She hadn’t guessed that the two people she thought of most often, Giddon and Hava, had been downstairs, eating dinner, snooping. Not even knowing she was alive. How close Giddon and Hava had come to finding the queen’s rings, which Benni kept in the secret drawers of his desk. Then they would have known, and something would have happened to put an end to this torture.
* * *
—
The night the queen started throwing her letter opener against the window, a Friday, the fox was in his bed, feeling it happen. It frightened him to pieces. He strained to hold all the minds in the house and sense whether anyone overheard. At one point, that poor, miserable guard started up the steps to the attic and the fox went so far as to shout an undisguised command in her mind for her to run downstairs again. The guard had no idea where the sudden, urgent, panicked instinct came from, but she ran downstairs, which got her away from the noise.
Then the fox went to the attic room himself to put an end to it. He sprang upon the letter opener and held it in his mouth until the queen got her senses back. Her mind was more open than usual afterward; open, aching, unhappy, and vulnerable. She was thinking about that big, pale Monsean man, the one called Giddon.
Should I? thought the fox. Shouldn’t I?
It was the question he’d recently started asking himself: Should he, shouldn’t he, talk to her? Openly, no longer pretending? Since she suspected so much already?
Why did he want this so badly?
He decided he wouldn’t. He’d do something else instead: Bring her the small envelope that had fallen from Giddon’s pocket in Benni’s library.
The fox brought the queen the envelope to make her happy. To comfort her while she thought about Giddon. But once she opened the envelope and stared at the notes inside, a horror overtook her. She began to gasp, sob. He suddenly understood, with a flash of impatience at his own stupidity for not anticipating this, that she thought it meant Giddon was dead. That her captors had learned something about him, killed him, and, in this very house, emptied his pockets. It was the first time the fox had ever known the queen to be flooded with despair and it was intolerable, it was the opposite of what he’d meant her to feel.
And so he overwhelmed her with a different feeling, trying to make it seem like it was coming from inside herself, rather than from him: a clear, singing sense that Giddon was safe. That the envelope was a gift, not a message of anything bad. A treasure. Didn’t humans like treasures?
She calmed down after that. She dried her tears and looked at the little papers differently, with new questions, with wonder at Giddon for keeping them in a tiny envelope like this. She held them to her face as if they were precious. She tucked them back into their envelope, and tucked the envelope into the heat duct.
Then she stared hard at the fox, for a long time.
The fox wondered, as he wondered more and more lately, how any fox who cared about any human ever managed to keep the secrets of foxkind.
* * *
—
His seven siblings didn’t have a lot of sympathy for his plight.
Very, very late on the same night he’d brought the small envelope to the queen, he sensed his siblings entering the Cavenda house, then making their way to Benni’s library. All seven of them: Rascal, Rumpus, Lark, Gladly, Sophie (short for Sophisticated), Pickle, and Genius.
With a heavy sigh, the fox dragged himself out of bed again. In the library he found them perched together on Benni’s desk, gathered around the little drawers.
What is it this time? he asked them wearily. What can you possibly be doing?
We’re curious about these secret drawers, they said. Is there a hidden latch?
Why would you need to know if there’s a hidden latch? he said. Did Quona Varana send you here to steal?
No, they said loftily. Just to poke around.
He didn’t believe them. Why?
She didn’t say! Just for fun!
You should tell her you won’t! Humans aren’t supposed to ask their foxes to trespass!
You are NO fun, they said. You should’ve bonded to Quona, like we did. You could do it now, if you faked your own death. You know she lets us ride in her airship, don’t you?
He did know that, though he always tried to forget it. So?
So, our lives are much less stressful than yours! We never have to worry about sad humans in our attic who are dying or going insane.
That’s great, he told them, pretty sure they weren’t picking up on his sarcasm. Congratulations. Have you told Quona about the queen in my attic?
No.
I’m relieved you don’t just tell her everything, by default.
She hasn’t asked us about the queen in your attic, they said.
Wait, but if she did, you would?
Why not?
Well, how would you explain that you knew? Would you tell her about my heat ducts?
Oh, we’d find some innocent way, they said. Calm down, Ad.
If she asked, would you tell her I’m disloyal to my human?
Of course not!
HAVE YOU TOLD HER THE SECRETS OF FOXKIND?
OF COURSE NOT!
Are you sure she hasn’t figured them out on her own?
Listen, they said. Even if she had, it would be safe.
WHAT?!
She’s safe! they said. She’s not like your human! She’s not a danger to foxes! You’re the one who should be more careful!
She’s completely bewitched you! he said. She has you here, poking at a desk for no reason she cares to explain! And if she knows our secrets, then she’s a danger! Don’t you know the kinds of things foxes have done to humans in the past? Humans who know too much? He was referring to the stories of foxes who’d killed humans who’d learned the secrets of foxkind. All foxes knew those stories.
Those stories are apocryphal, they said. How could a fox ever kill a human? And anyway, NOW what are you suggesting? That we should kill the human we love most? That we’re capable of murder? What do you take us for?
He took them for a bunch of sloppy kits who were possibly drunk on too much love and happiness, and consequently capable of anything, but there was no point in saying so. They wouldn’t be able to see it.
Even if Quona spoiled me night and day, he contented himself with saying, I wouldn’t want to live in her house.
We don’t all, you know, they said.
Don’t all what?
Live in her house. She has more foxes than us seven.
What?!
She has one who lives at the Cliff Farm, they said. One who lives at the Keep. One who lives at the Varanas’ airship hangar. One who lives in the dormitories.
Why does she have a fox who lives in the dormitories?
Because she worries about some of the students. Especially one named Nev. Also her niece, Ta Varana. Also Lovisa Cavenda. The fox keeps an eye on them all.
What?! said the fox. Quona is especially spying on Lovisa Cavenda?
Yes.
The fox didn’t like this, not at all. Why?
Maybe because Quona is a student of human nature, they said airily.
But not just any human’s nature? Lovisa’s specifically?
Well, aren’t you also a student of Lovisa’s nature specifically?
That’s because I’m trying to keep her alive! he said. I have a reason! Will the fox in the dorms talk to me?
She’s a kit, they said dismissively.
The fox didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he’d sensed Lovisa creeping onto the Cavenda grounds these past few nights. He knew Lovisa suspected the queen was alive. What he didn’t know was if she appreciated how much danger she was in.
He told his siblings that the hidden drawers in Benni’s desk contained nothing but boring love letters from Ferla. It was a lie, of cour
se, but he didn’t trust them with the truth that they contained the queen’s rings. Then he waited for them to leave the house. After that, even though it went against every part of his nature to scamper across an icy city in the dark, the fox visited Quona’s kit in the dorms.
* * *
—
The kit lived with a girl named Nev, who was an animal medicine student.
The fox stood on the pavement outside. Did you see Lovisa Cavenda today? he asked, while the kit perched in Nev’s window, bouncing, knocking things over, excitedly peeking out at him.
Yes!
How is she?
Worried! Depressed! Gloomy! Wait! There’s a bug!
Then the fox had to wait while the kit disappeared, presumably having it out with the bug. He stood, shivering, with the tired pads of his feet in the snow. He could just barely feel Lovisa in a different part of the building, if he strained his mind. But she was asleep. That was good, at least, that she was able to sleep. The fox himself wasn’t getting much sleep these days.
I’m back! yelled the kit.
Could you tell me what Lovisa has been worrying about? he asked.
No, but can you believe that Nev has sex with a boy I don’t like? Almost every night! At the Cliff Farm! I don’t know why she likes him!
I’m sorry, said the fox. Humans can be very aggravating.
I wish he would get impaled by an icicle! said the kit. I wish he would get trampled by a horse! I wish someone would bite off his penis while he’s sleeping!
You’re not . . . going to do that, are you? said the fox, briefly diverted from his purpose.
Of course not, said the kit. I’m not supposed to know what’s going on. It would be a betrayal of the secrets of foxkind.
Indeed, it would.
I tried to convince a goose at the Cliff Farm to do it, but she was too stupid.
The fox, who considered a disinterest in biting off a human penis to be a mark of intelligence, tried to refocus the conversation. Is there nothing you can tell me about Lovisa?
Nothing really! Wait! I smell a biscuit!
Wait! Wait a moment. Why does Quona want you to keep an eye on Lovisa?
Mostly she asks me about Nev, said the kit. I’m supposed to report whenever I can and tell her if Nev is safe. But I also tell her if others are safe, including Lovisa.
Why would she care if Lovisa is safe?
I don’t think she likes Lovisa’s parents. She doesn’t like a lot of the students’ parents.
Is Lovisa safe?
How would I know? said the kit. At least she’s not having sex with a horrible boy!
This was a waste of time. The fox ran back home on numb paws, the journey long and cold. He climbed into his bed again, relieved to find the house quiet, no fox visitors, no new dramas. Ferla lay twisted in her blankets, stilled by the effects of a soporific tea that brought unconsciousness, but not true rest. She would wake with a spinning mind, trying to find her way out of the trap she found herself in, thinking confused thoughts about her husband, her daughter. Grasping at her options for eliminating the problem of the queen.
The fox shivered, unable to sleep. Like everyone else, he didn’t know what he was going to do. And he had the sense that he was running out of time.
Chapter Twenty-six
Giddon was going to jump out of his own skin.
Every moment he spent neither talking to silbercows nor getting clear, hard answers to any of his questions was torture. Quona had returned before he and Hava were able to get into the locked room in her attic. They needed to know what Mikka and Brek had discovered in the north. But Quona never seemed to leave the house when they were home, and no matter how many parties or dinners they went to—no matter how much they hinted or nudged—no one seemed to have anything relevant to share.
The night of Sara Varana’s party in the Keep, it was impossible to step into the entrance hall and not look straight up at the glass dome above. Impossible not to admire it.
“Do you suppose that if all the lights were out,” Giddon said, “one could lie on the floor and watch the stars move across the sky?”
“Whatever,” Hava said. “There’s Arni Devret. I’m going to see what he knows about the north.” And she stumped off, leaving Giddon unaccountably grateful for her roughness, because it kept him from feeling too much. His star question had been the sort of thing he would’ve asked Bitterblue. He’d said it without thinking, and he’d broken his own heart with it.
From Arni, Hava learned that more than a dozen prominent Ledran families had property in the north and maybe half of them had houses on cliffs above the sea. Giddon learned from Periwinkle that Mikka and Brek had gone north on foot. It had been one of Mikka’s exploratory adventures.
“Mikka invited me to join them,” said Perry, beginning to tear up again. “Of course I declined. I went out with them often enough to know how it would be: no clear agenda; no concern about the existence—or lack—of inns; climbing and slipping and sliding and all manner of nonsense. Oh, how I miss that fool,” he said, mopping his face.
“Do you know where they went, exactly?” asked Giddon, tactfully handing him a handkerchief.
“I do not.”
“Do you know what sights they saw?”
“Probably every rock between here and Kamassar,” said Perry, blowing his nose.
Suppressing a sigh, Giddon moved off to talk to Quona as soon as he politely could, not because he wanted to talk to Quona, but because Quona was talking to the Estillan envoy, Cobal. Not that Giddon wanted to talk to Cobal either, but he knew he should be curious about what they discussed when they were together.
“A poodle!” exclaimed Quona as he joined them. “Hello, Giddon! Having fun?”
“So much fun. What’s a poodle?” asked Giddon, who didn’t know the Keepish word.
“A mid-sized, good-natured, fluffy dog,” said Quona. “Cobal is trying to decide what kind of Keepish dog to send home to his children in Estill.” Then Quona went on to enumerate all the advantages and disadvantages of poodles relative to other breeds of dog, while Cobal smirked at Giddon as if enjoying the impatience he suspected Giddon felt.
It was that kind of night. And it was followed by that kind of week, for in the hopes of hearing the right clue from the right person, they accepted one dinner invitation after another. They got a lot of exercise, tromping around the city in the dark.
On Friday night, after an unilluminating party at the house of a Scholar rep named Dev Dimara, Giddon and Hava walked home together. It was late, and cold. Their route took them through Flag Hill, where the houses stood like small castles behind heavy gates. Lights atop some of the roofs cast a pale glow over oblong balloons.
“Fox report?” said Giddon.
“It’s a little confusing,” said Hava, “because I think a couple are taking turns.”
“Like a tag team of small, fuzzy stalkers?”
“Yes, exactly. For a while, we were being followed by this little one who hides dramatically behind tufts of grass, then leaps out and races madly to the next tuft. Then I didn’t see any for a bit, until we rounded that last corner, and then I saw old Smug Nose. Wait,” she said abruptly, her voice a quick breath and her hand catching his arm, pulling him off the road and into a stand of trees. He saw what she saw, a small form shooting down a staircase and onto the road ahead of them, but he didn’t understand.
Then the person glanced around. The hood of her coat dropped to reveal twists of hair and the flash of a worried expression in a dark face. It was that Cavenda girl, Lovisa, who’d found them snooping in her father’s library.
She ran off like a mouse.
“Why are we hiding?” asked Giddon. “Haven’t you decided she’s harmless?”
“I don’t know. It was something in the way she moved. She didn’t want to be seen.”
&nb
sp; “Any idea where she’s headed? Isn’t that the way to her own house?”
“Yes. But it’s Friday night and she lives in the academy dormitories, so I don’t know why she’d be sneaking home in the dark.”
“Maybe she’s the thief who stole the varane formulas,” said Giddon.
“Ha,” said Hava. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
The darkness grew heavier, the sky pressing closer as they walked. When Giddon felt moisture touching his face, he looked up at the soft, drifting snow and remembered a night, maybe five years ago, when he’d convinced Bitterblue to go sledding outside her castle ramparts. How much Bitterblue had been suffering in those days, from all the damage her father had done. How his mood had lightened when the sledding had made her smile, even shriek with laughter. Giddon had wanted more happiness for Bitterblue before she died. He’d wanted her to grow old and have the time to heal from the nightmare of her childhood, the time to help Monsea heal in all the ways she hoped it would. He would have helped her, with all his heart.
As they reached the last stretch of the path to Quona’s house, the Estillan envoy appeared before them, crunching through the light covering of snow.
His face brightened at the sight of them, with a cheerfulness that didn’t quite match the touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Good night to you, Giddon,” he said. “Good night, Hava.”
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