Fox’s Tongue and Kirin’s Bone

Aaron didn’t do it intentionally. He just… did it. The way out of the courtyard and back to the servant’s entrance passed by the stables. He saw a flash of white coat. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d already pressed himself to the wall behind a corner, his heart pounding against his ribs. Slowly, he eased his head out to look.

The coat was argent with red lining. The duke stood outside the stables. He was speaking with someone; his bannerman. His back was to Aaron. He looked larger, from down here. More real. He was the same height that Aaron was, and they had about the same frame, but somehow the man seemed more solid. His arms were well muscled; his shoulders were squared even as he stood at ease. Just watching him made Aaron twitch to roll his own. The man was overseeing the last of his party’s mounts as they were settled into the king’s stalls, running a hand over the flank of a horse here and there as the stablehands finished brushing them down. He spoke once to the stable master; a compliment to how well the man had trained his staff. He said it where the boys could overhear.

The duke left. Aaron followed.

He didn’t mean to. He just did.

The servant’s hallways paralleled most major arteries through the castle. They were narrower, and undecorated, but just as effective. More so: often a main corridor would amble through several halls before reaching a grand stone staircase up, whereas the servants’ passages felt no compunction about throwing in wooden stairs at half the distance. Aaron watched from an upper floor as the duke passed through the grand hall below. A royal valet was trying to show Sung to his rooms. The duke consulted with his bannerman, and chose a direction that left the valet following uselessly on their heels.

There were narrow corridors that ran most everywhere. Aaron discreetly cracked open a servants’ door, and peered out.

The duke’s party was a large one: twelve other nobles, together with their attendants, and their guards. Except for a select few higher-ranking officers, most of those last sort would be quartered in the barracks. It was to there that the duke next turned his feet, after he had checked that his fellow nobles were settling in.

There were fewer servants’ routes towards the barracks. None, really, the closer he got. Guards had no need to be waited on, and did not appreciate people sneaking around where they couldn’t see them. Nevertheless, he was having a go at hiding in a doorway when said door opened behind him.

“What are you doing,” Lochlann said, managing to make it a resigned statement rather than a question.

“Sneaking,” Aaron replied. “Do you mind if I…?”

He ducked into the room as footsteps drew near, pressing flat against the wall out of easy view from the still-open door. Not heavy steps, but confident ones, shadowed by the easy stride of the bannerman, and the flustered taps of the royal valet.

“Would you care to see your own rooms now, Your Grace?” the valet was asking.

“The barracks are too cramped. We’ll need to move more of the men into the guest wing with us. We’ve enough room there; the lords can share.”

“I’ll see to it, my lord,” the bannerman replied.

“Yes, that can be arranged,” the royal valet was quick to agree, as if his input were required.

Aaron edged over just enough to peer out after them. The lieutenant continued holding his door open. Lochlann’s expression never changed. There was true art in its utter blankness.

Aaron took a look at what exactly he’d ducked into. A hook on the wall with a sword hanging from it, and a change of uniform nearby; a handful of books lined neatly atop an old desk. A bed, a wooden table, and two plain chairs. A dress coat was laid out on the bed, matching the tucked-in shirt and immaculately pressed pants the man wore.

“So this is what the room of a second lieutenant looks like,” Aaron said.

“Out.”

“You look fancy. Were you invited to the banquet tonight?”

“Out.” Lochlann was shutting the door. Whether or not all of Aaron’s limbs and bodily essentials ended up on the same side was left entirely up to him. He hastily stepped back into the hall. The door clicked closed.

A moment later, it cracked open once more. “Why are you stalking the nobility?”

“It just sort of happened,” Aaron admitted.

The lieutenant closed the door again, after a very deliberate silence.

The duke’s rooms were at the far end of the guest floor, overlooking the eastern gardens and the city beyond. Farther yet, the terraced fields stepped their way down towards the lowlands. They were good rooms. Good enough that Aaron had never even been allowed to fluff pillows inside of them. Unlike the barracks, there was no lack of servants’ halls to skulk in.

“I hope everything is to your liking, Your Grace,” the valet was saying. “We’ve prepared the suite in your usual manner. If there is anything you require—”

“We will contact you directly,” the bannerman said, in clear dismissal.

The duke softened this with a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Lanner. I’m sure everything is up to your usual standards. Please, send word when it’s time for the banquet to begin.”

“With pleasure, Your Grace.” The man bowed. As he left, Aaron could not help but think he looked relieved. Whether because the duke had finally asked him for something, or simply in gratitude for the dismissal, he couldn’t tell.

“You,” the bannerman said. “Behind the door. The duke would like a word.”

Aaron thought of running. It was a brief thought: an image of gray halls blurring past flashed through his mind. He could almost hear the sound of his boots slapping on stone. And the alarm being raised behind him, and the chase, and the resigned blankness on Lochlann’s face when he was caught.

Right, then. Aaron opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind himself with a small click.

The bannerman gave a start upon seeing his face. The duke did not. He crooked a finger, silently ordering Aaron closer. Not so close that he was exposed to the main hall, however; not out to where the other southern nobles and their people still bustled. Aaron stayed sheltered from the sight of all but these two.

“You’ve been skulking after me like an assassin. Why?” the duke asked, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. Aaron’s gaze followed the motion. At this distance, he suddenly understood why the hilt was white. It was not a wrapping—it was bone, carved with a spiraling pattern. The chill he felt from it was not unlike the one in the council chambers. Kirin’s bone?

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m choosing not to answer,” Aaron said. No, not kirin’s bone. Not bone at all, and not carved. The slow spiral of the hilt was natural, rough-hewn from a larger piece.

“Are you acting as a valet?”

“More of an errand boy, if you must know,” Aaron replied. A man who carried a unicorn’s horn like a trophy didn’t deserve any more from him.

“Is that so.”

Aaron nodded tightly.

“The king’s new errand boy, Your Grace,” the bannerman prompted quietly. “I believe he’s called Aaron.”

It was the duke’s turn to give a start. Just a small one, a sudden stiffness to his back. “You saved Princess Rose?”

“Seems so,” Aaron agreed. And wasn’t it curious that the man had come to the castle already knowing that. His Grace had friends, it seemed.

“Well. Isn’t that interesting.” The duke looked at him hard: gray eyes met gray. Aaron felt his own back stiffening. He resisted the urge to blink.

Whether Sung found what he’d sought in that look, Aaron didn’t know. After a long moment, the man merely scoffed.

“Get back to work, errand boy. Keep clinging to my coattails like this, and someone will think you’re my son.”

Well. They certainly couldn’t have that.