Shadow of the Father (46 page)

“I spent some time telling them about the events of the last several days, but of course, I only know parts of the story. Dinah knows a little more, but I think they are anxious to spend time with you anyway.”

Yilon’s stomach growled. “I have the ceremony…”

“We’ll dine with them, and then there will be a banquet tonight in your honor.” Lady Dewanne smiled. “And after that, there will be time.”

“Well, now that Yilon is here,” Dinah said, “will you tell me—”

Caffin knocked at the door again. “Come,” Lady Dewanne called.

And in came Yilon’s father, striding quickly forward, with the tall white wolf behind him. They wore matching formal blue doublets with flower decorations down the sleeves, matching gold pendants around their necks, and matching wide smiles. To Yilon’s surprise, his father stopped a few feet in front of him and didn’t hold his arms out for an embrace. Yilon fidgeted, trying to reconcile the old resentment with the unexpected feeling of warmth. He saw then his father’s upright ears, the proudly arched tail twitching, and the paws clasped behind his back, and realized that his father’s restraint was solely for his benefit. Hesitantly, he lifted his arms and stepped forward, pushing resentment aside and letting the warmth take over in a smile.

Volle’s smile widened. He stepped gladly into the embrace, bringing his arms around and his muzzle to brush Yilon’s ear. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, so softly Yilon was almost not sure he’d heard it. But then his father stepped back, with a quick brush of whiskers against his, and he saw the shine in his eyes and knew he’d heard right.

He folded his ears, trying to figure out how to respond, when he caught another scent. His eyes widened. “Mother?”

She stepped out from behind Streak, wiping her eyes, just as he’d remembered her. He didn’t recognize the formal deep blue gown, but the bright eyes, the slender muzzle, the happy smile, all those were like coming home to him. Nothing felt out of place about her presence in the room, nor her scent against him as he rushed to her arms.

“My son, Lord of Dewanne,” she said.

“Not yet.” He grinned. “How long did it take you to get here?”

“I left as soon as I got your father’s note from Volyan. We met in Frontier. I’m glad we’re in time. I was afraid we might have missed it.” To his surprise, the look she exchanged with his father was affectionate.

“Did Volyan come with you?”

She rolled her eyes while Volle chuckled. “Your brother was supposed to ride with me. The morning we were to leave, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I would be worried except that I heard from several people that he was at the Sheepshead until late in the night, with a lady on each arm.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to miss the carriage,” Volle said.

“He’s his father’s son.”

It was Volle’s turn to roll his eyes. Yilon said, “That sounds like him.”

“He cares about you,” Volle said. “He just has trouble thinking beyond…” He glanced at his own groin.

“The present moment,” Ilyana finished for him.

Yilon nodded. “I’m…” His tail was wagging back and forth, trying to drag his whole body with it. The bandage had been removed the previous night, and any small twinges of pain were lost in the moment.

“We heard what you’ve been through.” His mother placed a paw on his left arm. “Your ear…”

“We’ve heard some of it.” His father, on his other side, glanced behind him. “You can tell us the rest as you’re ready. And…”

Yilon turned. “This is Dinah. She might be Lady Dewanne. If she chooses.”

She stepped forward and extended her paw. Volle took it with a courteous bow, and then presented his muzzle to exchange scents. Ilyana followed, and then Dinah looked up at the large white wolf, who was waiting with his ears folded partway back.

“And who is this?” Dinah said. Volle spoke when Yilon didn’t answer. “Streak, my companion.”

Streak leaned forward. Dinah stood on tiptoe and touched her muzzle to his. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He took her paw carefully in two broad white ones.

As Dinah stepped back, she raised an eyebrow toward Yilon, which he interpreted as a question about the relationship between his father and Streak. The sourness he usually felt when thinking about that came to the fore again, but only as a habit, like a game he’d played as a cub for which he remembered the rule but had lost the drive. He gave Dinah a curt nod in answer, only then noticing Lady Dewanne, beyond her, regarding him with a thoughtful expression. He was about to say something when a small weasel walked into the room, dressed in the same deep blue finery.

“Yilon!” He bounced forward and took both Yilon’s paws in his, pushing his muzzle forward.

“Corris?” Yilon extended his own muzzle, sniffing the familiar scent.

“Came along as your mother’s bodyguard,” the weasel said. “Dangerous for a lady to travel alone these days. Not to mention lonely. Hello, miss.”

He bowed to Dinah, while Yilon looked at his mother, whose eyes were averted and ears half-back, though she was smiling. Dinah leaned forward to sniff muzzles. “Corris, was it?”

“Aye!” He beamed and nodded vigorously.

“Corris taught me all about using the short bow,” Yilon said. “In Vinton, that is. I didn’t know…” His mother still wouldn’t meet his eye. His father and Streak were watching her, amused smiles on their muzzles. She did meet Volle’s gaze, and her ears came up and she lifted her muzzle, smiling back archly. “It’s great to see you.”

“And a pleasure to see what a fine young lord you’ve grown into as well.” Corris bowed again and then hopped back to take Yilon’s mother’s elbow. “Are we eating? I’m starved.”

Dinah’s eyebrows asked another question of Yilon, but he just smiled and held out his arm for her to take. “Yes, let’s go to breakfast.”

Although he knew how curious they were, he didn’t want to talk about Kites, or Min, or Shreds, or even Maxon. The tale of his negotiation with Whisper was one even Dinah had not heard all of, so he spent most of the short meal telling that one. He tried to avoid mentioning Sinch, but whenever his name came up, he saw the glances his parents and Dinah exchanged. And then, just as the meal was drawing to a close and Caffin announced that they would be leaving for the church soon, Lady Dewanne, who had been quiet for most of the story, said, “So it was that simple. The bond between a fox and a mouse, down there and up here. A small gesture of love, to heal such an old wound.” Everybody fell silent. Yilon clenched his paws. He didn’t want to ask, but the longer the silence dragged on, the less he was able to remain quiet. “How is he?” he asked her. “Is he… is he still…”

“We’ve had no word today,” she said. “But Incic will do his best. Even if he could not save…” She looked down at the table.

“Corwin?” Yilon looked at Dinah and saw the answer in her muzzle. “I didn’t know…”

“Last night,” Lady Dewanne said softly, still not looking at him. “I asked Incic not to tell you then. There was nothing to be done.”

“But Sinch was still alive when he arrived,” Dinah said. “And they haven’t sent any word yet. Colian was to move Valix there this morning as well. I’m sure he would have told me if…”

Yilon nodded. He opened his muzzle to ask if he could go see him before the ceremony, and then closed it again. It would be better not. As long as he postponed the visit, Sinch would still be alive, still be close to recovering, and he would not want to find out anything different until it was all over.

The plaza in front of the castle was filled to bursting with carriages, all draped with green and silver banners. Foxes in finery and livery bustled between them, stepping into them and guiding them up the hill to the church, one servant standing by each of them with a protective umbrella. A line of soldiers protected the area just in front of the castle, where four carriages waited with open doors and attentive servants.

Lady Dewanne guided Yilon and Dinah to the first one, while Yilon’s parents walked to the second. An older couple stood talking by the third carriage, and then grot in as they saw the others embarking. “My parents,” Dinah said, seeing Yilon look at them.

He nodded, waiting until she and Lady Dewanne had stepped in before getting in himself. The footservant closed the door, but still it was several minutes before they were on their way. “We will wait until everyone else is seated before arriving,” Lady Dewanne told them, and indeed, by the time the driver spurred their mounts to movement, the plaza was nearly empty.

Later, Yilon would remember little of the actual ceremony, which passed in a blur. But he would always remember standing outside the church with the two vixens on either side of him, their clothes and fur bright despite the rain, and Lady Dewanne’s solicitous look as they prepared to enter. “Are you ready?” she asked him, and he knew she was referring not just to the ceremony, but to the memories thy both would face inside. He saw the loss of Maxon in her eyes, saw the tiredness in her whiskers, and he was reminded in that moment, as he would be in many moments to come in his life, of the burden of a lord, or any leader.

He took her paw and stood as tall as he could. “I’m ready,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”

The inside of the church, glowing with candles, was as different from the day before as it could have been. Though it was just as bright, the light came from the hundreds of candles, not the cloud-covered sun. The windows had been hung with silver chains which scattered dots of light all over the interior. Green and grey banners with the crest of Dewanne decorated the wall below the upper tier of windows, the musty smell of their ancient cloth a thick background to the main scent in the church: the crowd of foxes packing the stone pews.

They were old and young, rich and poor, tall and short. Their scents mingled in a dizzying palette, but the air in the church was designed to circulate, to make sure that all scents were exposed and none was hidden. Their fine silks and velvet filled his eyes with color. The low murmur of their chatter died down as they turned to watch Yilon enter, hundreds of shining eyes turned to him.

He would remember those eyes, and the eyes of the Cantor, standing at the altar in bright white robes and silver armbands, as they met his in silent acknowledgment before any words were spoken. He would remember the words of the oath, the promise to rule the province of Dewanne in accordance with the laws of the Church and the kingdom of Tephos, and saying out loud, “I will serve the people of Dewanne and our Father Canis with all of my heart, my spirit, and my life.” He would remember Dinah’s smile, when he turned to face the assembled crowd on his knees so that the Cantor could place the crown on his head, but more than that, the space she’d left between herself and his mother, holding her paw on the stone there. The weight settled on his head as he realized whom she meant to be sitting there, the thought of the mouse as painful as her gesture was touching.

The smell of the coronation robes, old and infused with the scent of Lords past. His mother breaking down in tears when the Cantor announced, “Rise, Lord Dewanne.” His father’s paw held in Streak’s large white one, while his other grasped Ilyana’s. The smiling vixen, whose name he didn’t know tears streaming down the sides of her cheek ruffs, both paws held out to him in supplication or gratitude. The deep bow of Caffin, manning the carriage, waiting for him, and the feeling when he said, “Tails down” and the servant relaxed on his command. The memory of Caffin and Min doing the same thing on his arrival.

And looking up just before he got into the carriage to return to the castle, at the rooftop of the building across from the church, seeing a small silhouette much more visibly than it needed to be, watching him. He raised a paw to it, but it did not respond. And that, he thought as he got into the carriage, was as it should be. He’d already received their loyalty, or at least the promise of truce; any more acknowledgments between them would have to be earned.

And then he was in the carriage again, and almost no time seemed to have passed. Dinah sat next to him, Lady Dewanne across from him. “How long do I have to keep the crown on?” He kept reaching up to adjust it.

“At least through the banquet,” Lady Dewanne said. “Afterwards, you may leave it in the care of the Treasury.”

“Lady Dewanne,” Dinah began, but the older vixen held up a paw.

“That will be your title soon enough—should you choose,” she added, with a smile. “I hope you do.”

“You’re still a lady of the land,” Yilon said. “You always will be.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Perhaps this one time I will not argue with you.”

Dinah leaned forward. “Will you—”

She shook her head quickly. “After the banquet. Patience, dear. There will be time.”

If the Confirmation had gone by in a flash, the banquet took forever. The castle gates stood wide open, with foxes walking in from the plaza where they were gathered in small groups talking. Because the banquet was open to the city, tables were set up in the great hall rather than in the dining hall. Yilon sat at the head table with Dinah, Lady Dewanne, and his parents, with streak looming over the cheerful Corris at the end of the table. Through the window he could see the residents of Dewanne strolling in. They entered the hall in pairs, unannounced, and found their own seats at the multitude of tables. Long after the last space was filled, foxes continued to wander in, but nobody seemed upset at the lack of a chair; they simply stood around and talked in groups, in happy, excited voices. Many of them, Yilon saw, wore the uniforms of the guard, and whenever he met the eyes of one of those, without exception, he received a respectful smile.

The footservants brought loaf after loaf of fresh bread in from the kitchens, and their ears and tails had a perky air about them as well. Yilon had eaten two pieces of the bread when his father slid a jar down the table to him.

“We brought this for you. And something else, too, but we’ll save that for later,” Volle said.

Yilon picked up the jar. His mouth watered immediately at the scent of honey. “Oh,” he said, and held it out to Dinah. “Try this.”

She hesitated, holding a finger over it until he held out a piece of bread. She dipped hers in, then brought it to her mouth as he dipped his own into the jar. “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes. “Sweet.” It hadn’t been that long since he’d had honey, but the taste transported him. He smiled down to his father and streak, who were both waiting for his reaction. “Thank you.”