Tales of the Many-Tailed - 3 - Shadow Play (Patreon)

Once Grace’s mournful tears stopped, the king gently eased out of the hug and held her at arm’s length. “Be brave for her.”

“Earl Baneridge talked her into it. Will he get more punishment than taking land and mineral rights from his family? Things won’t replace Lynne.”

“I’ve bestowed commissions on his siblings. High Wizard Greyspire has dispatched them to the forward outposts.”

Ouch, that sounds like a nasty poison pill with an invasion expected. Here, have a promotion, so a demon can kill you for me.

Grace clenched her fists. “They get to live until the demon king invades? That could be years, and Lynne is dying in days.”

And she got it immediately, not the education of a sheltered girl.

“Anything more and I’ll have to punish all the other nobles in the chamber as well. That would cost us support before the war starts. We also need to face the fact that Lynne disobeyed my orders,” the king whispered. “I had told her to follow the oracle’s sight. If I can’t follow the law, what right do I have to rule?”

That only matters if the laws are fair. Some might have giant loopholes for the nobles, and you already give them classes. Is that to keep their foot on the commoner’s throat?

“Lynne had dreams of the demon king’s armies overrunning the kingdom for years.” Grace’s shoulders drooped. “I bet she wanted the hero to have as much time as possible to prepare.”

“Earl Banebridge is claiming the same. Unfortunately, I can only punish the man who supplied the summoning materials so much. A noble’s responsibility is to protect the people of Easthaven. With your class, you might one day fight on the front lines. Would you run or stand firm?”

“Stand, but I need to learn more than daggers so I can fight.”

Fourteen and thinks she’s ready to fight and die? Children always think they are immortal.

The king patted her shoulder. “Then you are choosing to risk your life and shouldering a noble’s duty. Those and those who manipulated your sister will argue she shouldered that duty in her own way. Your sister knows she’s dying and is proud she bought so many heroes.”

“Did you only tell me afterwards so as not to influence my class?” Grace bent to collect Edith, cuddling her close.

The king gave a wry smile. “Yes. While exalted cavalry isn’t what I’d hoped for you, it’s better than your sister’s high summoner.”

“I’d like to sit with Lynne after dinner,” Grace said.

“Very well, but leave Goldie in your rooms and don’t mention my concerns about the arrivals to Lynne. I want her last days to be peaceful.”

The king touched the glowing ring on his left hand, and it dulled. Edith watched it from her spot, pressed against Grace’s leg.

He had that one glowing earlier. Is it a sound barrier to stop people from listening in?

Once its last light faded, the king rapped on the nearest door and waited; an odd cadence of knocks came back before he pushed it open.

“Steven, escort Grace to her room, and then meet us at the infirmary.”

At his order, Steven waved Grace through and led her off, one hand near his sword. The corridors behind the throne room were older, polished granite rather than marble, with narrower doorways and staircases. The scents of those Grace had farewelled at lunch tickled Edith’s nose as she tried to memorise their route. A cat’s nearsightedness made judging some of it difficult, and pages and maids flitting about kept grabbing her attention.

So many doors along the route are secure. How will I get back there?

Frustration slipped from Edith in an involuntary chirp when Steven closed a fifth door behind them. The sound prompted Grace to rub Edith’s ears, and a purr rumbled and rolled in her chest.

Ear rubs are dangerous. Even without all these doors, to return to the class stone, I’ll need to activate the ramp, go through two doors, touch the rock, and get out again. What did Amber even mean by grabbing classes for my body and tails? How can a tail have a class?

Three hops through shadows wiped me out. Even if swimming through the darkness lets me under a door, I need to hop four times in quick succession just to handle the hidden area. I’ll still need to get into the throne room corridor.

Though they went up two floors via a spiral staircase, there weren’t further doors. After they stepped off the landing, the scent of Grace’s guard tickled across Edith’s nose.

Steven nodded to Arnold, who stood beside a door with his hand on his hilt, and her bodyguard ushered Grace inside. Their heels clicked loudly on the room’s polished floor. A round table, a trio of bookcases, and a few chairs of different sizes filled only part of the room.

Curtained windows on its far side looked out onto a gardened expanse. Beyond rows of fruit trees stood a wall of person-sized stones, topped with ramparts and walked by patrolling guards. Three doors on the left, and a single door stood on the right. The sweet smell of milk tickled Edith’s nose.

“Maggie got everything arranged and has a bath drawn. She went to get lunch.”

“Have you eaten, Arnold?” Grace asked, settling in an armchair by the table.

“A quick bite, Your Highness. Is everything all right?”

“Lynne is dying.” Grace lifted her chin and met Arnold’s curious gaze; the words snuffed out the light of interest in his eyes. “Father didn’t want me to hear from someone else first.”

Oh, she’s good. Stick to part of the truth, then leave the rest.

“My condolences to you and your family.”

“Many people will lose families and loved ones in the war ahead of us,” Grace replied sombrely before crouching and letting Edith down to explore.

A box with a layer of sand covering its bottom and a bowl of goat’s milk lay on either side of the right-hand door. The sandbox on the side closest to the window.

Oh great! We shall never speak of this again! Wait, how do I clean myself? Do I even need it? Aren’t Kitsune supposed to be some kind of semi-spirit?

Just thinking about not eating made her stomach gurgle. A sniff at the bowl brought a slightly sweeter aroma than she expected, but lapping was harder than expected. After nearly biting her tongue several times and frequently failing in less dramatic ways, Edith got the hang of it. Maggie returned while Edith worked out the mechanics of drinking as a cat.

It’s like flicking water into the air with a ladle to bite it; I never thought a cat’s lapping was so complex. A litter box can’t be more embarrassing than a nurse helping you with a bedpan.

It was, and Edith felt a full-body blush creep under her fur.

She was retreating from said box when Maggie scooped her up.

“I think she’s too small to know how to groom herself. I’ll give her a wash,” Maggie said, heading for the front door.

An involuntary meow of relief slipped from Edith; the lightness of her gratitude had already replaced the mortification of being supervised.

“Just use the sink in my bathroom,” Grace instructed, and Maggie paused, disbelieving.

“Your Highness, that doesn’t seem suitable.”

“Don’t be so fussy, Maggie.” Grace laughed. “It’s got enough enchantments that I won’t catch anything from her.”

“It just wouldn’t be proper.” Maggie protested. “She’s an animal.”

“Just use it,” Grace said lightly. “You were worried about fleas earlier, and it will tell you if she’s unwell.”

Maggie stiffened. “Very well, Your Highness.”

“Oh, and make sure you keep the toilet lid down; we don’t need her getting pulled away through the pipes.”

“Your cousin has been telling you too many stories, Your Highness,” Maggie replied.

Grace leaned toward Arnold and whispered conspiratorially. “Do you think I can upset her enough that she starts in on Princess?”

The older man kept a straight face. “One never knows.”

Maggie’s thick heels clicked sharply as she carried Edith through the door to the right. A canopy bed anchored the centre of the large bedroom, with lace curtains bearing a rose pattern tied back against its white oak posts, and a pink duvet partly concealed by a mound of pillows in assorted hues. A dollhouse shaped as a twelve-spire castle squatted possessively before the window. Its middle level was open, revealing a ballroom with painted figurines arrayed as if attending a dance.

This belongs to a girl with an exalted cavalry class; you certainly can’t tell this book by its cover.

The ensuite door lay to the immediate right, and further along the same wall was the walk-in closet door. One crowded cave of bright frill gowns and accessories in satin, silk, and lace.

The ensuite possessed a clinical aesthetic interrupted by gemstones at the edges of the tub and sink. White marble tiles sheathed the whole thing. In the room’s centre sat a raised tub filled with steaming, rose-scented water, and the matching bathroom vanity had a deep sink big enough for a toddler to bathe. A fully enclosed stall in the back right corner seemed to be the only place for the privy. Other than the scent of rose water, the place was odourless, without so much as a hint of bleach to explain the gleaming stone, which echoed the click of Maggie’s shoes with painful intensity to Edith’s ears.

With Edith tucked under one arm, Maggie waved a hand over a ruby-and-sapphire set at the midpoint of a row of stones at the back of the sink, and warm water started to fill it. Once it was deep enough to cover Edith’s ears, Maggie stopped and braced herself for a struggle as she put Edith in. A sigh of contentment came out as a chirping meow.

That was unexpected, but I hope Maggie takes it as a sign I’m not planning a revolt over bath time.

With her head up to keep her nose well above water, Edith repeated the sound. Though Maggie’s attention stayed on the line of gems, none of the others lit up.

“I expected my arms to see use as pin cushions. It seems the princess was right; you’re not sick or infested.” Maggie murmured. A tap of another gem added a syrup-like fluid to the water. A heavy rose smell made Edith sneeze repeatedly, blasting soap bubbles across the mirror.

“You don’t like the scent? Well, roses are the princess’s favourite.”

After scrubbing, cleaning her ears, and drying her off, Maggie placed Edith on the suite’s couch; its plump cushions dimpled under her paws. The princess was nowhere in sight, but her scent lingered nearby. Maggie slipped back into the bedroom and clicked the door shut as the princess greeted her with a laugh.

She must have been in that walk-in closet.

With feline ears, Edith could hear their conversation through the closed door. Metal and gemstones clicked and slithered, hinting at a jewellery box opening.

“Would you like Brian’s last gift along with the tiara?” Maggie asked.

“I think my mother’s brooch will do tonight,” Grace replied. “Oh, and the ring Lynne gave me last name day.”

“Have you heard if your Brian will actually make the next?”

“With so many heroes having arrived, I believe his parents will be too busy to attend court soon,” Grace deflected placidly. “I believe I’ll meet with the arms master before breakfast. Could you bring suitable clothing to the front of the closet?”

“I’ll be here extra early to dress you.”

“It’s alright, Maggie. Today will be long, and you deserve some rest. I can dress in my training clothes.”

“Your knives?”

“Tomorrow I’ll mix things up with weapons from the training hall. I can’t always count on having my own on hand.”

“Very well, Your Highness. I’ll have someone advise Martin that you’ll need him early.”

“Thank you, Maggie. Today has been hectic.” Grace paused. “I’ll be going to the infirmary after leaving the banquet. You should ask one of the night maids to step in to help me undress.”

“The infirmary?” Maggie’s voice lost its brisk professionalism. “Why is she still in the infirmary? Surely, the healers would have cleared any strain by now.”

“Lynne is unwell.” Grace’s voice rasped with pain before smoothing. “I want to sit with her before I retire for the night, so I’ll leave the banquet early.”

“Oh.” Maggie’s voice hitched, cracking the syllable in two. “I’ll see the required clothes get pressed.”

Strange clicks sounded from time to time among the rustle of cloth, but no one spoke again.

Eventually, Grace emerged wearing a pale pink dress with a rose pattern stitched along its hem, her hair done up in a high braid with curled ends spilled over one lace-covered shoulder. A diamond rose brooch pinned at the edge of her sweetheart neckline matched the pink ruby tiara pattern she wore.

Pretty, but it's perhaps too mature a style.

Grace looked between Edith and the door; her hands twitched as if to pick Edith up, then pulled back.

“If you get her fur on your dress, you will be late, Your Highness,” Maggie murmured.

With a jerk, Grace squared her shoulders and patted Edith’s head. “Be good.”

Well, this gives me time to figure out how I flipped into the shadows. It must have been that shadow meld rune. Will it get easier with practice?

With that, Grace pulled on short, white satin gloves that covered a rose-gold band twisted into a rose-vine pattern. Her gaze lingered on the lump of the covered ring, and she yanked at the gloves; lace frills partly hid their cuffs. Turning on her heel, she swept from the room, with Arnold leading and Maggie at her rear. The overhead glowstones faded as they left, leaving the room lit only by natural light through the windows.

After the door clicked shut, Edith surveyed the room again as the footsteps faded.

The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the main room, and Edith sank into the one before the couch. As she slithered into its coolness, a small burst of fatigue hit and faded. Popping out again took no strain, and Edith frowned mentally. Trotting around to a chair by the window, she sank into its shadow with the same ease. Yet shifting from its shadow into the darkness under the couch hit like a gut punch. Edith swam through the darkness under it before she shrugged free. The immersion left a chill on her fur, making it prickle, and Edith mentally noted it as a tell to avoid showing.

With a hop and a scramble, Edith reached the plump cushion atop the couch and settled down for a nap. The last fading rays of sunlight woke her to a still-empty suite.

Lights along the parapets created some shadows, and Edith sank into one without issue. Slipping in and out of the shadow, she managed ten transitions before fatigue bit and mental fog began to build. Still, it was nowhere close to the exhaustion a single switch between two patches of darkness had ground through her flesh and bones. A quick scurry brought her to the bedroom door, and she slipped into the darkness within the door’s clearance, then out into the bedroom. The dollhouse had changed. The dance area now lay sealed away, and the top of a spire opened instead. Within its hollow, the figurine of a princess in a gown stared upward through a telescope.

Is that Lynne or Grace trying to see the distant stars?

She returned to the sitting room just as easily, and a happy meow slipped free.

I swear that should have been a laugh.

Her tail flicked back and forth as Edith schemed.

So I can get under doors, but starting from here, seven doors separate me from the corridor. My biggest risk: if someone enters that connecting passage and sees the ramp while I’m in the room with the stone, I’m done for. I either need information on the palace guard patrols, or I risk it when things should be quiet. I don’t even know if I memorised the path correctly. How many more can I do?

She continued hopping in and out of shadows until fatigue draped over her like a heavy, smoothing blanket. With her thoughts increasingly addled, Edith returned to her perch and closed her eyes.

Will it be enough to get out of the castle or find Amber? I haven’t tried a human shapeshift yet, mono-focused on one problem. Not good, Edith.

An uncontrollable, jaw-cracking yawn warned Edith of her limits before she passed out.

Her ears twitched at the sound of footsteps hours later, and the motion woke her up. The rustle of cloth and three footsteps announced Grace’s return.

If nothing else, I need to see if I can find my way back. Slipping out when they enter will save me power.

Edith tumbled off the couch and slunk to a chair by the door to wait. The glowstones in the ceiling flared to life as Arnold opened the door. Through her squint, she made out his outline as he stepped past into the room.

The two ladies entered behind Arnold, who had stopped three arm lengths inside to scan the room, and Edith slipped out before Maggie turned back to close the door.

“Where is Goldie hiding?” Grace asked.

“Given there is a divot in the couch cushion with shed fur, our approach must have disturbed her, my lady,” Arnold sniffed. “Fresh scent in the room, so she was on that cushion recently. She must be under a chair or hiding behind a curtain.”

Edith turned to the spiral staircase. The first little hop from the top almost earned her a large group discount on steps and a package of bruises; after that, she focused on slipping down one at a time. It took an eternity to make it down one floor. She started on the second with her heart beating in her ears, the scruff of her neck prickling where Amber’s teeth had dug in. The breeze coming down the staircase ruffled her fur.

I need to practice getting back while the memory is fresh.

Two floors down among the stronger odours of people and a few dogs, she caught her unwashed scent. Before she could figure out the route, metal hinges shifted softly, and the clamour of armoured men and booted footsteps rang out. She wiggled behind a banner and hooked her claws into the tassels at its base to keep it from swaying.

As the boots rounded the nearest corner, a hound’s bass rumble sounded.

“Hush. I know what you’re after,” a woman snapped. “No chasing any mouser, or they won’t let you back inside.”

The dog gave an unhappy whimper.

“Yes, that would mean no treats. She smells young, so she couldn’t outrun you or even pose a challenge.”

The feet came closer at a regular pace, and Edith pressed against the wall.

I can’t afford to use power so soon; leave me alone!

A leathery sound of padded feet on stone sounded before a black nose appeared at the edge of the banner and inhaled sharply. One eye fixed on her past a black mastiff’s snout. With a pleased huff, the hound skipped back to the woman’s side.

“She’s only a kitten.”

A quick yank pulled the banner aside, setting spots dancing before Edith’s eyes, which had adjusted to the gloom behind the banner. Two armoured guards looked down, their dark gazes fixed on her through barred visors.

“Do you think she’s from the litter in the kitchen?” The male guard asked in a warm tenor.

“Maybe. Though Rufus says she smells like flowers.”

With the banner twisted to block her retreat one way, he scooped Edith up as she tried to scamper past.

Damm dog, I should have jumped into the shadow straight away! Still, with the wind blowing down the staircase, the dog probably smelled me before the guards opened the door.

“What do you plan to do with her, Eric?”

“The fierce beast master can’t talk to her and find out where she’s from?”

“Youngster, I’m not binding to a kitten,” the woman protested. “It would hurt her. Decide what you’re doing with her or let her go. Rats are beyond her, but she might find a mouse.”

Please let me go.

A pitiful meow of protest slipped loose, but the guards simply looked at each other.

“You said Rufus smelt flowers on her, so someone’s perfume or scent?”

“Well picked, so what does that tell you?”

“She’s a favourite, not a general castle cat. We should drop her at the night maids’ room, and they can have someone make enquiries in the morning.” Eric replied, cradling her in his left hand. “She might not be from that kitchen litter, but I bet the mama cat would still feed her.”

The woman stroked an armoured finger between Edith’s ears. “Don’t hold her that way. Carry her by the scruff of the neck and keep your right hand free.”

“Why?”

“If you’re startled, you might close your hand in reflex, and they’re used to mama cats carrying them that way. You’ll see how her tail curls up, and she’ll go kind of limp.”

After a moment of juggling as Edith squirmed and mewed in protest, Eric had her by the scruff between his thumb and forefinger. Edith’s body instinctively relaxed much to her chagrin. With their dangling prize, the pair descended the stairs into the basement. While the woman fumbled with the keys at the base of the stairs, the mastiff pushed Edith’s fur the wrong way with a lick across her back, and drew forth a violent shudder and meow. 

“She doesn’t need a wash, Rufus,” Eric protested, flexing his own slobber-covered hand.

Beyond the locked door, thirty doors lined either side of the corridor. The guards began inspecting them; the dog sniffing each one. By the time they’d made it halfway, Edith’s back was wet from dozens of happy mastiff licks, each a reminder she could fit inside its mouth.

This is never to be mentioned to anyone!