Shadow of the Father (49 page)

…any way to end a pregnancy save for wormwood.

Lady Dewanne was standing over him, holding out a letter. He didn’t take it.

Corwin recommended him. He’s good with wormwood.

I’ve treated Lady Dewanne. Not with needle and thread, of course…

He stared up at her. “You could have had cubs,” he whispered.

“I told you that I am not favored of Canis, she said, just as softly. “I am barren indeed.”

His parents were trying not to look interested.

“The wormwood,” Yilon said, softly. Pain flashed in a grimace across her muzzle. She bent over to his far ear and whispered, with no more than a breath, “Barren of courage.”

Her sister died giving birth to a cub with a clubfoot…

“You let others…” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I have made terrible choices,” she said in the same whisper. “I have lost two dear friends this week because of them.” She pushed the letter into his paw. “You are my atonement, to my land and my people. And this is my gift to you, meager though it may be. I pray you will not judge me too harshly.”

He took the letter, never taking his eyes from hers. In them, he saw resolve, pain, tiredness. “It’s not for me to judge.” His voice felt detached.

She straightened. “Dewanne will prosper with your guidance, as you will prosper from your father’s, I feel sure.”

Yilon nodded. “Good night,” he said, unable to keep a chill out of his voice.

She waved to his parents, and left. He sat staring at the wall, while his parents watched him. Finally, he unfolded the letter, noting the broken seal of Vinton on it. Opening the first fold, he recognized his father’s handwriting.

 
My esteemed peer,

 
It is with great pleasure and pride that I write to you that Yilon has far surpassed any expectation we held for him. His history and diplomacy tutors say that they have not had a more gifted teacher in a generation. His bearing is noble and his judgment is beyond question, even at his early age.

Yilon felt the twinge of guilt at that line. In theory, it had been, until put to the test here. But he had learned.

He is in every way the model of an heir. Were we fortunate enough to have him as our first-born, we would not hesitate to hand over Vinton’s rule to him and retire to Helfer’s Vellenland estate. His mother and I agree that our only regret in writing this to you is that we shall lose the pleasure of his company for months out of the year, but our loss shall without question be the gain of the people of Dewanne. In the coming years, we look forward to a fruitful and long-lasting alliance between our provinces, as our families are joined in name and law.

 
Yours in the blessed Pack,

Volle, Lord of Vinton

Below the text of the letter, in the blank area, in a neat, regular script that smelled of fresh ink, was written, “Not every shadow is dark.”

He folded the letter and looked up. “What is it?” his mother asked.

“The answer to a question,” he said.

“What did you ask her?” his father asked.

Yilon shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Volle turned to Ilyana. “So she was barren after all?”

Ilyana frowned. “That doesn’t sound right to me.”

Yilon’s eye came to rest on his mother, her delicate muzzle, slender arms and legs. Her fragility felt unbearable to him. “She wasn’t barren,” he said. “She was afraid she’d die. So they risked
your
life.” He got half out of his chair, not knowing why or what he intended to do, just that he wanted to run upstairs and pull Lady Dewanne out of her bed, make her answer to her actions.

His father half-rose with him, watching him; his mother waved them both to be seated. “We would have had another cub anyway,” she said. “This was a blessing from Canis, to have another lord in the family.”

Yilon was still working through the implications of Lady Dewanne’s cowardice. “Min… Maxon… Corwin… Sinch wouldn’t be in the chirurgeon’s house right now…” He sank back down in his chair. He’d made mistakes, yes, and he would always bear part of the blame for Min and Sinch, if not the others, but he would not have been in Dewanne to make those mistakes if Lady Dewanne had done her duty.

“How is Sinch?” Volle asked gently.

“He’ll live,” Yilon growled. “I wish I’d never been named the heir.”

“So do I,” his father said.

Yilon’s head snapped up. “Have I made that much of a mess of it?”

His father looked at him steadily, smiling. “You’ve done better—no, you’ve done just as well as we hoped. As we knew you could.”

Yilon struggled with the curious warmth those words ignited in him. His fingers rubbed the parchment of the letter. “But you wish I hadn’t.”

“Of course,” his father said. “For your first fourteen years of life, I saw you four times, twice when you were too young to remember. I missed watching you grow into the fine young lord you are now. Don’t you think I hated that?”

“I don’t know,” Yilon said. “Did you?”

He saw the reproach in his mother’s eyes and laid his ears back, but his father put up a paw and spoke before she could. “A wise old friend of mine once said that I would have to cast my cubs out into the world without any help, and I swore never to do that. Your mother and… and Streak and I talked about it. We promised that one of us would always be with you and Volyan. Don’t you think it hurt her as much to give up Volyan as it did for me to miss your childhood? But our positions required us to spend our time apart, and we made that sacrifice for our family.”

“I’m sure you were crushed at having to live in the palace with
him
.”

“I’d made enemies at the palace,” his father said. “Long before I met Streak. They would have done terrible things to me.”

“They did,” Ilyana said softly.

“And to my family,” Volle went on. “It was for their safety that they remained in Vinton.”

“Didn’t you like Vinton?” his mother said softly.

Yilon’s ears went back. “I love it,” he said immediately.

“I didn’t, at first,” she said. “I thought it was an exile, a remote place where I would have to raise cubs and then watch them grow up and leave me. But I grew to love it. I love working with Anton, being the lady of the town, but still having enough liberty to walk up the mountain in the morning to watch the sun rise.” She looked down. “I always knew you would leave me, and that was the only thing that made me sad.” She squeezed his father’s paw. He waited for Yilon to talk, but Yilon was thinking about Dinah, about Sinch, about Lady Dewanne.

After a moment, his father said, “We did the best we could. Can you blame us for seeking happiness where we could find it?”

You could’ve told me more, explained it better, Yilon thought, but he found his thoughts turning in another direction. “Corwin said something like that, the last time I saw him.”

Volle ducked his head. “I was sorry to hear of his passing. Dewanne and Delia spoke very highly of him.”

“I would’ve liked to have had his advice,” Yilon said. His eyes felt heavy, and for the first time, he felt the pressure of emotion behind them. “Maxon… he caused so much trouble, but he was devoted to his cause. Like Min.”

“You should not have had to go through all this,” Volle said, with a fierceness that surprised Yilon.

“It was… to be truthful… it was partly my own fault,” Yilon said. “I didn’t want to be here.” He looked at his mother. “I suppose I’ve grown to like it a little more.”

“It doesn’t seem so different from Vinton,” she said. “A little rougher.”

“A lot rougher.”

She nodded. “And I understand there are mice here, but I haven’t seen any.”

“There’s some tension,” Volle began, then let Yilon talk.

“They hate each other,” he said. “That’s one of the things I have to fix.”

“You may not be able to,” his father said. “Ancient enmities run deep. But sometimes all they need is for someone to show them the way, to help them take that first step. Show them new ways to think and act.”

Yilon pressed the letter between his fingers. “I’m trying,” he said.

There was a quick knock at the door, and it opened before anyone could answer. Streak stepped in, but stopped when he saw Yilon. He looked over at Volle. “Sorry. I was just going to bed.” He looked around the room. “I’ll go.”

Yilon saw his father’s expression. “It’s okay,” he said.

Streak tilted his head. “No, I’m tired.” But he wasn’t yawning, and his tail was twitching.

How would he feel if his son, his and Dinah’s, hated Sinch? His heart twinged. But after all, Lady Dewanne had told him that lords spent most of their time making up for mistakes. And now he was a lord. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can stay. We’re talking about family stuff.”

The white wolf smiled, and closed the door behind him before padding over to sit on Volle’s other side.

Volle smiled, one paw reaching down to clasp Streak’s. “We’ll be working together,” he said to Yilon, “on many things, now that you’re my peer. I won’t force advice on you, but don’t be afraid to ask for help. I don’t know the politics here, but I have been a lord for twenty years.” He smiled and tapped the side of his muzzle. “I know a few tricks.”

Your peer. Perhaps it was just the fatigue of the long day, but Yilon saw for a moment Lord Dewanne on the bed next to his mother, the muzzle he’d seen on the bust in the office glancing aside at her, trying to figure out how to ensure the succession of his land with a bastard son he feared and a wife afraid to have cubs of her own, knowing the consequences if he died without an heir. He heard again his father’s strict warnings to his brother about sleeping with vixens, and Corwin telling him about all the indiscretions of lords past, and Maxon sitting in the small room in the Strad house, the smell of blood still faintly in the air, telling them about the family whose lives had been ruined because of Lord Dewanne’s carelessness.

Then it was his father again, his mother, and him, and, yes, Streak, a family that was perhaps not perfect but was still together, still whole, in the castle—his castle—in his province of Dewanne. His shoulders sagged, and that was definitely fatigue after the Confirmation, the banquet, the socializing afterwards, the visit to Sinch, and even this talk here. He realized that he hadn’t said anything, that his parents were still looking at him. His mother covered a yawn.

“I’ll be glad to have your help,” he said.

Volle’s smile widened. He glanced at Ilyana and said, “I think it’s getting late.”

She nodded and held his paw lightly before releasing it. She looked around at Streak. “Did you see Corris out there?”

Streak smiled. “He’d worn out three dance partners, last I saw. Would you like me to send him up?”

“If you would.” Ilyana smiled. “If he’s ready.”

Yilon rose. “I’m going to see Sinch. Spend the night there, if Incic will let me.”

“Let you?” Volle rose along with him, Streak standing as well. “Did you remind him that you’re his lord now?”

Yilon grinned. “He doesn’t seem to care much for titles.”

“We’ll be here another day or two. If you’d like company on your way back to Divalia, I can wait until then.”

Ilyana stifled another yawn. “I was going to suggest to Delia that she and I could travel together, but I think she does not want to wait as long as I want to stay. We have a week, perhaps two, before the passes risk being closed, and I would like to see this other city where my son is the Lord.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Volle said. He lifted a small jar from beside the bed. “This is the other thing we brought. I know you like them raw, but, well, at least they’re not cooked.”

Yilon sniffed, catching the bitter tang of locusts, overlaid with sweetness. Not honey, but a kind of flavored sugar. He smiled. “They don’t have those here yet. Are they coming west? Master Verian said they would.”

“Slowly. Another year or so. It seemed long to wait.” His father handed him the jar.

Yilon took the jar and fished one of the locusts out. “Again, thank you,” he said.

“We’ll have more time to talk tomorrow. But I’m glad we talked tonight.”

Outside, Streak made for the stairs, to find Corris. “I’ll see you in our room,” Volle waved to him, and then rested a paw on Yilon’s shoulder. “Good night. Give our best to Sinch. We’ll all pray to Canis for his quick recovery.”

“Thanks,” Yilon said. “And thanks for these, and for… for coming. It’s good to see you.” He leaned forward.

Volle took the hint. “We are so proud of you,” he said, wrapping his arms around Yilon. And Yilon thought, then, of all his father had gone through. Raising a son far away, so that the lord who thought himself the father would never suspect the truth. Writing a letter, which at first he’d thought was just his attempt to pawn off an undesirable son on a far-off province, but which in his father’s presence glowed with the light of truth. Bearing his son’s hatred toward the person he loved the most in the world. Traveling across the country as the weather turned cold, an uncomfortable journey at his age, to be at his son’s side.

He brushed his father’s muzzle in parting, letting the embrace linger before stepping back. “Good night,” he called as he walked back to his room to put away the jar of locusts. Volle disappeared into his room, leaving the castle quiet and nearly empty.

Yilon kept out one locust, which he turned over in his fingers as he walked down the stairs to the main castle hallway. It wasn’t the same as catching them out of the air, but his mouth watered at the scent of the fruity sugar on it. He held it up in salute to the portraits of noble foxes as he passed them. When he walked out into the cool night, he popped the candied insect into his muzzle.

The bitter taste stirred his memories, even coated by the crunch of hard sugar, but he only closed his eyes for a moment to savor it before opening them to take in the celebration still animating his city. As he raised a paw to the few foxes still dancing, swallowing the last pieces of the locust under the bright Dewanne moon, it was the bitterness that faded first, leaving only its memory and the taste of sweetness on his tongue.

 
Kyell Gold began writing furry fiction a long, long time ago. In the early days of the 21
^st
century, he got up the courage to write some gay furry romance, first publishing his story “The Prisoner’s Release” in Sofawolf Press’s adult magazine Heat. That led to a novel,
Volle
, and a sequel,
Pendant of Fortune
, set in the world of Argaea, both of which won the Ursa Major Award for Best Anthropomorphic Novel (2005 and 2006). His novel
Waterways
also won that award in 2008, and he has won the Ursa Major Award for Best Anthropomorphic Short Story three times (2006–2008). Other strange things he likes to write about include mystical decks of cards, superheroes, and sports; his novel
Out of Position
takes place in the world of professional football.
Shadow of the Father
is his third Argaea novel.