, and forover one year of that at the king’s side and in his bed more nightsthan not. Long enough to make Fox forget himself.

He was no longer so careless. But he still didnot have enough saved to live as he had been. To dress like a byrcost money. It was no wonder the court byr were so nervous all thetime, existing this way. Even they might be tossed from their bedat Domvoda’s whim, at least, in Saravar with the tournamentapproaching and storms apparently looming.

Fox’s problems remained and hurtled toward himwith speed of the wind. He had nowhere to go in general, andnowhere to go within this castle when he would inevitably be askedto give up his room to someone else. A Potential’s friend, orservant, or pet dog might want it. They ranked higher than onesmall fox, and resisting would anger Domvoda.

Fox’s breath came faster. For a moment, he wasclose to being only fifteen years old again and discovering hisplace had been given to a better worker, one less prone todaydreams and flirtations, or being no more than eight and shuffledbetween the homes of neighboring farmers while they tried to findsome use for him.

No malice in it, he told himself as hedid whenever the memory came to him. Farmers with hard days andtheir own children to feed couldn’t be expected to have the time orroom for one lost child, fond of that child’s parents or no.Innkeepers couldn’t keep a skinny youth around if he was no good inthe kitchen and attracted too much attention from oldertravelers.

Fox had gone out into the world alone more thanonce. A love of music, a quick wit, a pretty face, and a plump asshad served him well. He had reached the court of the king itselfand grimly held on to the space he had carved here, but there wasnot much left to hold to and nothing and no one trying to holdhim.

Some distance from him but still closer than Foxwould have liked, a throat was softly cleared.

Fox jerked his head up, one hand already closedaround the neck of his lute and his tail raised into a position ofpolite inquiry. Embarrassment stung his face before he could managea word.

Byr Conall stood before him, head tipped down tomeet Fox’s gaze from his great height.

Someone that large should make more noise whenhe moved, Fox growled internally and not for the first time. He hadonce turned from a door shut nearly in his face, trying desperatelyto gather his dignity around him as though he had not just beenrejected but forgotten, as though he had not been put in his placeby the smug byr friends of the king currently taking someone elseto his bed, and found Byr Conall behind him. The Dragonslayerhimself there to witness Fox’s humiliation.

Here he was again and without even the decencyto mock Fox as anyone else would have done. He studied Fox and didnot comment on Fox’s pose of despair, and if he acted now as he hadthen, he would also never speak of it later to anyone.

Out ofpity, Fox decided again, wantingto bare his useless little teeth at the thought, although he couldhardly afford to alienate anyone not eager to crush him.

On that note, Fox ought to apologize for hisearlier remark, although it had not been as insulting as it mighthave been. The apology stayed in his throat. Proof that Fox was asferal as they thought he was, without even basic manners, becausehe also suspected that if a dragon attacked the castle in that verymoment, Byr Conall would put himself between Fox and the creaturewithout hesitation.

Fox felt like shit for that and rightly so, butalso grew damp beneath his clothing at the image. Like a boy withstories of princes and monsters in his head as he touched himself,Fox would grow wet enough to take Byr Conall’s knot without anyplaying around first if he didn’t stop imagining the flex of theDragonslayer’s muscles as he turned and reached for a weapon, orthe heat of his body as Fox would cling to him.

And Fox would. A tremor went through Fox’s tailat the mere suggestion of being able to wrap it around themountain’s waist to pull him closer.

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