THE FOX
THE SKY WASbloody with the setting sun by the time Ban returned to Errigal Keep. From gossip in the stables, he heard that his father had retired, drunk and without dinner, to his bedchamber—with not one, but two women. Aggravated but unsurprised, Ban made his way toward the guest wing, where Connley and his lady had been settled. He had a letter in his coat from Elia to her sister Regan, given over from Kayo as Ban left his mother’s house.
There was no such message for himself.
The afternoon had been spent discussing war in all its possibilities. His best place, Ban argued, was at Errigal, where Regan and Connley were.They trust me,he told Brona and Kayo, insinuating he might mitigate the duke’s urgency to act until Elia returned. None doubted Connley and Astore would face off for control of the island, unless they could be united against Aremoria, or brought to heel under Elia.
Elia as queen! It was an idea both appealing and abhorrent to Ban. She could be glorious. As a boy, he’d loved her generous nature, her ability to empathize with anything—her terrifying sisters, the smallest worm, even him—but would the crown of Innis Lear not leave her crushed and wilted under the weight of responsibility? And without Aremoria and the strength of Mars’s army, would she have the might to defeat her sisters? What would Mars take, in exchange?
But Brona insisted the alternatives promised worse. Gaela was believed to be strong and competent, besides being the eldest child and perhaps rightful heir, and her husband Astore was ferocious and his family a respected ancient line. He’d taken up residence already at Dondubhan, sending a very clear message of their intent. But Gaela ignored star prophecy—understandably, some said, because of the role her stars had played in her mother’s death. Her vocal disdain for wormwork and thenavel wells did not invoke confidence from the suffering families who worked the land. Many doubted that the holy well at Tarinnish would accept Gaela as its dedicated queen on the Longest Night. She was too martial, as singular thinking as her father, though toward a different power. No matter how strong she was, if the rootwaters refused to claim her, she would never have the trust of a majority of her people, leaving the throne weak and susceptible to sedition.
Regan, on the other hand, was known to understand the language of trees as well as any witch. The rootwaters would accept her, but could she rule? She was not trusted outside the Connley lands, and was considered to be cold and imperious in a way that did not endear her to or inspire the Learish people. However, she was the only of the two sisters to ever carry a child, and there were many who’d grown tired of the uncertainty of the royal line. She’d lost the babe—a boy—and two others before birth, but she had at least proved she could conceive. Gaela had been married for seven years with nothing to show, and Lear himself had never gotten a son, natural or otherwise. As for Connley, his reputation was strict, but his own people admired and trusted him; his justice was known to be fair, if swift, and where Astore was mighty, Connley was learned. He’d received a rather intense education from a variety of tutors throughout his childhood.
Ban’s mind had wandered to the grove of cherry trees, and to Regan’s determined pain, as she had laid out her body’s flaws for him. He could not ignore the instinct that Regan was a piece of the island, and it would accept her. Elia was all of the stars; she’d proved as much to him. But that had not always been so. Perhaps Elia could still bridge the distance between stars and roots. She had both in her, if she could only reject her father’s fanaticism, if she could see what Ban saw. He’d said, rather desperately, “Surely Elia embodies as much doubt, if not the same sort, as her sisters?”
“Elia is hope, she is possibility,” Kayo had said, and Brona had agreed. Because she had lived always at her father’s side, appearing only briefly as a star priest, she was a figure of speculation and wishes, not reputation. But there were rumors now, ones that Kayo had encouraged at home and abroad, that Lear had intended to name her his heir at the Zenith Court. Brona felt Elia should be present on the Longest Night, to stand before the holy well as the intended heir. And she reminded Ban that aside from Elia, the linchpin in the inevitable war between Connley and Astore would be Errigal.
The power of that earldom, with its iron magic and weaponry and standing, could sway the entire island in either direction. “That is why this business with your brother is so devastating,” the Oak Earl had sighed.
“It undercuts the reputation of Errigal,” Ban said, showing anger instead of the dark triumph he felt. “For the people don’t care that my father’s always been a brute, that he never leads, but only agrees and imitates the whims of Lear, because he’s friendly and generous, too. And so now they only care that there’s division between Rory and Errigal, a division that mirrors Lear’s sudden madness.”
“It’s unnatural,” Brona murmured. “Child against parent.”
“Parent against childyou mean?” Ban snapped.
“Either way,” Kayo soothed, “it is up to you, Ban, to remain true and canny. To be the Fox you’ve made yourself into. Help Elia as you promised, by bridging the break between Connley and Astore, while you have Connley’s ear—and find out more of their feelings toward Elia’s rule, what they might do if Morimaros backs her claim. I admit that as Elia’s uncle and also as Oak Earl, I would rather Aremoria remain an ally only, than a husband and conqueror. But it might come to that. And beware, Connley’s line is dangerous as snakes. I go to Astora first thing in the morning, because from my last conversations with Astore and Gaela I know they both want war, though for different reasons. Astore would like to crush Connley for their divisive history, and Gaela wants the test of battle, no matter the cause.”
“Do they not care that the island’s magic is fading?”
Brona had stared at Ban in surprise, then smiled with all the sorrow of a decade. “It will survive until the island unites again, under a crown of starsandroots. I do everything I can to keep it vital. Everything.”
He’d looked at her, and understood she meant all her choices as a mother, too. He knew, but it didn’t hurt less. “Regan Lear loves the roots.”
“She does not weave star and root together: she knows no balance in passion nor magic. But Elia knows the language of trees as much as the sky. You taught her, my son, to love the roots, and she also loves the stars. See?”
Kayo nodded. “She is what we need for Innis Lear.”
Ban thought of their certainty again as he knocked on the outer door of Connley’s rooms, the letter from one sister to another as cold as ice against his fractured heart. A maid of Regan’s retinue answered quickly, and Ban had only to say his name before he was ushered in to wait by a narrow hearth. Though he’d been prepared to state his purpose, the maid was only gone a minute before she returned: Ban was to join the duke and lady in their bedroom.
Though put off by the unusual intimacy of such an arena, Ban went in at the maid’s side. The girl slipped back out and shut the heavy door.
“Ban Errigal,” Connley said eagerly from the wide, raised bed. Woven blankets surrounded him in disarray. The duke was unclothed. Shocked, Ban darted his eyes across to Lady Regan, who stood at the ancient stone hearth in a loosely tied robe and held a goblet. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders.
Ban bowed stiffly.
The lady seem to float as she went to the round table and poured a third goblet of clear red wine. “Good evening, Ban,” she said in her cool, lovely, all-knowing voice.
“Highness,” the Fox murmured, as the duke too got out of bed, pulling a robe over his shoulders. He did not tie it closed, but let it hang in long, silky lines, framing his nakedness like dark blue pillars. Connley stood calmly and reached toward Regan, who placed the closest goblet of wine into his hand. Connley walked to Ban, and Ban struggled not to back away. He’d been near unclothed men before, but never one who used his nakedness like this, as a weapon. This was a message:You are no threat to me and mine; even naked I am not vulnerable to any danger you could present.
The Fox drew himself up and accepted the wine Regan offered. “Lord,” he said quietly.
“Join us, Ban. We’ve longed to speak with you outside your father’s rather gregarious presence, especially after the news my wife has given about your witch work.” Connley placed himself elegantly into the carved chair to the right of the hearth. The lord casually flipped the end of his robe over his thighs as Regan sank onto the arm of the chair, as straight-backed as the furniture itself, and as luxurious.
Ban sipped the light wine and sat across the hearth, doing his best to control how he moved and what his face revealed. He’d have rather knocked back the full goblet to relax himself in this sultry, unexpected space. The final rays of sunset carved burnt shadows against Ban’s eyes. Firelight flickered and candles, too, set onto the windowsills and in head-height nooks built into the old stone walls. This room was part of the old Keep, made of the ruins of Errigal, and appropriate, for it had been a Connley who’d first razed the place so many generations ago.
Regan said, “We missed you today.”
“I visited my mother,” Ban answered gruffly.
