Shadow of the Father (10 page)

The steward nodded. “In the meantime, may I instruct the driver to convey your friend to a more appropriate residence?”

Yilon met Sinch’s eyes. The mouse gave him a quick smile. He squeezed Yilon’s arm. “I’ll find you later.”

Yilon smiled broadly. “I’ll be there.” He waved toward the castle.

“Listen,” the driver said. “I’ve got to turn around if I’m going to get back to Frontier. Don’t want to stay here overnight.”

“It is a short detour.” Maxon stepped closer to the raccoon, pointing to the far side of the plaza. Yilon heard the raccoon ask something about guards, and Maxon say something in a reassuring tone in response.

“It better not be too far,” Yilon muttered to Sinch. “Jinna said there are other mice here,” Sinch said, looking at the large square. It occurred to Yilon that they had not seen a single mouse on the trip in. “Maybe they’re taking me to where the mice are.”

“Come find me tonight.” Yilon whispered. He squeezed his friend’s paw. “Be safe.”

The raccoon clambered back up into the carriage. “You too,” Sinch whispered. He raised his paw to Yilon and climbed back in. As the carriage pulled away, heading west, it occurred to Yilon that he hadn’t seen the guard dismount. He looked around, but the thin fox must already have gone into the castle with the footservants. His eyes lingered on the carriage as it crossed the square, rounded a dingy pub, and disappeared from sight. Then he hurried after the servants and Maxon, who had paused at the gates to wait for him.

“Are mice never allowed in the castle?” He had come up level with the steward as they entered the central building, the large house in the center of the castle grounds. There were no gardens inside the walls here, just a wide central plaza of grey slate. Around the base of the lefthand tower, a pair of foxes strolled toward them, but otherwise the courtyard was deserted.

“In the past, there have been special occasions upon which the courtyard was open to all residents of Dewanne, but never the castle proper.” Maxon nodded his head to Min, who was holding the door for both of them.

“That’s ridiculous.” Yilon let his gaze wander along the paintings in the hallway, portraits of noble foxes in various valiant poses. The large centerpieces on either side depicted epic battle scenes in which the noble foxes were slaughtering hordes of red-eyed, vicious-looking mice.

“Surely his lordship has heard of cities with traditions.”

“Of course.” Yilon remembered a northern city entirely inhabited by bears. “But most of the ones I’ve learned about have embraced the Church’s teachings.”

Maxon stared straight ahead. “We are proud of our traditions here in Dewanne.”

“I’m sure most of them are fine. Just this one about mice is so prehistoric.”

The servants in front of him laid their ears back. Maxon put a paw on Yilon’s shoulder, stopping him until Caffin and Min were further ahead. “You may be the heir,” the steward hissed softly, “but you are a stranger here. You would do well to watch very carefully where your paws land until you grow surer of your footing.”

“I’m…” The words ‘the lord’ withered under the intense glare of the steward. He remembered his father’s advice to listen, and lowered his ears. “I’ll be careful.”

They emerged from the hallway into a large open room, lit by skylights. In the center of the ceiling, an elaborate relief of green vines wound around the pattern of grey stones. On each wall, elaborate murals depicted battles and courtly events, each mural rimmed with silver, which caught the light and reflected a glow through the room.

Caffin and Min took the trunks to a staircase to their left, but when Yilon turned to follow, Maxon steered him forward. “I’ll have them show you to your room later,” he said. “We’re here to see Lady Dewanne.”

“Does she know we’re here?” Yilon followed the steward across the polished slate floor.

The steward’s ears flicked. He cleared his throat. “She will have been awaiting our arrival.”

And indeed, when they’d climbed the grand staircase and walked along the balcony overlooking the foyer, Yilon looked through an open door at the end of the balcony and saw a tall vixen in a white dress, one paw resting on a large wooden desk beside some papers and a twisting, delicate ornament of clear glass, with a ribbon of green running through it. Behind her, a large window facing the courtyard showed the lake and the mountains beyond. She was not looking out of the window, but directly at them.

Maxon did not hurry his steps, but Yilon saw the twitching of his tail and the lift at the corner of his muzzle. “My lady,” he said, entering the room ahead of Yilon. He paused to bow, blocking the doorway, his tail arching up much as the servants’ had done.

“Tails down, Maxon,” the vixen said. Her voice, high and fluting, carried across the long study. “Welcome back.”

The steward rose and stepped into the study. Yilon followed, unsure of whether he was expected to bow or not. To be safe, he bowed shallowly.

“I appreciate the courtesy,” Lady Dewanne said. “But there is no need to bow to me, Yilon.”

He straightened, meeting her eyes. Her muzzle bore a warm smile, and one paw was extended to him. Maxon stood to one side as Yilon walked the length of the study, across the rough carpet woven in regular colored patterns. Along the walls, dark wooden bookshelves and cabinets that matched the desk held books, scrolls, and small stone figurines. A series of grey stone busts of foxes stared down at him from atop the cabinets, but he did not take the time to examine them more closely, keeping his eyes on the smiling vixen.

He stopped beside the desk and took her paw. She leaned forward; he lifted his muzzle to meet hers, and sniffed.

She smelled of the mountains and the lake, but also of something else, something familiar. He pulled back, taking another breath. The familiar smell was not another species, but a combination of species. It was the smell of the palace of Divalia. Stepping back, he tilted his head to get a better look at her, startled that the scent of the palace could linger on someone that long. Did he still smell of Vinton, he wondered, even two years later?

Now that he was closer, he could see the grey creeping up her muzzle, lining the edge of her ears, and touching the corners of her eyes. “So delighted to see you here finally,” she said. Her tail swished slowly under her dress. The white fabric shimmered in the sunlight, sparkling with beaded swirls that ran from her right shoulder to her left hip. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“It was very nice.” Yilon looked beyond her to the lake, reflecting the clouds overhead. From here, with little city visible beyond it, it looked pristine and beautiful. The only part of Dewanne he could see was the dark sprawl Maxon had called the Warren.

“It was indeed, your ladyship.” The steward padded up behind him. “I noticed the guard around the city has been doubled again.”

She inclined her head. “There have been twelve more robberies in the past month, six the week after you left. Velkan ordered the guard conscription, but it has not been popular. Without Sheffin, Velkan is doing the best he can to collect revenues and maintain order, but the governor holds only so much authority.”

“Perhaps if you, my lady—”

She shook her head. “I visited the Grain Depository myself three weeks ago. Taxes are not being paid, the treasury is running short, and the guards suspect this. Velkan has kept desertion to a minimum, but the next round of pay will be the last we can make without dangerously depleting our funds. But the Confirmation will inspire the farmers to make their payments, and the guards to persuade the ones who are not inspired.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and Dinah’s run off again.”

“Oh, dear.” For some reason, Maxon sounded much more distressed at this news than the rest.

“Her parents claim she’s been kidnapped, but that is ludicrous. Dinah has always been wilful.”

“Given the timing, though…” Maxon coughed, lowering his muzzle.

“I’m certain she has simply taken a mount and ridden off somewhere.”

Yilon flicked his ears back from one of them to the other. “If your ladyship is certain,” Maxon said.

“I am.” She half-turned, looking out of the window down at the town. “All this nonsense about ransom notes is just that: nonsense.”

“Ransom notes?” Yilon spoke up.

Lady Dewanne returned her attention to him. “Maxon, please have my lunch drawn up in the front parlor. Yilon and I will take it in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, my lady.” Maxon turned on his toes and marched smartly out of the room.

“Come here,” Lady Dewanne said to Yilon after Maxon had left. She pulled him to the window, one paw on his shoulder. “This will be your city. I do hope you will have time to get to know it before you return to Divalia.”

“Maxon said he would arrange a tour for me tomorrow,” Yilon said. “With Corvin?”

“Corwin,” Lady Dewanne corrected. “The former governor. He’ll be an excellent guide.”

Yilon looked at her rather than out at the town. She was not looking at the buildings; rather, her muzzle was raised to give her a view of the mountain beyond the lake. He saw her nostrils flare, as if smelling the lake air through the glass. “Are you from here, too?” She nodded. “My family still lives here, in our ancestral home.” She pointed to the right; pressing close to the window, Yilon saw a cluster of large houses on the lake shore.

“But you’re still living here?”

Her paw fell from his shoulder. He saw her smile. “The people need to have a Lord or a Regent in residence.”

“So once I take on the lordship, you’ll move back in with them?”

She laughed. “Do you want me to?”

“I was thinking it would be nicer if you stayed. Everyone here seems so…” he lowered his voice. “Provincial.”

Her ears flicked back. “We are in the provinces.”

“Yes, but still.”

Her gaze traveled out beyond the lake. “I plan to leave Dewanne before too long. But I will stay long enough to see you established here, never fear.”

Yilon stepped away from her, toward the window. Knowing she was leaving made him feel even more alone. Without Sinch, knowing nobody but Maxon, with nothing to look forward to but the return to Divalia for the winter, he laid his ears back and stared out at the landscape upon which nothing seemed to be moving.

When he looked closer, though, he saw boats out on the lake, small skiffs that moved so slowly they’d appeared immobile at first. And when he dropped his eyes to the large open plaza in front of the palace, now empty of any carriages or carts, he saw figures moving along the edges, out of the sun. They wore leather jerkins, and some wore thick traveling cloaks like the one Yilon had left packed in his trunk, the weather still too warm for it until the mountain travel on the last day. But each one had a sharp red muzzle and a bushy red tail.

That made him feel better, if only slightly. He still felt the wrongness of not belonging, removed from being able to smell the people he was supposed to govern. How would he go about doing that if there were no connection between them?

“The first thing I should do is explain your situation.” At Lady Dewanne’s words, Yilon turned from the window to face her. She’d moved to stand beside the closest stone bust. “I presume your father has told you that Sheffin—that was the late Lord Dewanne—named you as his heir.”

When she spoke her husband’s name, she said it slowly, and her eyes slid briefly to one side before coming back to rest on his. She waited for him to nod, and when he did, she went on. “He has most likely told you that you were so named because there are few noble fox families, and none others with a male child of suitable age.”

Here it comes, Yilon thought, and indeed, when he looked, she hesitated before going on, composing herself to deliver what she thought would be earth-shattering news. He took the time to prepare himself to react appropriately. “You should know the truth,” she said, “so that you can be best prepared to govern this city and this province. The truth is…”

He waited. She turned her head, facing the stone bust, and then lowered her muzzle. “It is so easy to make these plans when the fruition is years away. One does not anticipate the moment when one will have to lay bare the principles that seemed to so reasonable then.” She might have been talking to the bust or to Yilon, or to the world outside the window. “In the daylight, in the eyes of the innocent…”

She took a breath and looked Yilon directly in the eye. Hers were light blue, strong and clear. “Lord Vinton is not your father,” she said.

Yilon found that his first pretend reaction, if he were truly hearing the news and believing it, would be considerably happier than she was likely expecting. He let his jaw drop while he was thinking of what to say next. She let him have all the time he needed. “You mean…” he managed finally, noncommittal yet as confused as she might expect.

She nodded, lifting a finger to point at the stone bust. “There is your father.”

He fixed his gaze on the stone fox, whose expression was not as severe nor as aloof as the other busts. Its eyes opened wide, ears slightly asplay, as though trying earnestly to look back at the viewer. The muzzle, shorter and wider than his father’s, did not have his father’s characteristic smile, but perhaps the sculptor had insisted on as stern an expression as he could muster. There was no way of knowing, but he thought the fox who’d sat for that piece would not be such a bad father to have.