“Five,” I said. At first I’d only seen four. Distracted by the flood of emotions that always plagued me upon returning to the castle after a short time away, I’d let my guard down. It was my stallion—a sturdy, well-trained mount—who had detected the threat first and alerted me with nervous snorts—even outnumbered, the first three thieves fell easily, life ebbing from their eyes each the same hollow way. But as I turned my focus onthe fourth at my side, I’d left my chest defenseless. A fifth man had leapt out from the brush, taking advantage of my weak spot. The fact that a thief had got the better of me—I swallowed hard, forcing down the scorn, the shame of it.
The King’s eyes hazed as he turned back to the statue, and for a moment, quiet enveloped us again. Yet there was a firmness in the set of his jaw that told me he wanted to say something more. Fingers tapped on his thigh, lacking any semblance of rhythm or purpose. He was holding something back, but he was drunk, and that made him loose-lipped.
“Speak your mind,” I pressed.
A muscle twitched at his jaw and his fingers stilled.
“That wound,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Are you like her—like your mother?”
And there it was.In three and twenty years, he’d not once asked if I was a shifter like my mother. Notonce.Berating myself for pushing the subject, I turned my gaze back to the marble fox before us.
It shimmered as light hit its chest. Had Mother’s fox been white like the statue? Or, like my own fox’s form, had she been mottled shades of silver, gray, and black?The King’s line of questioning suggested he knew of her healing abilities. His consideration was reasonable, for though the slash struck too high across my chest to gut me, the blood loss alone would have killed a mere human.
Had Mother’s fox been a monster like my own? I pondered the question, comfortable amid the unsaid words that drew the King back to his uneasy tapping. Surely a King would not have fallen for her had she been any semblance of the nightmare I saw each time I caught my own reflection. No—whatever she was, I was nothing like my mother.
Perhaps it was rude of me not to give an answer, but it was better he didn’t know. And it was none of his damn businessanyway. It was too late for him to care, and he didn’t. He was only curious and drunk.
The King stilled in one anxious habit and turned to another, spinning a black band on his index finger. After a moment he removed it, sighed heavily, and held it up to a sidelong ray of light. "Your mother gave me this," he said, holding it out. I hesitated, then shook my head.
“You should have it.” He leaned forward, insistent, and nearly lost his balance. As he reached out to steady himself, the sleeve of his shirt pulled up revealing a band of intricate black design that wrapped his wrist.A tattoo. An unexpected risk—it was well known the chance of disease or infection was high from such a practice. It appeared fully healed—not new, then, though the starkness of it was bold against his skin.
With a sigh, I took the ring from him and he drew back, steadying the crooked crown atop his head.The ring didn’t have the cool touch characteristic of metals. It could have been bone, but I’d never seen black bone. Its surface was matte and intricately sculpted. Knots and hatches made up the design, with the figure of a running fox interwoven.
I clenched my jaw and held it back out to him. “I don’t want it.”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” the King scolded. He never lectured me, never parented me. His words brought an unexpected heat to my cheeks. Then he hiccuped, reminding me he had no ground to look down on me from.Still, he wasn’t wrong. If the ring was Mother’s, it was impudent to renounce it before her grave.
“Astraea is in one of her moods.” His words were no surprise, yet my breath hitched at the mention of the Queen’s name.
“Because of the festival?” I asked. It wouldn’t change anything to know, but the chill in my blood drove my responses.
The King grunted his reply.
Consider it the cruelness of fate, perhaps, that the day of my birth and Mother’s death coincided with Ayrenven. Even after all these years, the King spared no expense in preparations for the festival. It was not a jump to believe the Queen saw this as a way for him to honor his late mistress and what she was. Come the time of the festival she would veil her emotions and compose herself as she always did, hiding behind the guise of the great philanthropist that she was.
“She will be the air of royalty,” I said, my tone dull, edging on sarcastic.
I got to my feet, my legs stiff from the chill of the damp ground.I wasn’t scheduled for duty until midday, and I wanted to visit Nyana in the kitchens to see if she needed any help preparing for the festival. Though I’d only been gone from the capital a few days, I missed her.
“Neirin, there is one more thing.”
Gritting my teeth, I kept my eyes on the marble statue. “What is it?”
“Lord Raeran has requested a guard to train his sons. I’m sending you to Valio after the festival.”
I curled my fingers into fists. The only purpose I had was here in the capital. “A decision you came to this morning?” I challenged. Rion hadn’t mentioned it when I arrived the night prior.
As if picking up my implication, the King let out an exaggerated breath. He rose rather ungracefully. Standing before me, we came to the same height, though his crooked crown gave him another few inches on me.
“Remember your place,” the King cautioned, jaw set. His eyes, however, remained hazed by the alcohol.
I straightened, rolling my shoulders back. A curling twinge of panic took root, but I forced it down and remained poised. There was no point in arguing; it would do no good.
“You should sober up, Kaius.” I addressed the King by his first name, bitter emotion seeping into my tone.
The King flinched. It was disrespectful, even if I was half his blood, but I didn’t give a damn.I’d long since given up caring what my father thought of me.
2
