I must see Garit. It’s why we came here—partly why.
We will go tonight, wait until tonight.
He worked for some time, slowly, making Accacia wait. Then suddenly Seastrider began to fidget and paw.
What’s the matter with you?
She turned her head to stare at him. Can’t you sense it? Someone—a speaking animal, Tebriel. Nearby.
Well, I suppose so. In the city—
No. Her ears twitched eagerly. Here, in the palace itself.
Stop twitching your ears; Accacia is staring. What animal? Why would a speaking animal come to the palace?
I don’t . . . A fox, Tebriel! Yes. A kit fox.
Can you tell where? Can you tell what it’s doing?
No. Only . . . She stood staring into emptiness for a moment. Only that it comes to . . . to see a friend, I think. Seastrider snorted and shook her mane. It comes secretly, Tebriel. By a secret way.
“Are you nearly finished?” Accacia said. “They will have let the lunch get cold. Or burnt.”
He went at last, following Accacia, his mind teeming with curiosity about the fox, and still filled with a pounding eagerness to find Garit. On top of these thoughts remained a stubborn picture of Kiri turned back at him, her dark eyes filled with knowing.
*
The fox sat before the queen waiting for her to wake, giving little panting huffs to make her stir. It was noontime, but this room was always filled with thick night. The lamp burned softly, sending a glow across his silver-white coat. His tail was bright white, bushy, and there was a dark gray streak across one shoulder where a knife wound had healed. His eyes were dark and intelligent, his alert ears thrust forward. He watched the queen sleeping with her mouth open, said, “Huff,” again irritably, then in exasperation he gave one muffled, sharp bark, glancing uneasily at the locked door. The queen opened her pale eyes, staring at him blankly, then smiled, so all her wrinkles deepened. She sat up in bed and tried to straighten the covers so he would have a warm place to sit.
He jumped up when she beckoned, pawed at the tangle of blanket she had arranged for him, then sat very straight and regally, regarding her with half amusement and half irritation. He could never be truly angry with her, but there were times she tried his patience.
“Did you tell someone about me?” he asked. “Did you tell Roderica? There was a trap in the passage tonight.”
“Oh . . .” Her hand flew to her mouth. “What kind of trap? Not . . .”
“No, not a killer trap. A box trap—but just as confining, Queen Stephana. Who . . . ?”
“I told no one. You know I wouldn’t. Oh, that terrible girl, she has been spying on us! Wait until I catch her, I will flail her.”
“With a whip?” he asked, hiding a smile.
“With words, of course. It’s all I have. Oh, please . . . you weren’t hurt?”
“Of course not. I sprang it easily, then fixed it so she can’t use it again. Of course, she will bring others.”
“Not when I’m through with her.” The queen looked completely undone. The fox thought it was the first time he had ever seen her truly concerned about something. He was touched and flattered. He settled down more comfortably on the nest of blankets, prepared again to try to change the queen’s stubborn mind.
He was Hexet, originally of the island of Kipa in the Benaynne Archipelago. He had escaped the island during Quazelzeg’s early raids. Hundreds of animals, and some humans with them, had swum the straits to Bukla and Edain and Dacia as Quazelzeg’s shipborne soldiers sacked the islands.
Some folk had gone back, and a group of animals and men had retaken a few of the islands. But it was a never-ending battle to keep the dark raiders out, successful mainly because Quazelzeg’s forces were now more urgently occupied on larger lands. The small islands of the archipelago had little to offer. They had never been heavily populated. Hexet, with a handful of others, had come to settle on the rocky, barren southerly tip of Dacia, hoping to help the resistance movements that were growing among the animals. He had once been a leader of many foxes and was known as Hexet the Thief. His small band had been constantly at work for some five months, stealing food stores from the palace and ferrying them, with the help of a few otters, around the tip of Dacia to the sanctuary of Gardel-Cloor, for emergency supplies. War would come, rebellion would come, but this war would not be lost through siege and starvation. It was one of the otters who had told Hexet about the captive queen. Curious, Hexet had found a way in to her. He had been coming ever since. He sat up now, studying her old, wrinkled face, seeing the defiance there. She knew very well what he meant to say. He sat as straight and tall as he could manage and fixed her with a look of authority.
She stared back at him, her own demeanor powerful in spite of her ragged, unkempt condition, in spite of her illness and weakness. A reminder of her true nature looked out for that instant, queenly and austere. “Can we not just talk? Can you not simply tell me tales of the fox nation? Do we have to go through this argument every time?”
“We would not have to argue at all if you would be reasonable.”
“Or if you would be civil and remember your manners. One does not defy a queen.”
“I defy you,” he said softly, his dark eyes gleaming and his sharp teeth showing in a quick snarl. “We must join together, all of us must, if we are to save Tirror.”
“I can save nothing. I am a sick, helpless old woman and I want only to be left alone.”
“You could save more than you know. If you would try. If you cared.”
“I can do nothing. I am alone; those skills are dead and would be of no use anyway without— No one can fight alone.”
“You are not alone. The hostages from Merviden have risen, Queen Stephana. They have retaken two cities. The underground forces move strongly in the nations of the Nasden Confederacy. You could help them if you cared. You could help Dacia. You still have power; you know you do. Though it may not be as strong as it once was.
“My brothers work with the rebels, Queen Stephana. The foxes, the otters and wolves, and the great cats. Many of us have died. You could help us. You could save many.” He knew her weakness. He moved forward over the tangle of blankets, put aside his dignity, and lay down with his head in her lap. As she stroked his lush silvery coat, her face softened. She touched the soft white fur under his chin with one finger.
“They have died,” he said. “Many foxes have died slowly, in pain, the same as human children have died.”
He stayed a long time, letting her stroke him, telling her of atrocities to humans and animals—though it was the pain of the animals that touched her. She had long ago put away from herself much empathy for humankind—as if the world of humans as she knew it, the king perhaps, had betrayed her beyond redeeming. He left in a flash when he heard Roderica’s key in the door, then waited far down the passage in darkness.
Roderica discovered the trap and shouted out with fury before she remembered herself and withdrew into a protective calm. She didn’t care. It didn’t make any difference; she didn’t want to fuss around with a dirty fox, anyway. She listened to the queen’s scolding without emotion, agreed with her that she had done a bad thing, said she wouldn’t do it again. Afterward she went on up to the small dining chamber feeling tired and dull. Accacia’s entourage had returned. Accacia was waiting for her, tapping her foot. Prince Tebmund and Prince Abisha stood talking together in a corner. Roderica had passed the newly arrived captains from the north as they entered the larger dining hall to take private lunch with the king.