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The Flame is Lit

Chapter 43

It had been six days since Echridge was beheaded.

Azrian sat on the balcony of Donica's royal bedchamber, wrapped in a snug red housecoat. Her long red mane fell over one shoulder and on her finger was the wedding band Donica had worn every day of her life since the day she married King Bastian - and even long after his death. One slender leg was crossed over the other as Azrian sat, sipping tea as she read a passionate letter from a young male named Jonathan Kingsley. The letter was addressed to Corene and implored her to rethink their "arrangement." The apparent Jonathan ended the letter by promising he would come to Wychowl personally if he didn't hear back from Corene within the month.

Azrian sighed and set aside the letter. She didn't have the heart to tell this Jonathan that Corene was long gone to Curith, but she dipped her quill, spread a bit of parchment, and began to write. As she was scribbling, Primus appeared beside the table and refilled her teacup.

"Have you decided who should replace Carnell?" he asked quietly.

Azrian sighed. "And it started off such a lovely day. The birds were singing. The sun was rising beautifully in the sky . . . and then you mentioned Carnell."

Primus smiled faintly as he set the teapot on the table again. He dropped a lump of sugar in her cup as she continued to scribble. "I know. But it's something you should give thought to. And soon. Carnell is not someone to be taken lightly. He will stand against you, and he is no politician. He is a soldier. He will not go behind your back, scheming and plotting. He will defy you to your face and before all the kingdom. And given his acclaim as a warrior, many will no doubt follow him."

"Stop it," Azrian scolded, frowning slightly as she wrote. "You're scaring me."

"What did the letter say . . .?" The Beauceron came behind her chair and peered over her shoulder to read. He shook his head. "No, what are you writing? Stop."

Azrian stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him. "Why? What is it?"

Primus shook his head again, and she gasped indignantly when he took the parchment from her and balled it up. "You can not write a letter to Jonathan Kingsley, informing him that you gave his lover to your brother in Curith. If anyone got a hold of such a letter . . . why the public would despise you. Corene was greatly loved. Here is what you shall write." He stretched a new bit of parchment before her and set the inkwell closer. "Tell Jonathan Kingsley that you believe her majesty ran away and got it in her head that she would be happy in Curith. Add that your brother is likely to receive her. If Jonathan is desperate enough, he will write to the king of Curith inquiring after his love. And if he is mad enough, he will go there to retrieve her."

Azrian shook her head and dipped the quill. "Let's hope he isn't mad . . ."

There was a pause as Primus watched Azrian write. She stopped writing, and he turned away. She couldn't concentrate when he stared. But she could still feel him staring long after he had moved across the balcony. She dropped the quill in the inkwell with an irritated flourish.

"Now what?" she demanded.

"Your cursive is terrible," Primus remarked. He turned his back to her and gazed out over the balcony. "You must practice your letters."

Azrian scowled. She had learned to write from Sampson and Nhlahla, who weren't the best teachers. Nhlahla had no patience for teaching and often gave up in exasperation when instructing Azrian in the names of the nine kingdoms and the nine gods. Sampson was a terrible writer and had never used the skill much anyway. He grew up on a farm, where he engaged more in hard labor than writing letters.

Muttering under her breath, Azrian dipped the quill again and went back to writing. At least she didn't have to worry about this Jonathan failing to recognize her writing. She had tried copying Donica's style once and just couldn't.

"I have put you in contact with a worthy candidate for the open place on the council," Primus said at length. He stood with his paws behind his back, gazing off at the sunrise.

"Oh?"

"I sent a letter to her in your name. She should arrive at Wychowl shortly. She has long been an advocate of fox equality. Her name is Audra Wutton."

"Fine. Fine. I need to . . . dammit. I dotted a T and crossed an I."

Primus sat beside her at the table, drew a bit of parchment to himself, and started writing the letter for her. Azrian watched with her mouth slightly open, though she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. She already knew Primus could read as she had once walked in on him sitting behind her desk, reading a book with spectacles perched on his nose. But she wasn't aware before that morning that he could write.

She supposed it made sense. Why shouldn't the Beaucerons know how to read and write? A slave that could read and write would under normal circumstances pose a threat - because then they could escape far easier, bribe their owners with precious information, or work as spies against their own masters. But the Beaucerons were not a threat. They tended to stay out of political mess and never succumbed to working as spies for anyone. They simply wanted to serve and enjoyed serving, and thus, they were not likely to rise against the masters they so readily embraced. The only downside of their servitude - to them - was the fact that they couldn't choose their masters. They had to go with whoever bought them at auction. Sometimes Azrian looked at Primus and wondered what he was like when he was a little pup, standing on the auction block, wagging his little tail.

"So what about Audrey?"

"Audra Wutton," Primus corrected without looking up. "A noble bitch of a very old house. One of the founding nine, in fact. She and Donica despised each other. You'll have to be a bit rude to her."

"What else is new?" Azrian muttered. ". . . wait. One of the founding nine? That means she's royalty."

"Yes. She's the twenty-seventh in line for the throne of Idria, I believe." He glanced at Azrian and his lips curled slightly in a smile. "So we aren't exactly dragging her from anything urgent." His lashes angled down as he continued to write. "As for Captain Carnell, you should write him a letter of dismissal today."

Azrian's ears pricked forward to hear the firm resolution in his voice. "Why? I thought we were going to move him, not dismiss him. What's the matter?"

"Some of the kitchen staff told me he's smuggled something into the castle. He's up to something."

Azrian pushed a paw back through her mane and slid down in her chair. "That's peachy. What'd he smuggle in? Is it bigger than breadbox?"

Primus frowned, though Azrian could tell he was holding back a smile. "This is serious. Whatever he's up to, it could put your life in danger." He shook his head and muttered, "_Both_our lives."

Azrian fell silent, listening to the quill scratch the parchment as Primus wrote. She realized for the first time that Primus was afraid for his life, not only hers. Really afraid. Beauceron slaves always stayed out of politics, never played spies, and as a rule, tried to stay emotionally detached from masters that were a part of political games and therefore prone to death. It was what Primus had said anyway. And yet, there he sat, helping Azrian with everything - putting his life on the line and helping her with so much that he might as well have been her king. She looked at him and smiled and thought he certainly had the heart of a king.

"What are you smirking at?" Primus wondered without looking up. He sniffed, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and continued writing.

"Why are you helping me?" Azrian asked softly. "I mean . . . you told me yourself that you try to stay detached because royal masters don't usually last very long."

"I said that?"

"Don't play stupid."

Primus grunted and frowned. Azrian watched his face creasing and wondered if she shouldn't have asked. She was hating her own big mouth when he finally spoke.

"I help you because I believe you are worthy of my help . . . because I believe you could make a difference. For everyone. Donica was my queen and I served her faithfully. But you . . . you are more than queen of Varimore. You are queen of the world."

Azrian listened happily to the affection in his voice and didn't know what to say. But before she could speak, Primus finished the letter, and dropping the quill in the inkwell, he rose up and kissed her softly on the forehead. Then he returned to the bedchamber, calling that she should come and get dressed.

It was a typical enough morning in the life of Queen Donica for Azrian. She had breakfast with Hellene at the incredibly long table in the dining hall, and the princess was very quiet and morose - for which Azrian was exceedingly grateful. They ate in silence, and Hellene - who had been very quiet since Echridge was beheaded - barely lifted her eyes from her plate. At last she looked at Azrian and asked after Etienne and if the queen was really bothering to look for him. The mastiffs didn't think so, especially Captain Carnell, who didn't even believe Etienne had really run away. The captain seemed to think Azrian had done something with the prince, as he seemed to think she had done something with Corene, and there was no convincing him otherwise. Azrian assured Hellene that it was nonsense, that Etienne had simply run away and Corene with him. Hellene nodded at her plate and believed the lies, but Azrian knew the rest of the court wasn't likely to. It was high past time to be rid of Captain Carnell.

After breakfast, Azrian held court in the throne room and presided over the different squabbles of the nobles and peasants. Hellene insisted on holding court with her and even occupying the throne at her side. She did not want to be alone and seemed to grow frantic from the very thought. Azrian wearily allowed her to remain at her side, and during one of the many rest periods, she was glad when Hellene finally left the throne room for a private moment.

The court mingled and lifted glasses to slaves for refills, and Azrian sighed, taking a moment to slouch on the throne and fan herself. She glanced up at Primus, who stood as ever beside her armrest. "Would Donica really have allowed Hellene to sit with her like this?"

"Yes, actually," Primus said without looking at her.

Azrian's disgusted eyes passed over the court. "Shit." She was stuck with her.

Primus smiled faintly. "It isn't so bad. It could --"

"If you say it could be worse, I'll wear your balls like earrings."

Primus laughed softly. "Well, it could. You could have her father tailing you. And believe me, you would not want King Louis here."

Azrian swallowed and was silent. That was true. After reading some of the king of Curith's letters to Donica . . . she was exceedingly glad he was not there. He would have sniffed her out in a heartbeat. He naturally knew Donica a lot better than Hellene did.

"I left another list of candidates on your desk after lunch. Have you chosen a replacement for Captain Carnell?" Primus asked softly.

Azrian smiled. "Yes, actually."

"And?"

"Cambridge."

Primus was silent, though somehow, Azrian could tell he disapproved. It was in the sudden tightening of his back. He watched the nobles drinking and chatting a moment before he said through his fangs, ". . . have you lost your mind?"

Azrian smiled, touching a slender finger to her lips.

"He betrayed you," Primus went on, still not looking at her and barely moving his lips so that the others wouldn't notice them talking. "He was a spy --"

"And is loyal to me now."

Primus shook his head. "No such thing."

"I have been to speak with him. He gave me every last spy still hiding in the elite guard. He was only spying in the first place to feed his sick mother. If I feed his sick mother, I can --"

"No. You can not buy a soldier's loyalty. Soldiers live by principle. If Cambridge firmly believes the foxes beneath us, he will not fight for you."

Azrian smiled and shook her head. "But that's just it. Cambridge is undecided about foxes. But he does want something I can give him, something I stand for and that he can stand behind."

Primus remained silent, waiting.

"Freedom," Azrian said, slapping open her fan. "I can give Cambridge the freedom to love who and how he desires. In a world where I reign, a male could be with a male, and no Creator would frown upon it. Dogs sneer at same-sex love. Foxes do not."

Primus blinked thoughtfully, and he was silent for such a long time, Azrian didn't know what to think. Finally, he smiled faintly and said, "All the world will fall at your feet one day, child of Skkye. As have I."

Azrian smiled behind her fan. "I've already had a letter of dismissal sent to Captain Carnell. He should have received --"

The doors of the throne room opened with a bang, and Azrian fell silent as Captain Carnell entered, smiling widely through what was clearly suppressed rage. Nobles murmured and heads turned as the big mastiff marched hard up the red carpet, tugging someone along on a leash. Azrian's fan slowed to a stop and she went still when she realized Captain Carnell was tugging along a fox. A female cub.

The child panted and sobbed to keep up with the captain's hard stride, and when she proved too slow, Captain Carnell would give her leash a vicious jerk that choked her and dragged her forward. She stumbled along, tears in her eyes, her white mane flying and wild. She was small and frightened, a white cub, probably captured on the border of Varimore. Azrian knew small clans of the white ones - Kutre's subjects -- were said to linger near the border of Curith and Varimore, roaming the countryside.

"Your majesty," Captain Carnell shouted jovially, waving an arm as he stopped before Azrian's throne. "And my lords and ladies, of course!" he added, giving the nobles a wobbling, sarcastic bow. "Since our queen has seen it fit to release me from her service, I thought I would bring her a . . . parting gift."

Azrian saw Primus frown deeply.

"What is the meaning of this?" Azrian demanded, her lip curling in disgust. "Explain yourself, or I'll have you escorted off the grounds with my shoe up your ass."

The court rippled with laughter, and so did Captain Carnell, who chuckled and nodded at the threat. The cub whimpered beside him, and he pulled her leash so hard that she sobbed and stumbled to her knees before the throne. Her mane collapsed in her face and she bowed her head, sniffling quietly. Azrian saw her pink nails curl in the carpet, and they were lined with blood.

"Why, I thought my meaning quite obvious, your majesty," the captain said jovially, though his eyes were snapping hatred. "It seems her highness has taken a liking to the savages. So I brought her one." So saying, he pressed his boot on the child's neck, forcing her to crouch before the throne.

Azrian's breasts heaved but she did not protest. Because Donica would not protest. But she didn't know how much longer she could last, watching him abuse that child. And somehow, Captain Carnell seemed to know it. His head was tilted down as he pressed his boot on the girl. He rolled his eyes up to Azrian's face . . . and it became clear: he knew she wasn't Donica. Azrian swallowed hard and looked down at him coldly, silently daring him to unmask her before the all the court -- if he had he nerve. Why should they believe him without proof?

"Would you like me to kill her, your majesty?" Captain Carnell hissed. "Kill her and take her pelt? Do you still love wearing gloves and wraps made of fox fur? Or have you forbidden those as well?"

"Have him removed," Primus muttered under his breath.

Azrian gestured for the guards to move in. They had started from the walls and the sides of the throne when Captain Carnell pulled his sword. The advancing guards halted warily, as with a menacing grimace, the captain pressed his blade against the child's head. She whimpered as the guards - who did not care about risking a fox child's life - continued to advance. But Azrian shot from her seat and shouted for them to stop. The guards couldn't believe it, but they obeyed, swords still held at the ready.

Captain Carnell laughed triumphantly as Azrian stood breathless above him, her eyes bright with fury and indignation. "You see?" he said to the astonished nobles, to the baffled guards, to all the court. "See how she protects the creature? My queen would be wearing this child's hide by now." He sneered as he shoved his sword in its sheath with a jerk. "I'm starting to think I shot the wrong prince that night."

A gasp went through the crowd and they began to murmur.

Azrian glanced over to see Hellene had returned from her private moment. She stood in the small doorway that led off the hall and to the royal chambers. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes went back and forth between Azrian - who stood breathless and angry - and Captain Carnell - who stood shaking his head in disgust.

Hellene looked at Azrian. "Aunty? What is this fool on about now?"

Captain Carnell's chest heaved. "Don't you see, your highness? That is not your aunt. It's one of those . . . vermin!"

Something seemed to sag in Hellene as she looked at Azrian, and her lips tightened.

Azrian scowled. "Do you honestly believe a word this fool has to say? He is simply drunk and angry that I have not only dismissed him but have written him off as a bad lay!"

The court laughed twice as loudly that time. Captain Carnell's auburn cheeks burned bright red and his eyes darted from guffawing face to guffawing face. "Shut up!" he suddenly roared. "Shut up, you fools! Can't you see?" He stabbed an angry finger at Azrian. "That isn't your queen! She's a fox! An imposture!"

"Take him away!" Azrian shouted as the laughter rose to the high ceiling.

The guards immediately stepped in, grim-faced as they roughly grabbed Captain Carnell by the arms and dragged him out. He twisted and fought all the way, still screaming at the top of his lungs that Azrian was an imposture.

Primus was still frowning deeply, and Azrian knew what he was thinking: Carnell knew too much. He had to die. The very thought left a bad taste in her mouth.

Hellene approached the throne and took her seat beside Azrian, studying her keenly as the laughter continued.

Beside herself with anger, Azrian ordered the fox cub taken to her chambers and cared for. Court then proceeded as usual, only now Hellene was straight-backed and alert, watching Azrian's every move and gesture, paying close attention to her every word, sometimes butting into a conversation to question her knowledge publically. It was all Azrian could do to avoid revealing her true identity right then and there. Hellene lifted her brows or grew laughing and impatient each time she managed to trip Azrian up, and looking into those glinting green eyes, Azrian knew the damage had been done. Captain Carnell had lit a flame in Hellene's mind.

She knew.