Fox’s Tongue and Kirin’s Bone

“Who is the Lady?” Aaron asked, squeaking his chair.

Lieutenant Varghese refused to wince at the sound, but the frown around his mouth set its lines more firmly.

“You said the Lady would sort me out, when you caught me. Who is she?”

“She’s out of the castle at present. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

Aaron didn’t like the sound of that. He shifted and the chair squeaked again. “Why am I talking to you, if it’s her I need to answer to?”

Lochlann let out a slow breath. “If I gave the impression that I was here to answer your questions, I apologize. Now. I believe we were discussing your degree of humanity.”

That was a very fancy way of putting it. It also wasn’t a question. Aaron stayed silent, waiting until it was.

“What are you?”

Actually, keeping quiet seemed a decent option, question or no. Kirin’s bone made men tell the truth. It didn’t make them speak.

The lieutenant waited for his answer. Time and the little noises of the room stretched out between them. Muffled footsteps, felt more than heard through the stone; Aaron’s heartbeat, which was far more steady than he’d have given it credit for; the lieutenant’s measured breaths.

Aaron squeaked his chair.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” the lieutenant snapped.

A question worthy of kirin’s bone, if ever there was one. Aaron prudently refrained from replying. It was the man’s own fault for choosing the better chair for himself. Hadn’t thought ahead on that one, had he?

“Lieutenant Varghese, sir, what do I need to say to get out of here?” Aaron asked. “Alive,” he qualified.

And before this Lady returned, preferably. His Death might kill him if he didn’t stick to the plan, but his Death wasn’t here right now. The redcoat was, and Aaron didn’t put his odds of surviving any higher if he stayed locked in the Wasting King’s dungeon. He had to get out. He’d take it from there, one day at a time, same as he’d done the rest of his life.

The good lieutenant leaned forward in his chair, setting his elbows on the table. “Do you know of any threats to the royal family?”

Aaron blinked. He hoped his surprise was answer enough, but Varghese was clearly waiting on more. The man’s hands were clasped in front of him. Like a prayer to Man’s God and likely to be just as effective.

Should he simply not answer? With the lieutenant’s knuckles whitening, that was probably a very poor idea.

“Something else happened, didn’t it?” Aaron asked. “Besides the murder.”

Varghese’s eyes narrowed. “And what would you know of it?”

“Nothing, Lieutenant.” Aaron answered, keeping his own gaze away from the white bone that sat between them. “Not until you brought it up.”

The only thing Aaron knew of was supposed to happen weeks from now. The crown prince had looked plenty lively the last Aaron had seen him.

The redcoat continued to stare at him, as if seeking some lie that the kirin had missed.

“What did happen?” Aaron asked. “Whatever it was, I swear I had no hand in it.”

Lochlann forced himself to relax. He stood and straightened his coat. “Thank you. That will be all.”

Aaron stood too, bumping against both chair and table in his haste. “Wait. Can I go? I didn’t do it, whatever it was.”

“I believe you.” The man gave a last tug to each sleeve, setting the cuffs right. “There’s still the issue of your humanity, however. The Lady will be back soon enough. I imagine you’ll survive until then.”

“That’s…” Stupidly unfair. Which wasn’t something he’d ever known anyone in power to care about. “Wait!”

Lochlann pulled open the door. “Officer Chereau, you may see him back to his cell now. Thank you.”

The lieutenant left, and the guardswoman came in with a grin. “Not even a half hour. Well done, little fey. He must hate you proper.”

“Thanks,” Aaron said, hollowly.

The guardswoman gave him a friendly punch in the arm and a shove towards the door. “Who needs him, anyway? Every little bit he hates you is a bit more I like you. And Shillelagh and I, we’re the ones you’ve really got to get in good with, now aren’t we? We’re the ones keeping you fed, not the good lieutenant.”

She really did like that nickname. She’d called Lochlann little else since she’d heard Aaron use it.

He tolerated another shove to his back, but he couldn’t stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. “You aren’t the ones that decide to set me free, though, are you?”

The next shove wasn’t nearly so friendly. “Aren’t you the witty one, little fey. Know just what to say to a woman, don’t you?”

Little more was said, and then he was back in his cell with the door clanging shut behind him. Aaron returned to his nest of blankets, wrapping them close over his shoulders. One of the guards had taken his breakfast tray away, but breakfast itself was holed up in his pockets waiting for him. It was better not to eat food at the start of the day—all it did was wake his stomach up so it expected more out of him. He ate a little cheese and half a roll, but tucked the rest away. They served two meals a day in the castle dungeons. At least, that’s what he’d gotten yesterday. He wasn’t so sure he’d be getting his second today, and he needed to make sure he had something for the evening.

Fortunately, it was Shillelagh that brought his supper, not Chereau. The big man set the tray down outside his bars and left with no need for additional commentary. No chance for Aaron to say something stupid and get another guard hating him.

Vegetable stew and another roll. He drank the stew and felt warmer for awhile. The roll he left on the tray, outside the bars of his cell.

On second thought: he centered it a little more neatly, then scooted back against the far wall to sleep.

He woke, hours later, to the whisper of slippers on stone. The hooded figure from his dream—the girl he’d been only half-sure he hadn’t dreamed—stood over his tray, small and slender, her shoulders caught between disbelief and indignity.

“You left me an offering?” the fey asked. “You left me an offering of one roll?”

He was doing a poor job of making friends today.