Foxen Bloom, page 15
Prior looked away, his earlier fire banked. "Nothing. Just checking." He played his fingers over the garland. "This is beautiful, thank you, but do you not need it anymore? Burdock said you needed something to snack on." His mouth twisted as he bit his lip, gaze wandering to Fenton's hair. No, to his antlers. But Prior didn't mention them as he returned to the fire, speaking over his shoulder. "I don't have any magic, but did you want something to eat? There's rabbit. I felt rotten killing the poor things, I think they came nosing for you, but the provisions from the market ran out two days ago, so—"
"Two days ago?" Fenton blurted, jerking forward. Surely not!
Prior shrugged stiffly. "Around that. This is the fourth dawn, I think, since the griffin. Don't worry, between the rabbits and the river nearby, and my raven friend on guard, I've been well enough. Sylvie's sweet buns are but a dream, alas, but delicious they were while they lasted. How do you feel? You seemed... Did you want something to eat?"
Fenton wanted to lie down and sleep until the world made sense. Little wonder he felt rejuvenated. Little wonder Prior looked wan; their provisions hadn't been generous, considering the short journey they had planned. Four dawns meant Fenton had been more injured, and more drained by his connection to Ashcroft, than he'd realised, especially to have slept through a visit from the dancing dryad and their accompanying nonsense.
He firmed his jaw. He could do nothing about the missing days but vow to do better.
As Prior resumed tending the fire, Fenton flexed his fingers and reached into the nowhere space where his forest lived, where his fur lived. He stretched until one of his claws snagged fabric. He twisted his wrist and yanked it free. The clothes had not fared badly, considering his unexpected transformation. Fenton quickly donned them.
Prior poked at the flames with a charred stick and a fierce glower. Firelight burned his face to shadows, his eyes to embers. The meat waited in the dish. The raven had retreated to the rafters, and well it might, for hurt flowed from Prior like a river to the sea and muted his fern-and-rose scent. Fenton rubbed his jaw. Why had Prior not returned to Ashcroft? True, if Fenton died, he would not break the blight, but surely it would have been better to go to Ashcroft and learn Fenton's fate second-hand. It would have been safer.
But Fenton couldn't ask those questions, and he could not regret Prior's attentions, nor how the fussing had warmed parts of Fenton long sleeping. Fenton scratched the base of an antler, where skin remained tight around the new growth, and shuffled his feet so Prior wouldn't be startled when he spoke.
"Thank you for staying with me," he said, trying to put his gratitude into his voice. "I am sorry for worrying you. Sorry for leaving you alone. It was not my intent to do so. Sylvie is well, and the village also, as far as I am able to discern."
Prior had stiffened when Fenton started speaking, but with a soft sigh he set down his stick and turned around. His mouth trembled but he firmed it resolutely. Fenton's fingers twitched at his sides, unsure if he should offer comfort. He relaxed at Prior's smile, wet though it was.
"It's been a long few days," Prior said. His smile firmed. "I'm very, very glad you're back, and with such good news. Please, sit, eat these poor rabbits." He nodded over his shoulder. "Your feathers are over there, by the way, though you never did mention what they were for."
It took Fenton a moment but then he remembered the unfortunate creature and crossed the room to examine the griffin feathers. Prior had selected three beautiful tawny feathers, each nearly the length of Fenton's forearm. Fenton brushed the tip of one over his lips. Magic crackled over his skin, less potent than it would have been four dawns ago, but still strong enough to taste.
Prior's breath caught when Fenton carefully threaded a feather through Burdock's garland, tucking the spine to secure it.
"A small token of my thanks," Fenton said. Prior's eyes were dreamily dark. Fenton cleared his throat and looked unseeingly away. "Where is your pack?"
When Prior pointed, Fenton went and tucked the feathers among Prior's things. He considered using the nowhere space again, but it pleased him to have the feathers in sight. Besides, there was plenty of room, as the pack that had held their provisions now hosted only crumbs. Fenton did not allow his jaw to clench. He sat on the floor beside Prior, the fire warming his crossed legs. He held his hands over the flames.
When Prior offered a dish of meat, Fenton took it. They ate together in silence broken only by the crackling fire. When he'd eaten half of his share, Fenton offered Prior the dish.
"Here."
Prior startled from his meditation in the flames. He'd long since devoured his own portion. "Are you sure? You're still healing."
His lips glistened from the grease of the meat. He still wore a hard winter in his sharp cheekbones. Fenton touched his fingertips lightly to the garland Prior wore. The feather.
"Burdock's garland and the griffin—the feathers—have done what they could to sustain me. That is what I had intended, in the asking. There is magic in such things. You need more than that." He offered the dish again.
This time, Prior took it. "If you're certain, then thank you." He spoke between savouring bites. "I've seen you eat food, though. Human food."
"I require both, but sometimes more one than the other. I shall forage on the way to your village to replenish the provisions. Hunt, if you would like me to."
Prior chewed the rabbit meat slowly, the dish balanced on his leg. Fenton watched him, satisfied, until Prior hunched his shoulders and tucked his head over his food. Fenton drifted his gaze away and chanced upon one of their wineskins. A shake of liquid remained within. He offered it to Prior.
"I'd been saving that," Prior said as he took the wineskin. He upended it over his mouth and drank, but then offered it back to Fenton, smiling crookedly. "Here. Share. Seeing as I was hasty to drown my sorrows earlier with the last of the mead."
Fenton took the wineskin and put his lips to the place Prior's had been. He drank, conscious of Prior's attention, and suddenly parched. He tossed the empty wineskin toward Prior's pack, then stretched out and arranged himself with his head in Prior's lap, careful with the angle of his antlers. He tucked his hands against his chest and turned his face to the fire. Prior accepted the change of position with only a mutter about getting rabbit grease in Fenton's hair, but Fenton ignored the comment; his hair was thick with blood and dust. A little grease would hardly matter.
Time passed. The side of Fenton's face grew tight from the fire. His vines stretched and twisted, some wrapping around the base of his antlers, while others rearranged his crown as they wished. His shadow returned from exploring and pooled across the uneven stone floor, forming a crescent moon with the fire in the centre. Its chill provided pleasant counterpoint to the flames.
Prior finished eating and tossed the cooking sticks into the fire. He rubbed his fingers clean on a scrap of cloth, then added that to the flames as well. One of his hands came to rest in Fenton's hair, the other on Fenton's hip. A welcome weight.
"I was so worried," Prior whispered, as if he didn't want Fenton to hear. Confessional, as if used to Fenton not being able to respond. "I didn't think you would ever wake. I thought about leaving so often, but how could I?"
Fenton's gut twisted. Days ago, he had left Prior while he slept and not thought twice about the decision. The circumstances were dissimilar, true, and the lesson of the bandits had ensured he would not make the same decision a second time, but he had left and Prior had stayed. The difference felt fundamental.
He lifted his chin, exposing his throat, in an effort to meet Prior's eyes. When he moved, Prior turned his head aside, avoiding Fenton's gaze.
"I am sorry to have worried you," Fenton said. Perhaps Prior would hear him this time. "Sylvie is well, despite my weakness."
"As you said. I believe you, and I'm more relieved than I can express, but Sylvie isn't the only one I've been worrying about."
"I know, there is the village also. I extended my protection—"
"You did? Why?" Prior sounded strangely hurt.
Fenton searched again for Prior's eyes, and again failed to find them. He glanced at his own hands instead, where he hooked the tips together as he spoke. "You were upset. At the hamlet. At the thought that you might return to find Ashcroft thus. The notion of your distress... discomforted me. It perhaps took more of my magic than I had anticipated."
"You put yourself in danger, doing that for me," Prior murmured. He smoothed his thumb over Fenton's hair. "You didn't need to. The griffin— It could really have hurt you. It did hurt you."
Fenton wanted to scoff, but Prior's tone made him sober.
"The griffin came as something of a surprise," Fenton admitted. "But I am well."
Prior's hands twitched where they rested on Fenton, as if he wanted to hold on. Silently, Fenton willed him to do so. Yet Prior's hands relaxed and he scratched his fingers through Fenton's hair instead, tracing the base of Fenton's antlers. He pursed his lips and leant over to catch Fenton's gaze at last.
"Thank you. I just— Thank you." Prior gently tapped one of Fenton's antlers. "A lighter topic, I think. I hope. Tell me, what does it mean that you have these now?" he asked.
If Fenton ever had the words to explain, they evaded him. He searched the ceiling for answers, in case any were hidden in the eaves. The raven perched on a crossbeam eyed him with a beady glare. Fenton's heart beat loud against his ribs.
"They represent an unlocking, of sorts. A part of myself I had lost has been recovered. I can banish them, if you wish," Fenton offered, though he did not want to do so. But he would not make Prior uncomfortable if he had the power to do otherwise.
"I don't want you to banish them," Prior swiftly reassured him. "I only wondered. I remember the stag, in the forest. You were separate then. I didn't even realise both were you until recently. While you were sleeping, I kept thinking of all these questions I wanted to ask you. I shouted quite a few at you, but of course you couldn't answer. And now that you're here, awake, I find I can't think of a single one of them."
As he spoke, Prior curved over Fenton, reducing the space between their faces to a handspan. Fenton flicked his focus from one of Prior's eyes to the other, a bird searching for somewhere safe to land. A rabbit twitching in a snare. Fenton would spend his days tethered, if only Prior were interested in the hunt. If he wanted to be chased at all.
Fenton focused on Prior's lips. They seemed safer, for once.
"Are you upset?" he found himself asking.
Prior didn't answer. He traced his thumb around the socket of Fenton's eye. Over the bridge of his nose. He pressed his thumb lightly to Fenton's lower lip. Firelight played in his eyes.
"The Fox-Faced One, Burdock called you. He Of Bone and Bark."
"I have many names," Fenton said, Prior's thumb still on his lip. He wanted to kiss all of his truths to Prior's skin.
Prior tapped the tines of Fenton's antlers. "You told me only one of them, though."
Fenton snorted. "If you met Burdock, you will have heard a great many of my names." He sobered. He had to know. "Are you upset with me?"
Prior's hands stilled. Fenton went cold, despite the fire. Then, with a sigh, Prior resumed his careful stroking of Fenton's tangled hair. The raven shuffled on its perch and took to wing, flying through the broken window. Leaving them alone. Fenton sent his shadow out the door to guard them.
"I am upset, yes, but not with you. This all has become rather more of an adventure than I had imagined, and I already thought the storytellers would need many nights to tell this one," Prior said drily. "I rushed headlong into this, whatever this is, and having time to think has given me, well, time to think."
"Can I help?"
"You are. You're awake, and soon we'll move on, and something else will happen. I'm sure of that."
Fenton didn't think that sounded helpful, but Prior knew his needs best. He hummed, and allowed himself to enjoy Prior's touch.
Prior hummed back, and laughed softly. "You wear the fox well, I must say. I see him here on your ears, and painted in your hair under all this dirt, but until now I hadn't seen the stag since that day in the forest. It was the stag who chose me, wasn't it? Seemed to choose." Prior flushed. "Or have I misunderstood?"
Fenton shook his head, careful not to dislodge Prior's hands as he did. "The stag is a part of me that remained unknown, at the time. Locked in the deadwood heart of me, deep in the knot."
"Don't say that."
"It is the truth. The stag recognised you when I could not. The beast that so many had tried to kill bowed at your feet, and laid its head and my heart in your lap."
"Fenton!" Prior gently swatted his shoulder.
Fenton smothered his grin. "What?"
"You can't just say things like that. Do you have a head wound? I should have checked for a head wound."
Fenton laughed, and continued laughing, until he rolled over and shifted around so he could muffle his face against the side of Prior's waist, careful with his antlers. His shoulders shook until he didn't know if he laughed or wept, his breath rasping in his throat. Making a low hushing noise, Prior cupped the back of Fenton's head. The steady rise and fall of Prior's stomach offered a balm to the frantic energy coursing through Fenton, and Fenton curled in place until his own breathing came even and his eyes no longer stung. Then he lay there a while longer. With the warmth of Prior at his front, and the fire at his back, Fenton knew the peace of a fox in the earth.
The remainder of their journey to Ashcroft passed without incident, for which Prior was more grateful than he could say. Moreso when he found no further signs of the curse on the village, just as Fenton had said, and as Prior had scarcely dared believe; even Baltair's goats were happier beneath Fenton's protection, as they neglected to charge at Prior's approach and merely butted his legs in an almost friendly fashion. The worry that Prior had been repressing left him all at once, and he nearly staggered with relief. Fenton had protected Ashcroft.
It wasn't that Prior had doubted Fenton's protection, but he had imagined the guarding as something subtle, detectable only to those with magic, and as such the idea had been intangible in Prior's mind. Fallible. Yet, standing in Ashcroft, he felt Fenton's presence as the shade of a great tree. To cross the village's border was to enter a welcoming embrace. He wondered what the other villagers thought about the change. He could see folk gossiping over fences, and see others going about their business as they might any other day. If they were worried about the change, surely they'd all be indoors.
Chest warm, Prior turned and found Fenton already reaching for a goat. Prior huffed a laugh as Fenton straightened, his ears twitching almost sheepishly.
Prior pointed toward the other end of the village. "Carry on with the goats as you like. I'm going to check on Sylvie and see if she's well."
"She is," Fenton said quickly. Not to be reassuring, but stating a fact. He tilted his head. "I would have told you otherwise."
Prior knew he would have. "It's just an expression. I missed her, and I need to make sure Nola's remedy arrived safely. Did you want to come with me?"
"I must ensure there is no residue of my sibling's magic, nor any trace of other malicious efforts made in our absence. I can feel that a dryad has been here." He frowned. "Burdock?"
"I asked if they would look in on Ashcroft. I was worried," Prior said.
"A sensible precaution." Fenton glanced at the goat. "I will investigate for evidence of any other visitors. My protection may have faltered while I was... recovering."
"And you want to pet the goats, I understand."
Fenton blushed. The new red colour of his hair magnified the effect. Prior wanted to learn how to paint.
"Goats are sensible," Fenton said, primly. His vines adjusted his crown and its yellow and white flowers.
Prior relented, though one day he intended to tease Fenton into a full-body blush. His own cheeks heated as he hastily dismissed the thought before he could thoroughly distract himself.
"Go on and do as you must, and I'll see you later," he said, and waved Fenton off with a grin.
He crossed the village beneath Fenton's shade. Children called to one another, and the inn rumbled with happy noise, making the thin spring day bright. Goodwoman Hilde and her broom were nowhere to be seen. If Prior put a skip in his step, well, why shouldn't he?
He found Sylvie pinning washing to the line and singing cheerily, as if she'd never taken ill at all, and every speck of doubt washed from Prior as if it were him hanging on the line. Relief made him stumble. Sylvie's familiar tuneless singing became as a chorus of nightingales. He climbed over the wall that ringed their cottage, rather than trust his numb fingers to the gate, and staggered toward her.
Sylvie dropped her bucket of suds as she clapped her hands to her mouth. "Prior! You're back!"
He wiped his face, smiling like a buffoon. A soapy buffoon. "You look very— Umf!"
Sylvie near-strangled Prior when she grabbed him around the neck to draw him into a hug, crushing the garland he still wore. He returned her tight embrace and rested his head on her shoulder. How long had it been since Sylvie had been well enough to hug him? It felt like a year of hard seasons, yet could only have been the span of a moon. Far too long.
"Sorry about the bucket. Gods, you're soaking," Sylvie said as she released him. She swept her hair from her face and looked him up and down. "And you got skinnier. What happened on the way to Northrope that took you so long? Did you get lost?" She paled and looked him over again. "Are you hurt?"
Prior shook his head. His smile felt huge. "I'm only tired. Getting to Northrope was straightforward but we took quite a diversion on the way back. I'm so glad to see you well, Sylvie."
"I'm glad to be well. That remedy of yours—and delivered by raven, no less!—saw me straight to rights. You'll share the method, won't you? One of the Greaves boys has taken ill."
"We'll do it today, I promise," Prior said. It seemed that Fenton's suspicion that his protection had wavered was correct, but they had the remedy. The Greaves boy would be fine. They would all be fine, now.
