That’s all. Don’t worry. It was nothing; that was why she and Pearl and Heart had been lying to him about it since Tempest’s last visit. Moon looked at the other consort, huddled silently behind the queens. If he belonged to Zephyr…They should have introduced him. They should have done that before now. He said to Zephyr, “Who is he? Does he belong to you?”
Startled, Zephyr twitched her tail, but didn’t answer. She threw a pointed look at Tempest.
Moon rounded on Jade. “Why is he here?”
Her claws flexed again, and she said, “It’s not what you think.”
Moon snarled and shifted, took one bound to the edge of the well and flung himself off. He dropped all the way down to the greeting hall, snapping his wings out at the last moment to break his fall. He landed on the floor in a crouch, scattered startled warriors and Arbora, and shot through the narrow passage out through the knothole, so fast he scraped his scales on the turns.
Chapter Four
Moon ended up in the mountain-tree’s canopy, higher up than anyone usually ventured, hanging upside down by his tail. The branches were narrower here, barely a few paces across, reaching up to tangle and weave themselves into a nearly impenetrable barrier. Nearly impenetrable. Earlier when the rain had stopped and the clouds opened up, Moon had climbed up through the entwined branches to fly above the forest.
He flew up past the clouds, into the bright sunlight, feeling the heat of it on his scales. He circled for a long time, listening to the distant high-pitched cries of the skylings that inhabited the upper air.
When the sun had moved toward evening, the clouds closed in again, and he dropped back to the tree canopy. He passed down through the branches into deep gloom, where drifts of mist formed, obscuring the lower platforms. He hung from a branch, listening to the birds and the treelings trill and chatter around him.
By nightfall it had started to rain heavily again, and Moon reluctantly decided he would have to go inside. The water drumming on the leaves and wood was not only uncomfortable, it would conceal any sound or scent of approaching predators. While being eaten would end all his problems, he wasn’t quite ready for so final a solution.
He started down, jumping from branch to branch. Closer to the trunk, he saw a circle of light, and realized it was the outside door in the consort’s level. It was never left open.
This gesture, for some reason, just ruined what little sense of calm and balance he had managed to attain. Hissing with irritation, he dropped down to the opening and landed on the little ledge below the door.
He took a cautious glance inside. The soft glow of the shells reflected warm red glints off the walls, and the room was empty. Moon climbed in and struggled to pull the heavy wooden door plug shut, then shot the bolts that held it in place. It was an awkward job to manage alone, and standing there, breathing hard from the effort, he felt exhaustion settle over him like a blanket. He had flown much further than he had today, on less food, but the intense emotion was draining. He shifted to groundling, forgetting that his scales were still wet. The water shifted with him, soaking his clothes and making them stick damply to his skin. That was about all he needed. He swore wearily and sneezed.
“Moon?” The tentative voice belonged to Rill. She stood in the doorway that led into the consorts’ bowers, watching him worriedly. “Why don’t you come in here? We’ve just made some tea.”
The last thing Moon wanted to do was talk, and it must have shown in his expression; Rill hastily withdrew.
Moon leaned on the wall and massaged the growing ache in his temple. He wanted to go to his own bower and sleep, but from the sound of movement and faint voices, he could tell they were between him and it.
Resigned, he traced his way through the maze of the empty consorts’ quarters, his feet leaving wet prints on the smooth wood. The breeze from the open doorway had found its way through here, and the air was almost as damp as it was outside.
He found them in a little sitting area that connected four of the larger bowers, one of them his. He stopped warily in the doorway, but the room held only Chime, Song, Root, Floret, and Vine, seated around the bowl of warming stones. Everyone was in groundling form, and everyone was staring at him, and it was hard to imagine a more uncomfortable moment. He saw Rill slip out through the opposite passage, probably going to tell Jade that he was back.
Moon was about to walk past them to his bower, when Chime smiled tentatively. “The foreign queens are still here, but they’re down in the guest quarters. So, you don’t have to see them.”
Moon didn’t have anything to say to that statement, which was bordering on the nonsensical. As if avoiding the queens would help. Song, braver than the others, patted the cushion next to her and said, “Moon, sit with us.”
That seemed to break the spell of awkward silence for the others. Chime moved the kettle back to the fire, and added, “Yes, come and sit. It must have been cold out there, when the rain started again.”
Vine put in, “They say the first rainy season is coming on now.”
Floret took that up hurriedly. “Not big storms though. Just a lot of rain like this, usually in the evening.”
It was suddenly tempting, and Moon felt his resolve weaken. After silently raging half the day, it would be something of a relief to sit here and listen to them talk about the weather and pretend nothing had happened.
He moved forward and took a seat on a woven grass mat, his clothes squelching unpleasantly. Chime hurriedly poured a cup of tea and set it in front of him.
As Moon picked it up, Chime cleared his throat. “We wanted to ask you to talk to the new consort.”
Moon stared at him, too incredulous to react. Chime, his eyes on the dregs in the bottom of the teapot, didn’t notice. He continued, “He begged Tempest not to leave him here. We heard him.”
Song rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. “Think about what it’s like to be packed off to a court where no one wants you.”
Moon pressed a hand to his temple, fighting the urge to laugh.
“He doesn’t have to think about it,” Root said suddenly, with a pointed glance around at the others. “Nobody wanted Moon here, remember?”
There was a moment of appalled silence. Then Floret hissed and aimed a slap at Root’s head. He rolled out of reach, bounced up to stand in the safety of the passage door, and hissed at them all. “You know it’s true!”
Root had been one of those who hadn’t wanted Moon here, though he had changed his mind at some point. His insistence on saying exactly what he thought, without restraint, had always been annoying. But for once Moon was glad to have someone acknowledging the obvious.
Exasperated, Floret started to stand, asking Root, “What’s wrong with you?”
Moon said, “Leave him alone.”
His voice came out in a hard rasp. Everyone went still for a moment, then Floret sank back onto the mat. Root ducked down the passage and made his escape.
The silence stretched, until Chime continued, stubbornly, “Someone has to talk to the new consort.”
“You talk to him.” Moon drained his cup and set it aside. At least he didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
Chime looked up at last, his brow furrowed. “I can’t, I shouldn’t. I’m your friend.”
Moon pushed to his feet. “You’re going to need a new friend,” he said, and walked past them, through the passage and the door of his bower.
Once inside he stopped. He hadn’t spent much time in this room, and now he never would. He went to the basket and pulled out the old clothes that Petal had found for him back on his first day in the court, a dark-colored shirt of fine soft material and pants of tougher fabric. They had been mended and stained a little, and he wore them for exploring trips and hunting. Everything he owned was a gift predicated on him being the consort of Indigo Cloud, but a gift from poor dead Petal he was still willing to accept.