Fox and Faun

by Dani Smith

  “Oh,” she murmured, and smiled.

  Ashe crouched on the little balcony, his knuckles rapping softly against the glass. When he saw her appear, he grinned, and despite her shock, she felt her heart quicken at the sight of his gold-ringed eyes with the cheerful crinkles at their corners, his lovely straight teeth, and the soft spots of brown that banded his handsomely sculpted nose. He cocked his head playfully and his sleek black mohawk caught the blue moonlight making it shine like coal-crystals. She briefly wondered what it would be like to sink her fingers into that proud crest and grip it in an eager fist.

  “Iona!” Omnia whispered from across the room. “What are you doing, love? Come back here!”

  “It’s the faun boy,” Iona said, unlatching the windows.

  Behind her, Omnia’s eyes widened. “Ashe? What on earth—”

  Iona flung the windows open, stepping back as the night breeze whispered in, blowing the drapes back. Ashe rose to his feet, the chrome spikes and buckles on his Doomhand’s vest winking in the moonlight. He smiled, a little shyly, and bowed his head modestly.

  “I apologize if I woke you in such a strange manner, my lady,” he said softly.

  “Ashe,” Omnia hissed as she hurried to the balcony. “If you are seen coming in this way—”

  “We have nothing to worry about,” Ashe said quietly, never taking his eyes from Iona’s face. “I am her handler, after all.”

  Iona giggled, raising her hands to her lips. “Yes,” she said softly. “He is my bodyguard, remember?”

  Omnia rolled her eyes but turned away to let Ashe hop down from the little balcony and into the room. He had his pack slung across his back, and he gazed at Iona as he let it drop from his shoulder. Tucked into one corner of the flap was a blush-colored rose as big as a man’s fist, its petals soft like velvet. Iona stood waiting expectantly, her hands clasped against her breast.

  “Tell me you found it!” she said breathlessly.

  “I bring you good news,” Ashe said, slipping the rose from his pack, “but first, a little gift to brighten your evening.”

  He drew the long stem from his pack and held it out, his gilt eyes twinkling.

  Iona exclaimed softly, pressing the fragrant blossom against her cheek. She buried her nose in the rose’s fragrant center, inhaling its perfume with deep relish. She looked back at Omnia, who sat at the edge of the empty bed and looked on warily.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” she whispered, delighted.

  “Yes. Lovely,” Omnia muttered, squinting at Ashe.

  “It’s perfect,” Iona said. “Thank you, faun b—I mean, Ashe.”

  “You may call me whatever you want, my lady,” Ashe murmured, and she blushed.

  “I think Ashe will do.”

  She went to the vanity and tucked the bloom behind her ear, adjusting it with the easy delight of a young girl. Ashe watched this with joy and trepidation.

  “What do you think, Ashe?” she asked, smiling at him through the mirror’s reflection.

  “You are as radiant as the sun,” Ashe said softly. “So radiant that you must make the Sister Moons jealous.”

  “And next you’ll be saying that I bring the dawn,” Iona chuckled, gently brushing her fingers against the lush, fragrant petals. She turned from the mirror and approached him, caressing his arm with long fingers, and he shivered, despite the heat of the night. Before he could react, she had stepped forward, put her hands on his shoulders, stood on her toes, and kissed him. It was brief, but sweet. His lips were smooth and strong, and she memorized how they felt before pulling away.

  “Thank you for this gift, and for being so kind to me. But now I want to see my Jade and hear of how my people fare.”

  As if in answer, there rose a soft humming vibration at the bottom of Ashe’s bag. Iona stared as a brilliant green light swelled through the rough woven fabric. From her seat on the bed, Omnia gasped.

  Ashe grinned as he flipped the bag open and the Jade floated upward in all its summery glory, casting a pale greenish tint around the room.

  “Ah!” Iona cried, overjoyed. She stretched out her hands and the smooth crystal bauble floated into her open palms, as readily as a bird alights on a post. She brought it close to her breast, her face lit by that strange glow. Omnia rushed over and stood by Ashe, staring. “Ashe, you are some kid of miracle worker!” she exclaimed.

  Iona looked up at him, hope welling in her heart like a crystal fountain. “Did you see my mistress and my sister apprentice? Tell me now! Tell me that they are all right!”

  Sudden horror uncoiled in Ashe’s face. He reached out for the Jade, meaning to take it from her, and she stepped back warily.

  “Iona,” Ashe said. He looked desperate. “Please—”

  “They are safe, aren’t they, like your family? You promised.”

  Ashe’s mouth worked, but he said nothing, and she knew. Dread filled her belly, hard and solid as a lump of lead. Beside him, Omnia was staring at him, a knowing horror dawning on her face as she reached the same conclusion.

  “You … you promised,” Iona whispered before her gaze dropped back to the Jade where it sat cupped in her hands. The Jade flickered, its hum growing louder. Iona squinted into its flashing emerald shimmer, drawing all the magic, all her inborn power into her center and focused it to razor-sharpness.

  “Show me!” she cried.

  “Iona—” Ashe said again, stepping forward, reaching out. And she began to scream.

  ***

  Her voice made gooseflesh ripple his skin; Ashe couldn’t see everything she was seeing in the glass ball, but the terror that darkened her face said enough. The crystal flashed wildly, and as it did its green light seemed to fill her eyes. As her face contorted, like the face of a woman confronting some unimaginable horror, Iona began to shriek.

  It was a single word, over and over again: No, no, no, no, no, NO! The Jade’s green light flashed with each raw, blistered cry, and Ashe knew what she was seeing: the blood, the splattered brains and torn flesh, the limp bodies collapsing against each other. The fire blazing as bright as day as it ate up what remained of Yellowseed, of the silver orchard, of the monastery that had been her home and refuge. The orb flashed like a runaway heartbeat, sucking up her grief like the blood that spilled within it.

  By the time Ashe managed to knock the ball from her gripping hands, that one word, no, had melted into the howls of a gutted animal. Omnia enfolded Iona as she collapsed, sobbing, wailing. The Jade hit the floor with a sharp clink and rolled a few lazy feet, winking out as it did so. Ashe stared at it lying there on the rug, suddenly hating the damn thing. The rose tucked behind Iona’s ear shriveled, withered, and dropped to the floor, a mass of rotting petals.

  “Curses!” Omnia spat. Ashe opened his mouth, but no words came out. He watched Omnia press the tip of her horn gently to Iona’s sweat-pebbled brow, the pearlescent spiral shining polychrome as she whispered for her slave sister to sleep, just sleep. Iona’s blotchy, tearstained face relaxed and she went limp in Omnia’s arms, quieting at last.

  “I didn’t mean for her to see!” Ashe cried, gripping his fists. Then, as if reading the unicorn queen’s thoughts: “I didn’t kill anyone!”

  Omnia shook her head, blinking her own tears away. “Be quiet and help me with her.”

  Numb, Ashe lifted Iona and carried her to the blanket and pillow nest. She was small and light in his arms, limp, and he feared for her safety. He had never seen horror as he had on her face as she looked into that damned crystal ball.

  Omnia hurriedly tucked the blankets around the sleeping fox maiden and waved Ashe toward the balcony, snatching up the dark Jade as she went. She shoved the sleeping crystal into his hands as she unceremoniously ejected him from the room.

  “You’d best keep this safe until she asks for it again,” she hissed. “Shame on you, Ashe, for following Drake’s path!”

  Ashe shot her a frustrated scowl. “I didn’t kill a soul!” he snapped. “I am trapped here for my family! What
would you have done?”

  Omnia shook her head doggedly. “Your family is dead, Ashe. After seeing what that orb showed her, you should know that by now. Let that be your answer.”

  She slammed the balcony door shut with a rattle, leaving him alone outside with his thoughts. He looked down at the cold, dark green bauble, scowling.

  “I hate you,” he muttered before shoving the thing back down to the bottom of his pack.

  Chapter 13

  A week passed quietly. Iona remained shut in her room, locked away to grieve the horrors that had befallen her people. Ashe avoided her, but found himself pining in a strange, unclear way.

  Finally, one morning, the sun had just peeked over the eastern horizon when the doors to the Doomhand library swung open for the first time in ages. A small army of servants set to work, throwing faded drapes open to flood the neglected space with morning light, releasing innumerable dust motes to dance between bookshelves. The woody, almost-vanilla scent of old paper and the slight tang of moldering tomes surrounded Drake and Snow as they stood watching the hustle and bustle of dusting, rug scrubbing, and gas jet lighting. Snow barked orders to the servants as the chief paced the wide room, scanning the spines of countless books climbing the high walls. In his massive hands, Drake clutched a long slender box carved from ebony wood and inlaid with gleaming silver.

  “What’s that?” Snow asked, strolling up behind his master. Drake shrugged, almost shyly, a strange gesture for such a man.

  “A trinket,” he muttered.

  “Let me see.”

  Grunting, Drake handed Snow the box, who opened it, his pale face pensive as he gazed down. Slowly, he closed it.

  “She already wears your collar, Drake,” he said. “Don’t you think this is a bit gaudy?”

  “I’ll keep my intentions to myself, then!” snapped Drake, snatching the box back.

  “As you wish.”

  “Where is she?” Drake shouted, and the servants cowered away from him with their feather dusters and perfumed lamp oil.

  “She is being prepared for your presence,” Snow advised. “Patience, remember?”

  Drake grunted a sour reply. The servants, still rattled, went back to their work.

  “Tell me,” Snow began, strolling after his boss as the big satyr strolled around the library, “this library was your mother’s?”

  “Indeed,” Drake muttered. “She adored this place. My father, of course, found such activities to be superfluous.”

  “Your father was a warrior?”

  “Yes,” Drake growled. “Built this compound and ruled the city beyond with an iron fist. I endeavor—” He held one huge hand up and squeezed it aggressively into a fist. “—to do the same.”

  “I think you have succeeded,” Snow said, pausing in stride to admire himself in a gilt-framed mirror. “Fine wives, all of Shale City under your thumb. Your father would be proud.”

  “He would have been surprised,” Drake grumbled, fingering the long wooden box again. “My elder brother—long ago killed in battle—was his ideal son.”

  “And you?”

  “More like my mother. She was his least favorite wife.”

  Drake reached up and pulled a book from the nearest shelf, scanning the dusty cover.

  “So, you have read some of these?” Snow asked, fascinated.

  “Most of them,” Drake murmured, lost in some distant reverie.

  Snow cleared his throat loudly, and Drake looked up. “Your wife arrives,” Snow announced. Iona was standing in the open doorway of the library, gazing evenly at the two men.

  She wore a high-waisted white dress with a beaded purple sash, and a handmaid had woven her incredibly long hair into two thick braided plaits that hung down her back and brushed the floor behind her. She walked slowly into the library; her eyes averted. Drake grinned.

  “How fine you look, Iona dear,” he said. He looked at Snow, his grin deepening. “Go get Ashe,” he growled.

  Snow smirked to himself and turned, strolling from the library. He clapped his hands sharply and the cleaning servants scurried out after him, leaving Iona alone in the library with her husband and prison keeper.

  ***

  The moment she set foot into the big room, Iona was struck by familiar and much-loved scents: ancient paper, ink, the musty quality of tomes that had sat for years, just begging to be discovered. Despite these brief flutters of interest, her focus remained on the man standing before her and how deeply she despised him.

  Since viewing the horrors inflicted on the last of her people inside the Jade, she had resigned herself to her new life. Now, the only thing driving her was her hatred for her captor and husband.

  “How are you, Iona?” Drake asked, that too-wide grin still plastered over his face. Iona looked away, defiant, refusing to speak. He chuckled softly, a rumble among the dusty shelves. The sound made her skin prickle with gooseflesh.

  “I understand,” he said, strolling around her, the belts and buckles of his vest tinkling softly as he moved. “You’re still in shock. Torn from all that you love, all that you know—”

  “How could you possibly know how I feel?” Iona said, still looking away. “Look what you’ve done to me.”

  She gestured at her face, where the bruises were healing. Drake muttered something inaudible. “It was my mistake to treat you so profanely. I have a peace offering.”

  Her eyes darted to his face, narrowing suspiciously as Drake swept one big arm out, bowing slightly.

  The servants had set a table out at the center of the library, filling it with fruit, smoked meat, and fine cheeses that would have made the mouths of most Shale City citizens water. A tall crystal decanter of pale sparkling wine stood nearest her, and two filled cut crystal glasses twinkled in the morning sunlight coming in through the stained-glass windows.

  “Come, eat,” Drake suggested.

  “I’m not hungry,” Iona spat. “I do nothing for your pleasure. My family and my tribe are all dead. You have stolen everything away from me.”

  A shadow of anger crossed Drake’s face, causing his lip to curl. “Drink, then, as I show you all I have to offer you here.”

  Iona gazed at him narrowly. Slowly, she stepped forward and took one of the tall glasses. She sipped experimentally, and he joined her, grinning once again.

  “Do you like it? It’s the finest Pale in all of Shale City.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “I have long wished for a bride as beautiful and learned as you,” he rumbled. “You are my favorite wife, without a doubt, and all I own I wish to be yours.”

  “And what of Omnia?” Iona asked, raising her chin proudly.

  “She has become your bosom companion, I know.”

  “She’s become my sister. No harm will come to her?”

  Drake’s ember eyes gleamed. “Whatever you wish, lady.”

  Drake stepped forward and took her glass, setting it down on the table. Reaching out, his big fingers whispered across the iron and leather collar encircling her neck. She sucked in her breath, recoiling, and Drake smiled. It was more genuine than his earlier grin and infinitely unnerving.

  “All that I wish is that you provide me with some companionship,” Drake said, picking up the long black and silver box that he had been harboring. He opened it slowly and dipped his fingers in, plucking something up. Iona watched as he lifted a strand of tiny, perfectly formed lavender pearls that gleamed softly in the gaslight. “Not as a prisoner. Come here, turn your back to me.”

  She hesitated, only briefly, then turned her back to him and held her breath as his big fingers brushed her braids aside and fiddled with the lock closing the collar around her throat. There was a punctuating click and the leather and metal binding suddenly fell away, letting the bruised skin beneath back out into the cool air. Iona gasped, her hands coming up to rub at her throat.

  “Better?” Drake asked.

  “Yes.”

  He pulled the strand of pearls around her neck and
fastened them, where they lay against her chest in cool splendor. She fingered them disbelievingly, turning back to him.

  “Well?”

  “Thank you, husband.”

  Drake swept an arm out again, a gesture that seemed to encompass the entire library.

  “I offer you this gift, little princess,” he said grandly. “All that you see here is yours. Every volume, every page. I hope that you will forgive me for my earlier treatment of you, and the slaughter of your people. I have become boorish in my old age. I … owe you much.”

  He stepped forward slowly, looking down at her with those intense dark orange eyes, his tall black horns gleaming. He rubbed his fingers through his long, beaded goatee and then lifted her chin gently

  “You will be my heart and my love,” he growled, stroking a big thumb across her bottom lip. “Anything you wish is yours. You only have to ask.”

  Iona blinked, startled, as he bent to her, his dry lips brushing hers, his goatee gently tickling her skin. It was the first time he had kissed her so gently, a gesture that left her reeling with confusion. She closed her eyes and let him, her mind drifting back to Ashe. She focused on how he had crouched outside on her balcony, his gold eyes dancing, his look both boyishly playful and proudly fierce. How his lips had felt when she had stood on her toes and kissed him briefly.

  It was this memory she focused on as Drake kissed her, her fingers still clutching at the pearls encircling her throat.

  Chapter 14

  “Damn you.”

  Ashe sat on his pallet with the Jade in his hands, staring at the sleeping ball with petulant frustration. Ever since leaving Iona’s balcony the week before, he had been unable to look at the very object that had surely broken everything he had begun to hope for. Foolish, perhaps, but the feeling was undeniable. It was only this morning that he had finally awoken with a curiosity that was stronger than his disgust.

  “You love to show,” he muttered at it. “Fine, then. Show me your mistress.”