Volle (40 page)

If he focused just on the sensations, he found, he got aroused a bit, and could see himself getting excited enough to finish. He deliberately opened his eyes to look at her and inhale her scent, and thought about her rather than what was going on under her dress.

She was rather cute, panting and looking from him to the snow outside the windows and back again. He could see the twitching of her tail behind her dress, and smiled as he saw her enjoyment. His paws guided her hips, keeping pace, and every so often he gave a little push up with his hips, because she squeaked when he did that and seemed to enjoy it.

The experience was similar to his previous experiences, but the differences were interesting. Ilyana’s movements, even when fast, were much more leisurely. Most males (including Volle himself) would have been close to finished by now, but she seemed to still have a ways to go.

“Are you…okay?” she panted down to him.

He grinned up and nodded. “Just fine.”

“Going to…oh…” He figured she was going to ask if he was going to come, but she hit a sensitive spot or something partway through the sentence and never finished it.

For a few more minutes she rode up and down. His knot got a bit bigger, enough to feel her lips as he moved through them, but not much more than that. She started pressing down harder, driving him deeper into her, moaning loudly. “Oh! Ohhh!” He thought she was done, but she kept thrusting and the moaning kept going on, until he almost wanted to giggle. The whole situation seemed very comical to him.

Finally, her moans trailed off into little whimpers, and she looked down at him with a smile. “That was very nice. Very nice!”

He brushed her hip. “I’m glad.”

She moved off of him, and sighed. “You didn’t, though.”

“How—oh.” Of course. If he’d finished, he’d be tied to her. He hadn’t thought about that aspect of it.

“Do you think you could?”

“Maybe.” He nodded. “You surprised me, is all.”

“I’m sorry.” Now that she’d finished, her demeanor was different. She was no longer being driven by lust. “I just thought it would be nice to get some practice in.”

“You seemed to enjoy it,” he said. “That’s enough for me.” The small lie seemed to make her happy.

“You are sweet.” She leaned over to kiss him, and lifted herself off him in the same motion. “We’ll try again. Maybe when I’m in season, you’ll be more interested.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Um. We can’t really go back to the dance.”

“No,” she said, giggling. “Not with all those canids there. There’s a bathroom down the hall where I’ll clean up, but I think just my family’s waiting for me. Probably everyone else has left by now. You can go if you want.”

He nodded, fastening up his pants even though his member wasn’t fully back in his sheath yet. “I think I’ll say my goodbyes to Tish and Tika if they’re still here, and your family, and then go home. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been a wonderful day.”

“Yes, it has.” They kissed again, and he helped her off the bed. “Now, where’s this bathroom?”

He waited outside while she cleaned up, even though she said, “We don’t have anything to hide.” The awkwardness of their furtive lovemaking in the bedroom made him want to distance himself from it, and going in with her would only reinforce that it was really part of their experience. Besides that, he still felt shy about undressing in front of her. She cleaned up, and when she came out again, he couldn’t smell any of her musk about her.

“Here, use this.” She handed him a small cup of cream. “The lavender is pretty strong and it’ll cover any residual smell.”

“Thanks.” He went into the bathroom, where there was a cold cup of water. That got his shaft back into his sheath in a hurry; he almost yelped as he splashed it on himself. He rubbed the water into his fur, and when his teeth were chattering and he couldn’t stand it any more, he rubbed his sheath dry. Even the rubbing couldn’t coax his shivering member back out into the open. He added a bit of the lavender cream once he was mostly dry, and then pulled his pants back up and joined Ilyana in the hall.

She sniffed him experimentally. “You smell fine.”

“Thank you.” Because it seemed like the right thing to do, he offered her his arm, and she took it, beaming. They walked downstairs slowly.

Tish, Tika, and the Rodions were standing in the hallway. They all turned as the foxes approached them. “Ah, here they are. Interesting statuary up there?” Tish said with a grin.

“Fascinating,” Volle replied blandly, tail twitching just a bit.

“Everyone had a wonderful time, darling,” Katiana said to her daughter. “You’re a woman now. And you’re almost part of the family.” She hugged Volle and nuzzled him.

He returned her embrace with a smile and a wag of his tail. “I’m delighted to be so close to both of you.” Marcel was waiting nearby, and reached out a paw, which Volle shook. “You’ve a delightful vixen, and I consider it an honor to be courting her.”

“We’re honored to have you,” Marcel said. He released Volle’s paw and took his wife’s arm. “Lord and Lady Tistunish, thank you again for everything you’ve done for our daughter. We are in your debt.”

“Nonsense.” Tika said. “Your daughter is delightful and we’re happy to help.”

“Thank you both,” Volle said.

“You’re very welcome.” Tish bowed to him. “And now, I think we will take our leave of you.”

“Good night!” The wolves linked arms and walked out into the snow, where a servant scurried to fetch their carriage.

“I think I’ll return to the palace as well,” Volle said. “I’ll see you soon, Ilyana.” He bent and kissed her paw.

She smiled at him, and touched her nose to his. “Until next time, Lord Vinton.”

He bid goodnight to her parents and walked out into the snow. The servant was riding up on his carriage, and hopped off to open the door for him. Volle thanked him, stepped inside, and the driver whipped up the horses.

Before the first creak of the wheels, Volle had smelled wet fur in his carriage. He thought at first it was the servant, but then his eyes discerned a shape sitting on the bench in the corner. Xiller! was his first thought, but he saw immediately that it was far too small to be the cougar. The smell was wrong too: weasel, not cat. It took him a moment to identify, with his head still dizzy from the smells of the cotillion and the amorous vixen.

“Tella?”

“You stink,” she said.

“What?” He thought that maybe she meant that she could smell the vixen on him, but she didn’t elaborate. Her voice was rough and cracking. “Tella?”

“Your cougar’s dead.”

Chapter 17

The words slammed into him, unexpected and devastating. It was a full minute before he could work his throat open enough to croak, “What?” A million thoughts and hopes ran through his head. She’s mistaken. She’s playing a horrible joke on me. He set this all up so I’d be grateful when he got back. She thinks she’s telling the truth, but she’s wrong.

“They executed him. Last week. We just heard.”

No. “The southerners?”

“The Ferrenians. Us.”

He was breathing harder now. His hopes were fading, and the more he grasped at them, the more they eluded him. “Why? Why?”

He could see her eyes glittering at him, gathering all the light diffused by the snow and focusing it on him. She made an inarticulate noise, then ripped the words from her throat. “He killed Prince Gennic.”

The Prince?
Volle couldn’t make his throat form words.

Tella had no such trouble anymore, her voice spilling over him as though her declaration had been the stopper in a bottle of vitriol. “Your lover, Volle, ripped his throat out. Slept with you for a few days and then walked into the castle at Caril and killed the Prince. Nearly killed Prince Murron too. Did he mention any of that when he was sticking you in the ass? Or didn’t it come
up
?”

She yelled the last word, and the driver stopped the carriage. “Everything okay in there?” They could hear him dismounting on the right hand side.

“Don’t bother coming to the meeting next week,” Tella hissed at him. “Nobody wants to see you.” She skittered across the carriage and disappeared out the left hand door in a flash, seconds before the driver opened the right hand side.

“You okay in here?” His broad muzzle, striped black and white and flecked with snow, looked in with concern.

“Home,” Volle croaked. “Please.” Tella’s words had torn through him until he felt that only a few scraps of fur and muscle were holding him together. His throat was almost painfully constricted, and he was afraid that if he tried to say another word, he’d break down in tears.

The badger nodded. “All right. Home it is.”

The trip home was interminable. The carriage bounced over the streets, but Volle barely noticed. The air was cold, but he was colder inside. She had to be lying, he thought, but the emotion had been so forceful coming out of her that he couldn’t believe that. So it must be true, and in a stroke, he’d lost everything: Xiller, his prince, and his job. Maybe even his life. There was no chance they’d let him stay here after a mistake of this magnitude. And the Duke would get his mouthful of fox.

But he barely considered that past his first realization. He kept picturing Xiller, and he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of the happy, smiling cougar with the death he’d caused and suffered. He’d wanted to be a hero: how was assassinating a prince heroic? Or a cub? It didn’t fit.

Then he remembered that he’d been talking about how much he hated the Ferrenians, in an attempt to get into the anti-Ferrenian group, the one that had no doubt hired Xiller. Had he done any of that talking in front of the cougar? Had he helped him believe that his mission was heroic? His thoughts made him complicit in the horror. No wonder nobody wanted to talk to him. He barely wanted to talk to himself.

He started to sob, quietly, letting the thoughts melt away from him and just giving voice to his anguish. He called up his memories of the Prince, that noble and gentle cougar, and of Xiller, the sweet and lithe one, neither of whom he would ever see again. He wept for his country, losing a beloved prince in his prime, and he wept for Xiller’s family, who would never know what had become of their heroic son. He wept for Xiller, tricked into committing an atrocity, and he wept for himself, because his heart felt as though it had fallen to pieces in his chest.

When he looked up, the carriage was approaching the palace. He caught a glimpse of the snowy street down which the Lonely Cock was situated, and suddenly banged on the roof. “Stop!”

The driver pulled up, and Volle threw the door open before he could get down. “Hey!” he called, but Volle was already running down the street through the snow. Two inches had accumulated and more was falling still, but he paid no attention to it.

The bar was more than half full when he got there. Everyone stared as he walked in, dressed in his fine clothes and dusted with snow, ears back, tail down, and a wild look in his eyes. He looked around, but didn’t see the weasel anywhere. He was about to shout for him, but then caught the bartender’s eye.

“Helfer,” he gasped. “Lord Ikling. I need to find him.”

The bartender’s ears flicked with concern. “He went home half an hour ago. But Lord Vinton, you’re soaked. Stay and have something to warm you up before you go back. On the house.”

Volle shook his head violently, spraying the counter with snow. “No, I…have to go…” He backed away from the bar and then ran out the door.

His carriage was still at the gate. The driver was conferring with the guard, and both looked up as Volle approached.

“Lord Vinton, what’s the matter? You go off in the snow like that, you’ll get soaked.”

“Back.” Volle panted, gesturing towards the castle.

“Sir, your papers?” Volle had already climbed into the carriage, but the guard prevented him from closing the door. Blindly, he rummaged in his purse and thrust the papers at the guard. The guard, a deer he’d seen a few times before, scrutinized the papers and then handed them back. “Everything okay, Lord Vinton?”

Not trusting himself to talk, Volle just nodded and pulled the door shut. A moment later, the driver pulled through the gates and toward the palace. Volle pushed the door open as soon as the carriage had stopped and ran up the stairs, ignoring the startled foot-marten who only had time to reach out before Volle was through the door.

It was good that he knew the way to Helfer’s rooms so well, because he could barely see. His eyes were misted with tears and snow, and his nose was clogged as well. He didn’t clearly know why he sought out Helfer rather than Tish, but Helfer had met Xiller and Helfer knew him better, and it was Helfer he first thought of and ran to when he needed someone.

He opened Helfer’s door without knocking and walked into the parlor. “Hef! HEF!” He stood in the middle of the parlor, melted snow dripping off him, suddenly wondering whether he should go further into the rooms. “Hef!” he called again, starting to pant from the exertion and the emotions that threatened to overtake him again.

Caresh came into the room at almost the same time as Helfer, the latter with a short skirt on, the former in a robe, both looking very rumpled. “It’s okay, Caresh,” Helfer said, waving the fox away with a paw. “Volle, what in Gaia’s name is wrong? You look horrible.”

“He’s dead, Hef. They killed him.”

For a moment all he heard was his own harsh breath, on the edge of tears again. Then Helfer put an arm around his waist. “Come on in,” he said gently. “Caresh, some tea? And maybe a bit of something stronger.” He guided Volle into the sitting room to the couch.

Volle stopped before the couch. “I’m all wet.”

“Shh. Don’t worry about that. Sit.” He sat, and Helfer sat beside him. “Who’s dead?”

“X-Xiller.” Volle felt his body shaking again. “Oh, Hef, I could’ve stopped him if I’d just asked what he was doing, I could’ve kept him here and he’d still be alive. It’s my fault.” He felt the sobs welling up in his throat. “And he’d still be alive…” He had the sense not to mention Prince Gennic’s name, but that was the muzzle and scent in his mind as he said that last part.

“It’s okay, just shhh…” Helfer put his arms around him, and Volle leaned into the weasel’s shoulder and let go, soaking his fur with tears.

He sobbed until he couldn’t muster any more energy. Drained, he slumped against Helfer, rubbing his eyes and nose with a paw.

Helfer rubbed his shoulder. “Come on. Have a shot of this, then some tea.”

Volle lifted his muzzle as the acrid alcolohic smell filtered through his nose. He nodded and took the small cup from Helfer, and gulped the contents. Fire shot down his throat and into his stomach, making him cough, but the warmth was just what he needed, and it settled him somewhat. He leaned back against the wall, panting.

“Better? Okay, drink some of this.” Helfer handed him a cup of warm tea, and he lapped obediently at it. “Now, what happened?”

Volle took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked into the cup, where the tea swirled gently, breaking his reflection into many pieces. “Coming back from the cotillion…a friend told me…Xiller was killed on his mission.”

“Who told you?”

He hated the walls that went up immediately, preventing him from telling Helfer everything. While one part of him screamed to just say it, that it wouldn’t matter when he was recalled and his friend deserved the truth, part of him was already calculating how to stop the weasel from questioning further, and the latter won out. “Just a friend, Hef. Politics. I shouldn’t involve you.”

It worked. “All right. But do you know the information was accurate?”

“Pretty sure.” He steadied his paws around the cup as they started to tremble. “If I’d only done more…”

Helfer put his paws around Volle’s. “Listen, Volle. I…did I ever tell you what happened to my father?”

Volle shook his head, looking up at the weasel’s wide eyes. “What?” Then he recalled. “Tish said he was killed by bandits? I’m sorry…”

“It was two years ago. But…I was supposed to be with him on that trip. He was grooming me to take over in a few years. He was worn out from all the work he’d done here, and the people trying to get around him and through him. He wanted me to come with him so he could take me around Vellenland. But I refused. I liked it here, hated it at home, and didn’t want any part of it. And after I heard, I always wondered if maybe, if I’d been with him, we could’ve fought off the bandits. Maybe he’d still be alive.”

Volle blinked. “I’m so sorry.”

Helfer shook his head. “It’s done with. The point is, Volle, there’s no way I could have known. And there’s no way you could have known either. He was all grown up, he took his own risks, and you couldn’t always be there to save him.”

Volle nodded. “I know. But that doesn’t help me convince myself that I couldn’t have tried.” It’s my job to find out things, he wanted to say. I should have gotten from him that he was part of a plot against Ferrenis, I should have figured it out and stopped it.

But he couldn’t tell Helfer that, any more than he could tell anyone else in the palace. He lapped at his tea and leaned back, closing his eyes.

“Are you tired?” Helfer asked. “Want to stay here tonight?”

“No. No, I’ll go back to bed. I…thank you, Hef. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The weasel shook his head. “Don’t be silly. I wish I could do more to help you. I’m sorry for you. I liked him a lot.”

“Yeah,” Volle whispered. “I did too.” Both cougars danced in front of his eyes then, so he opened them. “Actually, maybe I would like to stay tonight. Thanks, Hef.”

“You’re more than welcome.” The weasel smiled. “Let me get a sheet for you. You can get those clothes off in the bathroom. There’s a light robe in there that probably won’t fit, but will at least cover you.”

“Thanks,” he repeated, and stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Helfer’s tub was currently filled with jasmine-scented powder, and suddenly Volle felt the need to be clean. He stripped his clothes off and then rolled in the talcum, sighing as he felt the powder work into his fur. He shook himself and brushed his fur off, then put on one of the short robes that was hanging on the wall. It fastened just below his ribcage and barely covered his sheath, but he was past caring.

Helfer had spread a sheet out on the couch when he returned to the sitting room. He slumped down on it gratefully, exhausted.

“Just call Caresh if you want anything. I’ll be right in there. You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Volle sighed and rested his head on the small pillow. “Thanks again, Hef. I’m glad you didn’t go.”

The weasel patted his shoulder. “Me too, fox. Sleep well.”

He fell asleep almost instantly. He didn’t dream at all, but when he woke in the morning, his pillow and muzzle were damp.

Light streamed in through the window. The snow had stopped overnight, and when he went to look, he could see the houses and streets carpeted in bright white. The street was already brown, dirtied by thousands of paws walking through it, and the snow there was wet and slushy. He looked at the people walking along the street and wondered how many of them knew, and how many would care if they did know. He wondered if he could see the inn where Xiller had been staying that last night. He wondered what he was going to do next.

He had to talk to Seir, despite Tella’s warning. She was the only one who knew the whole situation, and she might be angry, but she would listen to him, too. He would go and drop a note with her name in it, and see her tomorrow. He would have to see Tish, too, but he could do that maybe later today.

He gathered up his clothes and knocked lightly on Caresh’s door. The fox opened it and peered out.

“Caresh, Hef isn’t up yet. I need to go out, so I won’t be running today. Can I wear this robe down and send Welcis up with it later?”