Shadow of the Father, Chapter One
Chapter 1: The Steward of Dewanne
By the time the second month of summer had come and gone, the novelty of the locusts had faded, but Yilon still relished the bitter taste and crunch of them. They flew stupidly into the darkness of his black-furred paw, as though anxious for their short lives to be over. Volyan ate them cooked and honey-coated, but Yilon preferred plucking them from the air, like fruit from invisible trees. He wasn't the only one, either; most of the population of the palace could be seen crunching locusts when walking outside, even the mice, rats, and deer.
Yilon chewed on one he'd retrieved from his russet head fur as he walked beneath the shady vines out into the gardens. Despite the stifling heat, he still wore a full tunic, albeit a loose cotton one that breathed well. Volyan, he knew, would be wearing nothing but shorts as a grudging concession to propriety, one of many points on which they differed. Even if he'd had the older fox's developed physique and stature, Yilon still would have worn a tunic. Often he wondered if they really shared the parentage they both claimed.
For example, Yilon would never have missed a history lesson of his own volition, certainly not to lounge by the fountain in the garden and entertain a pair of airheaded girls. But that was the first place he looked today when sent to find his older brother. A number of lords had sought shelter from the heat in the shady arbors around the fountain, while the younger generation splashed around in it. Volyan was with neither.
If he wasn't in the garden, and he wasn't in their chambers, then he was likely down in the armory practicing his swordplay. Yilon slipped into a side door of the palace and took a shortcut down the two flights of the Rabbit stair to the lower levels.
"Held up in History again?" said a voice behind him as he stepped off the last stair.
"Oh, right." Yilon held out his paw. His friend Sinch, a short, smiling mouse, slapped it and then held his own out for a return slap. "Sorry, I didn't tell you. Father canceled my weapons practice today."
Sinch looked around. "There isn't anything but the armory down here."
"I'm looking for my brother. I'm supposed to bring him back."
"Oh." Sinch pointed up the stair. "I just saw him leaving."
"He wasn't in the garden." Yilon turned and hurried up the stairs, Sinch following.
"Not the garden. Out of the palace."
Yilon stopped on the landing. "Teeth and Tail," he swore. He pulled himself around the bust of a rabbit to run up the second flight, not bothering to quiet the clicking of his claws on stone. "I'm not going into that tavern to find him."
Sinch stood three inches shorter than Yilon on level ground. On the stairs, running up behind him, the mouse had to reach up a foot just to grab Yilon's elbow. "He might not have gone there."
"Of course he did," Yilon said, shaking free. He grasped the rabbit statue on the main floor and whirled around it, dodging between servants and lords on his way further up.
Sinch ran up in his wake. "Did he know your father wanted to see you both?"
"Probably." Yilon had already been thinking that if Volyan had found out about the meeting somehow, that he would've gone out of his way to avoid it. "I'm just going to see if I can see him on the street, and then I'll go back to Father."
The flight of stairs ended at the third floor corridor. Yilon spun to his left, hurrying past doorways until he got to a small archway on his right. He ducked into the shadowy space, not waiting for his eyes to adjust before finding the bottom of the ladder and swarming up. At the top, he whispered down, "All clear?"
"Clear," Sinch's voice floated up to him. He pushed the trap door open, flooding the space with light. Of course other people in the palace knew about the way to the roof, but Yilon liked pretending it was their secret. He clambered out into the shimmering heat, stepping aside immediately to let Sinch hop out. By the time Sinch had lowered the door closed, Yilon had already made it across the roof, peering out over the waist-high wall.
Below him and to the right lay the front gardens, filled with strolling lords and bustling servants. Around them rose the true palace walls, and beyond them, the bustling streets of Divalia. "How long ago?" Yilon asked as Sinch came up to his side.
The mouse rested his elbows on the wall. "Not long. Fifteen minutes, perhaps. He was leaving the armory, and he had on his vest, the yellow one, so I knew he was going outside." They stared at the street ahead of them. If Volyan had gone that way, they should be seeing him soon.
Light sparkled to Yilon's left, sunlight reflecting off the river. His attention drifted from searching for a fox in a yellow vest out on the street to watching a small barge float by. He wondered where it was on its way to, heading southward on the Lurine. Maybe Villutian, or Tistunish, or even...
He heard a soft whoosh and then the thunk of wood on stone. His ears flicked to catch the sound just as Sinch tackled him from the side, knocking him to the ground. "What the—" He struggled against the mouse, finally shoving him to the side. "Are you crazy?"
"Get down!" Sinch's eyes were wide. He pointed to the small object, a few feet from them, that had made the sound.
Yilon had seen plenty of things like this, had been handling some just yesterday, in fact. But the arrows he shot were fletched with pigeon feathers, not black crow's. He reached out and took the small shaft in his paws, turning it over. "It's not from the palace," he said.
Sinch shook his head. He hissed, "It came from out there! Someone shot at you!"
The arrow itself was perfectly ordinary. Yilon frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. Who would shoot at me? It got away from someone, that's all."
"It almost hit you!"
He closed his paw around the arrow, brandishing it as if it were a pointer and he a tutor. "Do you know how good someone would have to be to get that close to me intentionally from outside the palace? Besides, it's not a longbow arrow, and a regular bow wouldn't be able to shoot that far."
"So, what?" Sinch's voice was still high, frightened. "Someone snuck into the palace to shoot at you?"
Yilon tossed the arrow to one side. "Don't be stupid," he said. "You can't sneak into the palace. Well, <i>you</i> can. But you know what I mean."
Sinch continued to look fearfully at the wall. He crept up to it and peered over it. "There's rooftops across the way," he said. "You could shoot a regular bow from there."
The rooftops seemed too far away, but Yilon only had a glimpse before Sinch pulled him down again. "Let me!" he said.
"You're being silly." Yilon shook free of the mouse and brushed his clothes and tail off. Rather than look back over the wall, he strode quickly to the trap door. "I'm going back to Father," he said. "If you're sure Volyan was going out, I'll just tell him that."
Sinch hurried after him, with glances back at the street and rooftops. "I'm pretty sure," he said. "He never wears the vest."
"And when Father's done with whatever he wants to tell me, I'll bring a bow up here and we can shoot arrows at the rooftops. Okay?" He clambered through the trap door and down the ladder.
"Um," Sinch said, "I'm not sure..." He swung through and shut the trap door above him, plunging them into darkness.
"We won't hit them. That'll prove that it's just an accident."
"But..."
Yilon reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped back. When Sinch reached the floor, Yilon put a paw on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't worry so much," he said. "When we come back, we can maybe spend a little more time up there."
He felt Sinch relax under his paw, turning to nuzzle it briefly. "It was really disturbing," he said.
"It's the roof of the palace. It's safe." He patted the mouse's rear. "Now come on, I need to get back to my chambers or Father'll throw a fit."
They emerged into the third floor hallway, passing Lord and Lady Quirn, a bear couple who took up most of the space. Yilon squeezed by and hurried around to the Wolf Stair, sprinting down it with Sinch close behind.
"I'll wait for you by the armory," Sinch said as they reached the main floor. Yilon waved acknowledgment, dashing around the corner to his chambers.
"Sorry!" he said, throwing open the inner door. "I went to look for Volyan, but he took off, probably out at that..." He skidded to a halt.
At the desk sat his father, Lord Vinton, chair turned around to face the interior of the room. Leaning against the wall beside the desk, the breeze from the window ruffling his white cheek fur, his father's lover Streak, a wolf in a green jerkin and vest, watched Yilon with amusement. On the other side of the desk, a short, thin fox ruffled through a sheaf of papers, apparently oblivious to Yilon. He wasn't anyone Yilon had seen around the palace before, but he was dressed in traveling clothes: a leather jerkin with a faded crest on the front, loose leggings, and a small cap. And next to the desk, at one of the chairs around the small table there, his brother Volyan sat smirking, his arms folded across a yellow vest that was open enough to show off most of his chest.
"Have a seat," his father said, gesturing to the empty chair opposite Volyan.
Yilon glared at his brother. He took one step to the side and slouched against the wall, next to the doorway.
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 the 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 from curling around his leg. 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 still he 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 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 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 to 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. Volle lifted a paw and rubbed his whiskers. "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 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 up 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 cervine 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.