Fox’s Tongue and Kirin’s Bone

The eighth week.

The princess blocked his thrust perfectly, turning his blade to the side with a clean follow through that sent him stumbling. When he turned to smile at her, she was frowning.

“This is stupid,” she said. “A real assassin wouldn’t be foiled so easily.”

“A month ago you couldn’t have blocked even that,” he said. “Now you can.”

“A month ago you didn’t know the alphabet,” she countered. “Now you do. But if someone gave you a letter and told you to read it out loud, you would be done.”

“It’s not the same. In a fight, especially with all the guards you have on hand, just a few seconds can—”

“It is exactly the same,” the princess cut him off. “If I were to be attacked again today, I might as well throw another water pitcher.” She sat on the crates by the hawkery wall, and petulantly pulled up her hood.

Aaron joined her. “I wasn’t born fighting like this. No one is. The only way forward is to practice.”

“The only way forward is to live,” she said. “Practice is tangential.”

He had to agree. He didn’t have to say as much, though.

“Do you know what they say about me?” she asked him, and the way she caught and held his eyes left little room for doubt. Aaron gestured, lightly, to his own face; to the left side, where the wine stain stood plain on hers. Her lips pressed into a hard line. It was an expression that didn’t belong on a child.

“They think I’m a changeling. The ugly, ill-tempered fairy child that was traded for their sweet princess. Did you know that I’m not allowed in public?” The girl gave a short laugh. “I mustn’t be seen by the common people, lest the rumors be confirmed. I’d never even be allowed out of the royal apartments if they could find a way to keep me in. Connor is given tutors, and trained for his military command; I am fortunate to be let into the library. Tell me, what stories have you heard?”

Aaron did not answer. No good would come of it: they both knew that.

The princess was rumored to be sickly. The princess was rumored to be disfigured. The princess was rumored to be lame, dim, lunatic, or some combination thereof. The princess was rumored to be of foul temperament, which certainly had some basis in truth. The princess was rumored to be a changeling. After all, who knew what Rose and Connor’s mother had been? They had been announced to the kingdom already a month old, years after the death of His Majesty’s only wife. Connor was well known to have the king’s look, so their father was not in question. But they’d not been castle-born, had not been watched day and night by guards and nursemaids. In those first crucial nights, when the souls were still new to the flesh, who knew what may have happened?

Aaron slowly spun the wooden blade in his hands. “It wasn’t just your brother the Kindly Souls came for. Someone paid a lot of money to put your name on that list. They wouldn’t have bothered if they didn’t think people would accept you as queen. So that’s an acknowledgment, there.”

First came a single snort: startled, and loud. Then the shaking shoulders. The girl stopped short of full out laughter, but it was a near thing.

Aaron kept turning the practice dagger in his hands, his face studiously blank.

“Attempted murder does not make me feel better,” she said, when she’d gotten herself back under control.

“Of course not,” he agreed.

“It doesn’t.”

“Just pointing out facts,” he said. “There’s at least one person out there who thinks you’re a proper royal.”

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. Her hood had fallen back down. If she noticed, she didn’t care enough to fix it.

He balanced the practice blade on his fingertip and gave it a spin. Casual as can be. “Have they figured it out? Who was behind the attack? Or how they got in, for that matter.”

Again she shook her head, all traces of humor gone.

There was quiet between them. She hadn’t asked it, yet. Are you one of them? It hung in the air at moments like this, but she’d never yet put words to it. Are you a Kindly Soul?

He could only hope that when she did ask, it was him she came to first. If she asked her brothers, or Lochlann, there’d be seeds planted that wouldn’t take long to grow, and a harvest to follow.

“Are you still blacking out when you get too tired?” she asked instead.

Aaron tried not to hesitate. He really did. “I think I’m just about healthy, now.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you still do.”

He shrugged with half a shoulder, caught unaware by the sudden change in topic. The practice dagger wobbled on his finger. He caught it as it fell.

She stared down at her own wooden blade. “Then you should stay. Until you finish healing.”

“You know I can’t.”

“You will be under my protection,” she stated, her shoulders set in a stately line. But she couldn’t even protect herself. That, they both knew. Aaron looked to the castle wall: up to the ramparts, where men patrolled. Lieutenant Varghese had peered down at them once or twice today, but had not joined them. He was doing so less and less.

The princess drew her braid over her shoulder and began unweaving it. Soon her hair was free. She tossed it back, so that it wreathed her face in a wild mane of curls. A changeling: he could see it. And would she even know if it were true? He’d heard of doppels that didn’t know the truth of themselves until their first change. Maybe it was the same with changelings.

“Do you care for me? Would you, even if…?” the girl asked, with large, serious eyes.

“Even if,” he replied, solemnly enough to satisfy even her. There was no need for more. Even if she were a changeling, a human, a princess. Even if, the too-serious child would be someone worth caring for.

He wished she wasn’t. He wished he didn’t. Everything would be simpler then.

“Then stay,” she said. “One attack isn’t the end of things. There will be more. I’ll die if you leave.”

It didn’t take a kirin to know she spoke the truth.

* * *

The ninth week.

He sought Lochlann out, before Lochlann could seek him. He found the second lieutenant on the wall. The dark-skinned redcoat stood with his elbows leaning through a gap in the parapet, overlooking Merchant’s Way. Below, the street was bustling: guild workers shouted, wagons clattered over the cobbles, and snow slid from the shingled rooftops in long, treacherous slops that took many a head by surprise. Wear all the armor they wanted, it wouldn’t protect them from water down the back of their breastplates.

“Lochlann,” he said.

“A caravan made it through the southern pass three days ago,” the second lieutenant said, not turning to face him. “First of the season.”

“We need to talk,” Aaron said.

“And yet, I can’t help but notice that you’re still around.”

“Please? Not here.”

The guardsman turned his head, and regarded the young man before him with a perfectly composed expression.

“I don’t like being lied to, Aaron.”

“Good,” Aaron said. “I don’t like lying. Come with me.”

They took a roundabout way of getting there; Aaron preferred to avoid the main hallways for this. Even though the place should be empty today, passing eyes could be curious, and this was not a conversation he wanted the whole castle to know of. Lochlann did not at first realize where they were going. Not until they turned from a little used servant’s hall, and rejoined the main passageway. The lieutenant stopped in his tracks.

“The council chamber. You can’t be serious.”

Aaron pulled open the door a crack, and checked inside. Empty, as it should be. It was only for council meetings and court that the room was used, and the king was too ill today for either. He opened the door fully, and held it for the guardsman.

“Where else would you believe me?”

Lochlann stepped inside. Aaron followed, shutting the door behind them and leaning back against it. He took a breath, and dove in.

“I’m not an assassin. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. I really don’t think it’s wise for me to be here, to be honest. But Rose asked me to stay, and I’m staying. What do I need to say to get you off my back?”

The lieutenant of the guard regarded him, a hand placed loosely on the hilt of his sword. Aaron couldn’t quite read his expression.

“So you’re not an assassin. How are you involved with the Kindly Souls, then? The woman who tried to kill the princess—she started to say your name. Tell me she didn’t, if you can.”

“I’m not answering that,” Aaron said.

“Why did you come to the castle? Was it really just for a job, or was there something else that brought you?”

“I’m not answering that, either.”

“Are you human? Strictly human?”

Were they back to that again? He hadn’t gotten any more or less human since the last time they’d spoken over bone.

He took in a breath, and let it out. “Listen. I just want to protect her. Please don’t cause trouble for me.”

“Did you know,” the guardsman said, “that you answer the same way standing on kirin’s bone as you do outside? It’s frustrating. Do me the decency of lying to my face, and have done.”

“I’ve been trying not to pick a fight with you, if you hadn’t noticed. We’re on the same side here.”

That answer only made the guard sigh. His hand slipped from his sword; he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a coming migraine. “It would be simpler if we weren’t.”

“She’d be dead, if we weren’t.” True. The two young men simply looked at each other. They were both redcoats now, Aaron realized. Lochlann in his guard’s uniform, still favoring his left leg over his right; Aaron in the coat the crown prince had gifted him, thinking him someone quite different.

“I don’t want her dead, Lieutenant. I don’t particularly want any of them dead. I’m beginning to prefer the opposite, actually.”

Lochlann cursed softly, but with enough sincerity to pass the dead kirins’ scrutiny.

“So you’re staying, then,” the man finally said. Aaron nodded. “Is it dangerous for you? The king seems to think you’re someone else. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

He didn’t reply. It was true: very true. But he’d really rather not confirm it, in a room where truth was final.

“I know what I’m doing. Mostly.” He felt compelled to add that last word. By the dead kirin or by his own stupidity, he didn’t know.

“Mostly,” the lieutenant repeated, in exactly the tone it deserved. He ran another hand through his dark hair. “You’re dangerous. More dangerous than I thought: I trust you, and I don’t know why.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” he blurted, and he knew that was the kirin speaking.

A moment passed between them.

“So she wants you to stay,” the guard said.

Aaron nodded.

“Then stay.”

* * *

The tenth week.

Duke Sung and his entourage arrived through the southern pass. They did not curve from there as merchants would, and take the longer road through the gently terraced eastern hills; they came straight on, tracing back and forth up the steep trail cut into the western cliff of the plateau. The only detour they made was an allowance for the fox’s forest, and it was only by the barest of safe distances. Aaron counted thirteen separate flags flying in their party. Leading them was the banner of Three Havens: a kirin argent springing on a field of red, its antlers branching above it, its heart pierced through by a spear of gold. The red background took on new meaning because of it.

The banners drew closer and closer to the city, then to the castle itself.

Aaron stayed.