Volle (49 page)

Volle’s paws worked. “I wish I could be doing it myself.”

“You’d best leave those thoughts behind.” Tish growled softly. “If there were a way to satisfy the Ferrenians and leave Prewitt alive, I would have found it. They demanded a death in return for Prince Gennic’s. This has nothing to do with your cougar, as much as his death might be worthy of vengeance as well. All right?”

Volle nodded grudgingly. Tish went on. “I believe the king will have little difficulty figuring out why Prewitt was killed. Security at the palace will be a little tighter for a while, but I think we can all live with that in exchange for some safety, don’t you?”

“I don’t want him to be forgotten.”

Tish tilted his muzzle again. “Do you have something in mind?”

“No. Yes. How…how would I buy a statue from the park and move it into the garden?”

Tish shrugged. “Ask the King. If he requests the statue from the city, they’ll give it to him. It’s just a matter of whether he’ll want to go to the trouble of moving it.”

“I’ll handle all that.” The statue would be enough. He relaxed, felt his paws unclench.

“He’ll probably allow it, then. If you need me to, I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Volle smiled. “Thanks.”

“Anything else, before I go tell the Rodions that you are alive and well?”

Volle paused. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“Standard procedure. If you were caught early on, or proved to be unsuitable for the job, you couldn’t give me away if you didn’t know I was working with you.”

The mention of his inexperience and unsuitability now raised no more annoyance than the bite of a stinging fly. He brushed it off, secure in the confidence that he had done his job. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to keep me from getting caught if I knew I could work with you?”

Tish smiled. “Perhaps. But I won’t be here forever. In perhaps another ten years, I would like to retire and leave the Tistunish duties to my son, the governor. And I needed to be sure that my replacement could handle himself without my help.”

Volle blinked. “Your what?”

“You don’t think Avery would let me retire without a successor in place, do you?” He smiled. “He’d chew my tail off first.”

Volle laughed nervously. “He threatened other parts of me.”

“I bet he did.”

“I don’t think I could ever replace you, though, Tish.”

The wolf got up and put a paw on his shoulder. “We would not be having this conversation if I didn’t think you can, and will.” He smiled. “Now get up and get dressed. We have a wedding to arrange.”

Volle winced. “I’d rather sit here hung over in my own vomit, thank you.”

Tish roared with laughter and clapped Volle on the back, lightly. Volle held his ears in pain. “Come on, boy. It won’t be as bad as the cotillion, I promise. And you’ll never have to sleep with her again, if you’re lucky. Good Canis, did I really just say that?” He chuckled and extended a paw.

Forcing a smile, Volle took the paw, and stood, holding the blanket around him. He eyed the pool of vomit on the floor. “I suppose it would be polite for me to clean that up.”

“Think like a noble, boy. That’s what servants are for.”

Volle tilted his muzzle. “Welcis isn’t here.”

“They have servants upstairs. We’ll give the Rodions a gold Royal for the trouble, and they’ll be happy to have their servants clean up here.”

“Okay.” Volle stood, hesitating, the blanket held to his midsection.

Tish looked at the blanket and then down at Volle’s pants, on the floor. “Why don’t I wait outside for you?”

“Thanks. And, Tish…thanks.”

The wolf smiled. “It’s entirely selfish, I assure you.” His eyes twinkled. “I look forward to an early and indolent retirement.”

“I’ll do my best,” Volle said softly. Tish waved, and then left quickly, closing the door behind him.

Volle skirted the mess on the floor and picked up his pants. He dressed quickly, but stood in thought for a moment by the dresser, massaging his head. Then he looked up at the ceiling, toward the room where his future wife waited for him. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders and went outside, to fulfill his duties.

Chapter 23

The Lonely Cock was about half full. Volle sat in a shadowy corner, nursing an ale, watching a sandy-furred wolf at the bar. He was cute, and he’d been sitting there for twenty minutes waiting for someone. For the last ten minutes he’d been looking more and more agitated, and now he just looked resigned. his ears and tail drooping. He was awfully cute; Volle saw several other patrons trying to catch his eye, without much success.

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to start anything. He wished Helfer were here; then there wouldn’t be any doubt. But Helfer wouldn’t be back for another day or two, probably, and Lord Black hadn’t come with him this time, and he was feeling lonely. He studied the wolf’s shirt and well-worn cloak. Probably a young farmer in town, or an artisan’s apprentice. His fur looked scruffy and there was dirt on his clothes.

In the course of looking around, he caught Volle’s eye and stared. Volle blinked, and then supposed that there must be some reflection off his eyes. He smiled, showing white teeth, and the wolf lowered his muzzle with a grin. He knew how to play the game, Volle saw. In fact, he wasn’t sure that the whole act of waiting for someone hadn’t been a charade.

After five more minutes of pouting, the wolf gathered his drink and walked shyly over to Volle’s table. He stopped and looked a bit startled when he saw Volle’s fine clothes, but gathered his confidence and took another step towards the table. “May I…?”

Volle widened his smile and gestured to the opposite side of the table. He breathed in the wolf’s scent: light, young, and musky. Curiosity and desire. He knew he wasn’t fooling Volle, but he enjoyed putting on the act. “Your friend stood you up?”

The wolf smiled and flicked an ear. “Yeah. Pretty rude, huh? My name’s Lenny.”

“I’m Volle.” He glanced around the pub and saw that the others who’d been looking at the wolf had apparently given up. None of them were looking his way anymore.

“So you live in the palace?”

Volle nodded. “That’s right.”

The wolf tilted his muzzle. Volle estimated that they were about the same age. His sandy-colored muzzle darkened to brown on his ears and the top of his head, and Volle could see a patch of creamy white at his throat. “So I guess we can’t go back to your place.”

Volle shook his head. He’d left Helfer’s key in his chambers, even if he hadn’t resolved not to use the secret door.

“Well, my ‘room’ is a small closet in back of my master’s shop, so we can’t go there. Maybe there’s a room here?” His ears perked hopefully.

Volle grinned. Lenny probably didn’t have the money to pay for a room himself. “No rooms left.”

“How do you know?”

Volle indicated the bartender with his muzzle. “While you were sitting at the bar, two couples went up to ask the bartender something. He shook his head and they walked away.”

“Oh.” The wolf fidgeted and lapped at his drink. “Maybe if we wait…” He started eying the other patrons, clearly wondering if one of them had a place with a suitable room.

“Why wait?” Volle grinned. Lenny looked back at him, tilting his muzzle again curiously. Volle dipped his muzzle to indicate the table and the dark space beneath it.

“Wha—here? Right here?” Lenny whispered, but Volle could hear the excitement beneath the surprise in his voice. He nodded, and a moment later, the wolf’s scent changed, desire increasing sharply. Volle grinned at the wolf, and got a grin back in return. “Well…okay.”

Volle leaned back. “You go first.” The wolf looked warily at him as he casually unfastened his pants. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your turn. I promise.”

Lenny considered for a moment, then nodded. He glanced quickly around the bar, but nobody was looking at them. With a grace that surprised Volle, he slipped under the table.

A moment later, Volle felt a tug at his pants, and warm breath on his sheath. He smiled, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

Epilogue

In the city of Divalia, the capital of Tephos, the palace sits in the center beside the river Inside the walls, the palace is surrounded by three gardens on the north and south. The main garden, in the front, is where all of the most beautiful flowerbeds are placed. The rear gardens consist mostly of hedges, bushes, and trees, simple and unadorned.

If you were to wander through the western rear garden, you might eventually come across an old statue of a lion warrior. He stands boldly facing the outer wall of the palace, sword raised, lips curled in a fierce snarl. His mane is richly detailed, though much of the detail has been lost to time. There are nicks and blemishes in the bronze, and it has turned mostly green with age. There is no plaque to identify the origin of the statue, nor any dedication to explain its presence.

If you were to take the palace’s residents through the rear garden and point the statue out to them, probably one in ten would remember having seen it before. Not one in a hundred would be able to say from where it came, and of those who could, none would admit to knowing why.

But if you watched the garden closely, once in a while you might see a figure approach the statue. He stands before it silently, head bowed, and remains there for several moments. And sometimes when he leaves, a flower remains at the base of the statue, an enigmatic remembrance whose softness seems curiously out of place beneath the fierce statue, in that austere secluded corner of the garden of the palace.