Shadow of the Father (11 page)

“Sheffin, your mother, and myself are the only ones who knew.” He shifted his gaze to her. She avoided his eyes. “Maxon now knows, because it was necessary for him to know. And now you know, because it is your right.”

He let another period of silence crawl by, because he honestly had no idea what to say to her. When it became clear that she would not speak again until he did, he rubbed his muzzle. “It gives me a better connection to this place. I wish I could have met him.”

“He wanted to meet you.” She lifted her head, encouraged. “I believe your mother kept you in Vinton as long as she did so that you would not develop a close attachment to Lord Vinton.”

“That worked.”

He’d let a little more sharpness into his tone than he’d intended. Her ears flickered. “She is your true mother, of course. But I hope you will think of me as your mother as well, in some way.”

He froze for a second, then forced his muzzle into a diplomatic smile. “Of course,” he said, bowing to conceal the ice in his eyes. By the time he’d straightened, he’d managed to banish it. “May I ask a question?”

She inclined her head, her own smile fading just a bit. Had she noticed his reaction? “Why did you and Lord Dewanne not have any cubs of your own?”

Now her expression became completely serious, and her eyes clouded over. “I was— I am not favored by Canis. Barren. Sheffin chose to keep me at his side rather than find a wife who could give him an heir.”

“He must have loved you very much.”

Both of them turned to the stone bust. “He did,” she said tenderly. “I am still discovering just how much.”

Her affection meant little to Yilon. She was going to leave Dewanne, and anyway, she was nothing to him, even if her husband had been his real father. Her unintentional reminder that his mother, his real mother, was an entire country away had solidified his resolve to take Sinch and follow her out of this valley at the earliest possible opportunity. When Maxon joined them for lunch, Yilon was still trying to figure out how to manage it. As it turned out, it was Maxon who provided him with the idea.

The steward told them that he had sent for Corwin, and for Velkan, who turned out to be the current governor. “Velkan tends to the day-to-day business affairs of Dewanne,” Lady Regent told him. “As you heard me describe to Maxon. No doubt you had a governor in Vinton as well.”

Yilon nodded. “A raccoon named Anton. He’d been governor since forever. Do you have any honey for the bread?”

“I regret that we do not, my lord.” Maxon reached out for a piece of the heavy, yellowish bread and sopped up the meat sauce with it.

“I brought some honey from Divalia,” Lady Dewanne said, “but it has been exhausted. Sheffin particularly liked it. I would like you to meet with Velkan. Tomorrow you can take the tour with Corwin in the morning and meet further with Velkan in the afternoon.”

“What kind of bread is this, anyway?” Yilon liked the taste, a sweet, rich flavor that reminded him more of thick vegetable cakes than bread.

“It is made with potato root.” Maxon indicated some actual potatoes in the stew. “They grow abundantly here.”

“It’s good. And this,” Yilon poked at the shredded meat, “this is goat, right? We ate that in Vinton, too.”

“Mountain sheep.” Lady Dewanne leaned forward. “I planned to have the Confirmation in four days’ time. If you prefer it sooner…”

“No, no.” Yilon took another chunk of bread and chewed pensively. “What about cakes?”

“I beg your pardon?” Lady Dewanne’s ears folded back.

“Cakes,” Yilon said. “Do you make cakes from potatoes? You don’t have honey. What do you have for dessert?” he said, when it was clear that neither of them understood what he was getting at.

“Your lordship,” Maxon said, “we farm a sweet tuber from which we fashion cakes and candies. There are vineberries and grapes which make for quite pleasant flavoring.”

“We’ll have dessert in a bit,” Lady Dewanne said. “May I have Maxon send invitations to the Confirmation?” Without waiting for him to answer, she said, “Maxon, please come see me after the meal, so we can arrange that.”

Yilon nodded. “One thing, though. I would like the mice invited to it.”

Lady Dewanne sighed. Maxon cleared his throat, laying his ears back. “My lord, I would strongly advise that you wait—”

“Am I not going to be their lord as well?”

“Of course, your lordship.”

“Then they should be present to see me Confirmed.”

Lady Dewanne pushed her half-finished plate away from her. “We cannot invite mice, not here. I understand your concern. Growing up in Divalia, this must be strange to you. But there is a very good chance that if you invite mice to your Confirmation ceremony, there will not be a Confirmation ceremony.”

“I will go prepare the invitations. My lady, when you are finished, please send for me.” Maxon rose in the ensuing silence. Only then did Yilon notice the leather satchel slung over his shoulder.

“You’re carrying the crown around with you?” Wheels turned in his head. He began to see a possible way home. If he could… with Sinch’s help… yes, it might work.

“As I mentioned to his lordship, this is a particularly sensitive time. Until the Confirmation takes place, it is best for the crown to remain on the person of a trustworthy, er, person.”

Yilon leaned back and made a show of appraising the steward. “But how do I know I can trust you?”

The steward’s ears folded back, his eyes wide. “Me?”

Lady Dewanne leaned forward to say, “Maxon is very dependable.”

Maxon must have been flustered, because he nearly cut off Lady Dewanne’s words. “Your lordship—your lordship to be—I have served the court of Dewanne for years!”

“Yes,” Yilon drawled, “but there was that incident back at the Muskrat.”

“Incident?” Lady Dewanne’s ears perked up. “What incident?” The softness in her voice had nearly totally gone.

“That,” Maxon said coldly, “was for his lordship’s benefit, as I have explained and as I hope is apparent now.”

“He tried to abandon my best friend in the middle of nowhere,” Yilon said to Lady Dewanne.

“There was ample transportation back to Divalia.” Maxon’s ears lay flat against his head. “Your—his lordship’s friend was in no danger.”

“Except of being abandoned.”

Lady Dewanne frowned. “Maxon?”

The steward took a deep breath. “My lady, his best friend is a mouse.”

She put a paw to her muzzle, turning back to Yilon. “I presume you now understand why that might have become a problem. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.” Yilon glared at Maxon. “He’s being taken to a ‘more appropriate residence’.”

“Oh,” she said. “He was the other figure… I thought that was your servant.”

“My lady, I was only thinking of the smooth transition of the title.” Maxon placed both paws on the table, the satchel swinging from his shoulder. “I did what I did in the best interests of the court of Dewanne.”

She favored him with a smile. “I understand.” To Yilon, she said, “Is your mind at rest now?”

“No.”

Maxon had given up appealing to him. “My lady—”

She held up a paw, her eyes still fixed on Yilon. “What are you proposing?”

Her gaze searched inside him for his secret purpose. He flinched, just for a second, then cursed himself for doing so. “I want to carry the crown.”

“My lady!”

“A moment, Maxon.” She studied Yilon. “Do you really feel that is wise?”

He spread his paws. “If you don’t trust me to keep the crown safe, how are you going to trust me to rule this land?”

She sat back in her chair, frowning. Maxon, too, looked taken aback. Yilon watched them meet each other’s eyes, communicating silently, and when they turned back to him, he could read their decision even before Maxon unslung the satchel and placed it carefully on the table.

“I suppose I need not warn your lordship not to treat it as overly valuable,” he said, “lest others note the attention paid and infer its value of their own accord.” Without waiting for his response, he turned on his toes and stalked out of the hall.

“You’re going to have to work with Maxon for a long time,” Lady Dewanne said. “You should think about how to get him on your side.”

“I’ll do that,” Yilon said, more focused on the delight at his plan actually working. At least the first part, and that was the hardest, in his opinion.

“He and Velkan will be your representatives when you are in Divalia representing their interests. So you will have to be on good terms with them, or things will be difficult for you.”

“I know.” He said it more peevishly than he’d intended, his mind already racing ahead to that night and the next morning. “I’ll have a talk with Maxon later. And I’ll see Velkan this afternoon, won’t I?”

She leaned back, rubbing her whiskers thoughtfully. “Yes, you will.”

“All right.” He put his ears up and smiled. “So, what’s for dessert?”

After a sweet cake topped with a sugary paste whose strange aftertaste Yilon didn’t particularly like, they repaired to the study again. Velkan was the first to arrive, a short, dry fox who deferred to Yilon during the short conversation, which consisted mostly of a recitation of current tax policies, a series of questions about relationships with neighboring provinces, and a list of issues currently under consideration for presentation to the king in Divalia.

He liked Corwin better, because there was no agenda behind their conversation. The plump old fox introduced himself by saying, “So you’re the new lord, eh?”

Yilon brushed muzzles with him and said, “I am.” The old fox smelled of mead and paper, and another male fox. Initially, that made Yilon wary of his friendly nature; he had experience with older males in Divalia who thought they knew right away that he preferred males.

But Corwin sat back, paws linked behind his head, tail swishing freely, showing no interest in Yilon at all, at least of that sort. “It’s a lovely little province, if perhaps a little stifling. We hope you’ll have the fortitude to come back and visit every so often, just so we know we’re not neglected. I’ve experienced the night life of Divalia and I know how hard it is to tear oneself away.”

His eyes twinkled. Yilon grinned. “I’m not much one for night life,” he said, relaxing in his own chair. “I have only a couple friends and we don’t go out much.”

“Oh?” What do you do for fun?”

Yilon’s tail swung back and forth. “We drink in pubs and practice our weapons.”

Corwin’s paw went to his muzzle, his eyes wide, though he was smiling. “Oh, my poor dear,” he said. “You are so young, and missing out on so much.”

Yilon laughed. “I suppose Dewanne is the place for you to show me what I could be doing.”

“Darling,” Corwin said, “I could show you such things here, your tail would curl and your fur would turn a lovely shade of purple.”

“As it happens, you’re going to be giving me a tour tomorrow morning.”

The sunlight glinted off of Corwin’s spectacles as he adjusted them. “I’ve already got it all planned out.”

“That’s the first thing I’ve looked forward to since I arrived here,” Yilon said.

“Oh, come now.” The older fox leaned forward, his baggy silk shirt rustling as he moved. “Being a lord isn’t all that bad. I know the Confirmation is tedious, but you’ve not even been to one yet. How can you have any idea how bad it is?”

“I have a good imagination,” Yilon said.

“You wouldn’t know it from your outfit.” Corwin clucked, leaning forward to rub a corner of Yilon’s leather jerkin between his fingers.

“That’s all right. First stop tomorrow will be a tailor I know, a divine little fellow on Market Street. He’ll know just what to fit you with.”

“Is that where you got that shirt? I love the shade.”

The light blue fabric shimmered in the light from the window. Corwin brushed it with a paw. “This shirt actually came from Divalia. A gift from the late Lord Dewanne upon my retirement. He was quite considerate, always. Every time he returned from Divalia, a gift for me, something for the castle staff.”

“I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“Oh, he wasn’t a terribly good conversationalist.” Corwin glanced up at the bust. “My apologies, m’lord. But he cared deeply about those around him.”

And how, Yilon wondered, did that include a scheme to deceive one family, betray a fellow lord, and raise a cub under false pretenses to be thrust into a lordship he wasn’t ready for? At least he could have had the consideration to stay his death for a few more years. But all he said was, “With you around, I don’t imagine he needed much more in the way of conversational stills.”

And Corwin laughed and said, “My dear boy, we are going to get along splendidly.” And indeed they did, talking until Min came to take Yilon to his chambers.

The Broad Room, on the northeast corner of the castle, looked out onto the east side of the city from one set of windows, the lake and the plaza from the other. His clothes had been hung in the wardrobe, except for one set of nightclothes that had been laid out on the bed. The other furniture in the room, a large desk made of the same dark wood as the desk in Lady Dewanne’s study, was completely bare except for two fountain pens. He placed the leather satchel containing the crown onto the bed, and stood there with one paw on the desk, looking out of the window.

“Is everything to your liking, sir?” Min said. When Yilon nodded, he went on, “I will come inform you when dinner is served. If there is anything else you require, please ring the bell.”

Yilon touched the cord, which hung from the ceiling near the head of the bed. “Are you to be my personal servant?”

“If your lordship desires it.”

“I was told a servant would be assigned to me,” Yilon said.

Min bowed. “Your lordship has the power to request any assignment, if he wishes.”

Now Yilon wondered if Min would be offended if he didn’t request it. He decided there was nothing he could do about it. “I will wait and see who’s been assigned to me. But if that servant isn’t suitable, I’m certain you would be splendid.”

“Thank you, sir.” The footservant’s ears flicked forward. He bowed and turned to leave, his tail held up at a jaunty angle.