Shadow of the Father (2 page)

His father sighed and stood. He looked like he’d just come from a council meeting, dressed in a green velvet doublet that matched Streak’s green vest. His reddish-brown tail, more brown than Yilon’s, swayed slowly behind him. “I’d hoped to put this day off,” he said. “At least for another year or two. But we got word today.” He gestured to the thin fox, who looked up. “This is Maxon, the steward of Dewanne.”

Yilon stared at the papers, dread prickling his fur. He kept his ears up, but couldn’t stop his tail form curling around his legs. Maxon cleared his throat. “It is with deep regret that I announce the passing of Sheffin, thirty-first Lord of Dewanne. We… mourn him and salute the Lady Dewanne, who will be serving as Lady Regent until his designated heir can take his place.” Yilon’s fingers felt numb. The steward cleared his throat again. “As you know, Lord Dewanne died without official issue. He did designate an official heir, whose selection has been confirmed by the Lady Regent. In accordance with the laws of the realm, the designated heir must present himself at the court in Dewanne for his Confirmation; he can then return to Divalia to be sworn in by the King.”

It was him, of course it was him. His father had told him it would be him, but he still couldn’t suppress the tension of hope that maybe Lord Dewanne had changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe he’d figured Volyan was a better choice, since he was older. And then Volyan could go to Dewanne, and he could go back to Vinton, live there as long as he wanted. Maybe…

“The designated heir is Yilon, second son of Volle, seventeenth Lord of Vinton, and Ilyana Rodion.”

All eyes in the room turned to Yilon. He looked at the floor, at his claws, anywhere but back at his family or Maxon. He didn’t hear most of what the steward said next through the rushing in his ears, something about taking the high road and the court in Dewanne.

“We’ll have dinner tomorrow and see you off the day after,” Yilon’s father said. “I expect you’ll want to say good-bye to some people. And we’ll arrange with Master Ovile for some books to take along with you.”

“The day after tomorrow?” Yilon’s head snapped up.

Maxon coughed into his paw. “It is imperative that you present yourself for Confirmation at the earliest possible convenience.”

“What’s the matter?” Volyan said. “Don’t you want to take a nice trip?”

Volle turned to him. “You’ll be leaving at the same time,” he said.

Volyan half-rose from his chair. “Why? I’m already the heir.”

His father waved a paw at Maxon’s papers. “We were waiting for Dewanne’s official pronouncement. For various reasons, it was…”

Maxon coughed. “Lord Dewanne wisely took the time to evaluate every option, the better to decide which would be best for the land.”

“He didn’t want to commit to anything,” Streak snorted. “No matter how…”

Volle laid a paw on his arm. “He’s gone now,” he said quietly. “Nobody’s harmed.”

They held each other’s eyes. Yilon looked away, at Maxon’s papers, and said loudly, “Fine. I’ll go start getting ready.”

“Yilon,” Volle said, but Yilon was already stalking out into the foyer, where his father caught him by the shoulder and spun him around.

In the past year, Yilon had shot up by eight inches. That still left him with half a foot shy of his father and a full foot shorter than Volyan. When he faced his father now, he found himself stretching his legs to try and make up that half foot. His father’s ears were forward, in contrast to Yilon’s, which were pinned back. They stared at each other without speaking, until Volle said what Yilon knew he was going to say. “Ever since you came of age, I’ve been waiting for you to act like it.”

“I thought when I came of age I wouldn’t be ordered around any more.”

He watched the familiar wrinkles appear in his father’s muzzle. “I’m not the one ordering you…”

“Oh? That’s what it sounded like.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Volle snapped. “Whether or not you want this obligation, you have to go to Dewanne. He designated you.”

“With your permission.”

“Yes.”

Streak poked his head out of the parlor. “Is everything okay?”

Yilon heaved an exaggerated sigh. Volle turned, his voice softer.

“Fine. I’ll be back in a second.” The white wolf nodded and disappeared.

“Why wasn’t Mother here for this?” Yilon demanded.

“There wasn’t time to send for her,” Volle said.

“She would’ve wanted to come.” Yilon’s ears came up. “I’ll go see her on the way to Dewanne.”

“You won’t,” Volle said. “It’s weeks out of the way.”

“It’s only three days.”

“Each way. And you won’t spend just one day there, if you go back.”

“I thought you weren’t going to order me around any more.”

His father looked directly back at him, amber eyes firm. “I guess you thought wrong.”

Yilon lowered his head, staring at his feet. “It’s not fair,” he muttered. “I just want to go home for a bit. It won’t hurt anyone.”

“Your Confirmation’s to be in three weeks. Besides the discourtesy of leaving an entire land waiting for a ruler, you’ll risk being stuck in Dewanne all winter. The pass through the mountains closes early.”

Yilon curled his tail tightly under him. “It wouldn’t take that long.”

“You can stop by and see your mother on the way back,” Volle said. “In fact, since Volyan will be down there, perhaps Streak and I will visit as well. Send a message when you’re ready to leave Dewanne.”

“Volyan gets to go,” he growled.

“He’s going to be their lord.”

“He doesn’t even like it there.”

Volle leaned forward. “Nonetheless. He has accepted his duty.”

Yilon picked with the claws on his toes at a worn patch in the carpet. “Can I go now?”

It seemed like ages before his father broke the silence. “Go ahead,” he said. “We’re having dinner here tomorrow night, in the chambers. I want to talk to you before you go.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“There are a couple things I need to tell you.” At that, Yilon looked up at his father’s muzzle. Volle gave him a small smile. “Not now. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Volle reached out, squeezing Yilon’s shoulder briefly. “You always have a choice. It may not look that way to you right now, and most of your choices may not seem very attractive, but you always have a choice.” He lifted his paw. “Go on, say your good-byes. If there’s anything you need for your journey, let Maxon or Jinna know. You have a certain amount of credit.” Yilon nodded. “Thanks,” he said quickly, and went to go find Sinch. He found him feinting and lunging with a dull, worn dagger at the base of the stairs opposite the practice space near the armory. “I’ll be right out,” Yilon said, waving as he ducked into the armory.

He knew the shelves well enough that it only took him a moment to find a dagger, a short bow and a quiver of arrows. He held them up for the armorer at the entrance to see. “Have ’em back tonight,” the old bear said. Yilon nodded, slinging the quiver over his shoulder.

Meeting Sinch outside, he handed him the dagger. “Here,” he said. “Want to head back up to the roof, or out to the practice range?”

“Thanks.” Sinch slipped the older dagger into his belt and hefted the one Yilon had given him, which was visibly sharper. The handle, though worn, still maintained its polished sheen, and a small emerald in the pommel reflected the light. “This is a nice one.”

Yilon tested the tension in the bowstring. “I figured, why not?” he said. “It’s my last night of weapons practice here.”

Sinch lowered the dagger. “Really? You’re going home?”

“No. I’m going to Dewanne.” Yilon stomped up the stairs, the bow dangling from his paw.

Footsteps scurried after him. “Dewanne? So he, uh…”

“Yes. And I have to go be confirmed or whatever is going to happen.”

“That’s exciting!” Sinch bounded to walk alongside him. “You’re gonna be a Lord.”

“I guess.” Yilon paused. “I’ll have my own chambers here.”

“And money!” Sinch said. “More than Volyan.”

Yilon grinned. “I could buy you that dagger.”

The mouse’s ears flicked halfway back. “Aw, don’t waste your money on that,” he said. “My dagger’s fine. I only use it to pick locks anyway.”

“You’re good with it. You should have a nice one you can throw, and fight with.”

Sinch’s grin showed off his prominent front teeth. He jogged up two more stairs, thin tail whipping behind him, and said, “Let’s go to the practice range. Bet I can score more hits than you.”

Yilon rubbed black paws together. “You’ve got a bet,” he said.

At this time of the afternoon, it took them half an hour to get space on the large practice range by the outer wall. Yilon aimed for the far target, at a hundred feet, while Sinch chose the twenty-foot target. They always played best out of five, because a standard practice quiver held five arrows. Sinch had to run and retrieve his dagger after every toss, so Yilon had to wait while the mouse was on the range before firing his next shot.

Distracted by thoughts of Dewanne and his upcoming trip, Yilon missed his first two shots while Sinch made one. Focus, he barked to himself, and made the next two, while Sinch again made one and missed one.

Two ten-year-old fawns, daughters of one of the corvine lords, stood behind them and watched Sinch. Every noble cub was trained in archery, but not many people of any age in the palace threw daggers.

The fawns chattered together, and behind them, a small party was coming in through the outer gates. Yilon tried to ignore them. “You go,” he told the mouse, who was waiting for him to shoot.

“Okay.” Sinch cocked his arm, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he hefted the dagger and let it go. It sped through the air, landing in the heart of the target.

He turned to Yilon with almost an apologetic smile. “It’s a really nice dagger,” he said. “Flies really well.”

“I just have to make this one,” Yilon said. He drew the bowstring back, sighting along the imaginary arc which ended at the target.

A cough sounded behind them just as he let go. The arrow sailed through the air, brushing the edge of the target before hitting the ground. The fawns snickered and sauntered away.

“That didn’t count,” Sinch was saying as Yilon turned around. “You were distracted.”

“No,” Yilon said. “I let go where I aimed it. You win.” He looked up into Maxon’s narrow muzzle. “What is it?”

Maxon inclined his head. “So sorry to have interrupted your lordship’s practice.” He cleared his throat. “In order to prepare the carriage for our return to Dewanne, I need to know how many possessions you will be bringing.”

“I’ll get the arrows,” Sinch said. He jogged toward the long target while Yilon scratched his head.

At this distance, Yilon could now see the matted white fur at Maxon’s collarbone. It looked as though it hadn’t been washed in days, and smelled strongly of the steward’s own musk and the dirt of the road. He could also make out the crest on the leather jerkin, now, a scripted ‘D’ atop the star of Canis, with a leafy branch on either side, the whole atop three diamonds. “Clothes… weapons…” He counted on his fingers. “Two trunks?”

Maxon followed Sinch with his eyes, nodding. “Very good. And is that your lordship’s personal servant?”

Yilon laughed. “Sinch? No, no, he’s just a friend.”

“Excellent.” Maxon straightened and smiled. His bushy tail uncurled; only then did Yilon realize it had been tucked against the taller fox’s leg. “I had been going to suggest to his lordship that the court of Dewanne will be delighted to assign a personal servant to him.”

“I’ll have a servant?” Yilon grinned.

Maxon nodded shortly. “Of course. Now, if his lordship will excuse me, I have preparations of my own to make.”

“Sure,” Yilon said, but Maxon was already turning on his heel.

He’d barely rounded the corner of the hedge at the entrance to the practice range when Sinch was back. He dropped the arrows in Yilon’s quiver, panting slightly.

“What’d you tell him to do?” Sinch asked. His dark eyes gleamed with reflections of the setting sun.

“Nothing. Another round?”

“Sure.” Sinch flipped the dagger neatly in the air and caught it by the pommel. “But you already owe me.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” Yilon reached for an arrow, nocked it, and let fly.

 
Because he was supposed to have dinner with his family the next night, Yilon left the palace with Sinch after their practice session to have a quick meal in the local pub. Over stews (roast fowl for Yilon, vegetables for Sinch) and fresh-baked at the Cup and Crown, they talked about Dewanne. “All I know about it is it’s in the mountains, to the southwest,” Sinch said, scooping up vegetables with a slice of bread. “You told me they border Delford.”

Yilon chewed a piece of fowl. “During the war, there was some fighting. But it’s been peaceful since then. They send us berries and wine, and the mountains around the city have mines. Mostly silver and copper. It’s been ruled by foxes for as long as anyone can remember.”

“You’ll be a good fit.” Sinch grinned.

Yilon flicked an ear. “It’s about a two-week trip.”

At that, Sinch looked down and pushed his bread around his bowl.

“You’ll be gone for a month and a half.”

“Maybe more,” Yilon said. I’m going to stop and see Mother on the way home.

“Oh.” Sinch nibbled on his bread.

“Father and Streak are going to come down.” Yilon broke off a piece of his own bread to scoop up bits of fowl and vegetable. “Do you think you could come down with them?”

“Maybe.”

Yilon looked up at the mouse’s drooping whiskers and lowered muzzle. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Sinch turned from the side, scanning the room. It was moderately crowded, but the only people near them were a pair of ragged-looking raccoons, absorbed in some discussion of their own. The noise level kept their conversation private: the general background chatter, the clank of plates and tankards, and the noise in the street outside, coming in through the open windows. His ears swiveled from side to side and then cupped forward toward Yilon. “I don’t think so.”