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The Curse

Chapter 2

After the incident in the throne room, Etienne couldn't bring himself to see the child again. And he didn't for four weeks. Eventually, Nkwe came to him in his bedchamber, and after beating on the door for two minutes, he burst in and demanded to know why Etienne refused to see his own child. The girl was asking questions about Etienne. She seemed to miss his smell. She seemed to realize who he was. And it hurt her to realize he didn't want anything to do with her. She was crying everyday.

"She is not even my blood," Nkwe fumed, "and yet I can not stand to be away from her!" He stared at Etienne incredulously.

Etienne looked away. They were on the balcony. The evening sky was purple in the dusk and it was almost supper.

Though Etienne had refused to see the child for a month, he was soon to discover that she was not only beautiful but talented as well. Decius went to check on the girl in Etienne's stead and always reported amazing findings. The child wowed the tutors Etienne had assigned to her instruction, completing drawings with a skill far too advanced for her age. She was a brilliant artist, though her pictures were often images of death and destruction too disturbing for display. Etienne studied his daughter's paintings late in the night as she slept, and he asked himself if the paintings were a result of a desperate and bloody life in the forest . . . or the result of her being the child of the goddess of death.

Mogethis and Nkwe, meanwhile, never left the child's side. They lived in the nursery with her, singing songs to her in their language that often carried down the hall in the evenings. Little did the foxes know that they were singing to Etienne as well, as there was many a time when he simply stood in the hall listening, too afraid to enter the nursery but too afraid to walk away.

The Beauceron slaves were indifferent to the new addition of two fox nannies, but the nobility was outraged. Etienne had already been labeled a pretender for his actions, and in the wake of the king of Varimore having outlawed the Hunt, there were many who were siding with King Louis of Curith, who refused to bow knee to Etienne as high king or to outlaw the Hunt in his own lands. Though the other kingdoms had fallen in line and accepted Etienne as the Second Coming of King Antony, King Louis vowed that he "knew better" and had made many threats to invade Varimore if things did not change. He refused to stand aside and watch as the nine kingdoms fell to the "laughable" reign of some fox-sympathizing boy who believed himself a reincarnated god. He refused. And what was more, he seemed to believe Etienne was behind Donica's demise.

In spite of the peace he had maintained for six years, Etienne knew Varimore was always on the brink of war, and it was unclear whether the other kingdoms would fall in line with him or side with Curith should the pivotal moment arise. After having discovered he had a daughter who was both beautiful and talented, Etienne decided it was time to throw a ball. He would showcase the child's brilliancy to rulers and ambassadors from across the nine kingdoms, every king and queen would think the girl a miracle of the Creator and would want their son's tail on the Emerald throne beside her, and instead of siding with King Louis in a pointless war, the nobility would be vying for Etienne's favor. It could all work out very nicely. If only he could bring himself to look at the girl.

Etienne glanced at Nkwe and realized he was waiting for an answer. He looked out over the balcony, at the steady spread of rooftops and puffing chimneys. "Does she call you Father, Nkwe? Papa? Perhaps Da?"

Nkwe's face darkened. "No," he said grimly. He looked away. "I did not teach her to. Mogethis said I shouldn't get attached, that we might have to give her up, and her thinking I was her Da . . . that would just make it nigh impossible." He sighed, and he sounded so unhappy that Etienne glanced at him sympathetically.

"You could take her and leave if you wanted. You could go to S'pru. You'd be safe there."

"Under your _Azrian's_protection?" Nkwe said shrewdly.

Etienne awkwardly cleared his throat and looked out over the railing again. "That's . . . not what I meant," he muttered, though he could feel the fox's knowing stare. He looked at the great star in the sky and deeply resented that Nkwe had spoken Azrian's name. In the earliest years of his reign, she had come to him in his dreams, and such love they made, rolling through grass composed of color and light, idea and thought, in a dreamland where ecstasy only seemed to double for its climax. But as the years went by, Azrian came to him less and less in that place in-between. And he knew her immortal light had grown too bright for his mortal gaze. Even in a dream. Etienne hadn't dreamed of Azrian in three years.

Nkwe shook his head and looked away. "Mogethis believes the child would die in S'pru. She has too much dog blood. The light of that world would burn her."

" . . . ah."

"We have considered all options. You are the best . . . unfortunately."

Etienne held back a retort. He suddenly understood why Nkwe and Mogethis hated him. It was because eventually, the child was going to love him, perhaps more than she loved them. They were going to lose her to him, someone they felt did not deserve her love. But Etienne wasn't certain he deserved it either.

"You can not use her for your political schemes, Etienne," Nkwe said quietly. "Such things never work toward anything but a bitter end. I have seen it too often in my time."

Etienne held back a scowl, wishing Nkwe would stay out of his head. "It's not political scheming, it's tradition. She's supposed to undergo an arranged marriage to keep Emerald blood on the throne. And you've said it yourself: you've seen it before. It's no different from what your kin do."

"No different at all," Nkwe agreed. His deadly blue eyes glinted like ice when he looked at Etienne. "But is it right?"

Etienne looked away wearily. "What did you think would happen when you brought her here? That I'd perhaps hide her in a tower and keep her safe forever? She's an Emerald." He swallowed unhappily. "To her great misfortune."

"I don't know what I thought," Nkwe admitted. "I only wanted for her safety."

Etienne's blue eye clouded sadly. "I wonder if this is what Taiga would have wanted . . ." His voice trailed to silence when he saw Nkwe's eyes darken. He looked away apologetically and cleared his throat again. "Whatever I do for . . . ah . . ."

"Zeinara," Nkwe supplied through his fangs.

"Yes. Whatever I do for Zeinara will be for the best. I can assure you."

"Tch. How can I believe your words when you don't even love the child? Only love has the best intentions. Anything else comes of selfish motivations."

"Sometimes even love springs of selfish motivations," Etienne replied, thinking dismally of Taiga.

A look of surprise crossed Nkwe's face, and Etienne knew he'd heard the whisper of his thoughts again. "Did you love Taiga?" Nkwe asked in a low voice.

Etienne went very still. What did that matter to Nkwe?

Nkwe looked at Etienne and demanded in a voice that almost broke, "Did you love her?" He looked away unhappily. "I think she loved you."

Etienne studied Nkwe uncertainly a moment. "No, Nkwe," he said at last. "I didn't love her."

Nkwe blinked and nodded, then turned his face away and looked out over the balcony. His hood was still up, and red tresses danced from it on the sudden breeze. Etienne could see Nkwe's paws shaking a little, shaking with emotion. Little bands woven of hemp were on his fingers and fingertips, like odd rings. He clutched the railing tight, and Etienne thought he looked tense and angry. Though Nkwe always_looked tense and angry. He could remember the fox six years before, subdued by Kesuk with a belt around his throat, and he thought it funny that the sneering look that had been on Nkwe's face was actually his standard _neutral expression.

"Did you?" Etienne wondered, looking out over the balcony as well.

"Did I what?" Nkwe returned in a low voice.

"Love her."

"Her love was a flame that consumed everything. She left only ashes in her wake."

Ah. That was a yes then. Etienne glanced at Nkwe and pitied him. He had never dreamed the fox was mourning Taiga.

"Are you coming to supper?" Nkwe asked. "You should start coming. Take meals with your child. She needs you."

"I know. I've been eating alone in my room for so long . . ." Etienne sighed. He was surprised when Nkwe smiled at him sympathetically.

"Hiding in your bedroom won't bring Azrian back from S'pru," the fox said gently. "Nor quench the lonely ache. You have a daughter who needs you. And she is more important than lost love." With that, he quietly left the room.

Realizing how right Nkwe was, Etienne made a point of taking supper with his daughter that night. And the next night. And the night after that. Until fourteen years had passed, and twenty-year-old Zeinara doted on her father and he on her. It wasn't uncommon for Etienne to call an audience to an immediate close if the princess needed him. He took every meal with her and even afternoon tea, listening contently to her ramblings as she told him about her lessons, the places she wanted to see, and the things she wanted to learn. By twenty, she had mastered fencing, riding, and shooting with enthusiasm, though painting remained her calling and her obsession. It wasn't uncommon for her to lock herself in her studio, painting the day through, with only the birdsong to keep her company.

The kingdom soon loved Zeinara, and her birthday parties were always kingdom-wide extravagances, with peasants leaving flowers and trinkets at the castle gates as if they were offerings and she some goddess. After she attended her first ball at the tender age of seven, the rulers of the nine kingdoms were soon filling Etienne's desk with letters seeking a betrothal. The king of such-and-such wanted to send his son to visit Wychowl in the hopes that he and little Zeinara would build some childhood rapport. The queen of Krodor had a son who had seen a portrait of Zeinara at a bizarre and fallen head over tail in love with her. And even the king of Poston wished to wed his son to the high king's heir. Now that Zeinara was twenty, the amount of letters on Etienne's desk had tripled. And he realized it was time. It was time to throw another ball.

"But, Daddy, I don't _want_another ball," Zeinara complained. She stood behind the dressing screen with her arms out as the royal tailor fitted her with a new gown. Etienne could see her slender silhouette through the screen as he went to her desk and flipped through the papers there, on the hunt for evidence of a secret lover. He'd had the sneaking suspicion for months that his daughter was seeing someone, though she insisted she was not.

"What have I told you, young lady?" Etienne called, still rifling quickly through the papers. His fingers paused when he found a letter addressed to Zeinara from the princess of Poston. The entire thing was so raunchy that his face was burning when he had finished it. The princess of Poston - some twenty-year-old girl - was coming on to his daughter like a perverted fifty-year-old male! And according to the way the letter had been worded, Zeinara had long ago reciprocated. If word of it spread, it would be the scandal of the century, and possibly destroy Etienne's chances of finding a suitable match for his daughter. While there were many noble dogs who were drooling to get their prince on Zeinara's arm, there were many more unwilling to risk a smear on their family's name to do so. Same-sex love was still widely considered a result of bad breeding - especially in females. Etienne stared at the letter, uncertain what he should do.

"An Emerald's duty should always surpass her own desires," Zeinara mocked through a pinched nose, reciting a line Etienne had often scolded her with. "For the good of our subjects and the kingdom!" she went on, imitating her father with a deep voice. "And because I said so, young lady!"

Etienne could see Zeinara's silhouette gesticulating in imitation of him and laughed dryly as he shoved the letter into his coat pocket. "I do not sound like that!" he called indignantly.

Zeinara made a derisive noise. "But why is it my duty to stand about with rabid princes drooling at me?" she demanded. "Ouch! Bloody hell!"

"Now, miss, I told you to hold still while I was placing the pins!" scolded the tailor.

"I will require her presence in an hour," Etienne called to the tailor. "Assuming her highness the princess won't have bled to death on the carpet."

The tailor laughed good-naturedly. "Oh, aye, your majesty! My apologies. But the young thing won't stand still. Must be that Emerald blood."

Zeinara made another derisive noise.

More like Taiga's blood, Etienne thought as he turned from the room. Taiga was the one with the fiery temper. Taiga was the hunter and the warrior Etienne would never be. If Zeinara mastered fencing and archery and shooting, it was because of Taiga. Etienne hated fencing and shooting and had always thought it a load of bother. He especially hated hunting - though all the kingdom knew that now.

With the letter in his pocket, Etienne arrived at the double doors of his royal apartments. He remembered feeling squeamish the day he realized he was going to have to live in the room where his father had died - and where Donica had been murdered. But then he remembered that WychowlCastle was a very old castle, and the blood of many a murdered Emerald had already soaked its walls, and he stopped caring.

The large mastiff guards nodded at Etienne dutifully and opened the double doors, parting the face of the roaring lion as he passed through. He was not surprised to find Judith inside, standing at one of the bookshelves, looking for a book, her long black mane tumbling down her back. She was clad in a simple blue gown, though beautifully tailored and one of the many made especially for her during the twenty years she had lived at Wychowl. She even wore jewelry now, though it was simple as well: plain silver rings and earrings were on her person, lacking the glitter and wink of diamonds and jewels. Judith had plain tastes, and Etienne wouldn't have been surprised if the slippers hidden under her gown were dull gray. She was as calm and dignified as ever when Etienne entered the room and settled behind his desk. She didn't look at him as she said pleasantly, "Your majesty."

"Judith," Etienne returned just as pleasantly and drew a sheet of blank parchment to himself.

After the events that had taken place twenty years before in the courtyard, Etienne had asked Judith to stay on at Wychowl, working as his royal advisor. Etienne claimed that he valued Judith's guidance and wisdom, as she was the one who had guided him during his journey to Wychowl, while Judith claimed she would watch over Etienne because Ti'uu had commanded her to. But they both knew they had stayed together out of loneliness more than anything. Albert Connell had been buried with honors in the castle cemetery, and Etienne knew Judith would rather be near him.

"Thank you, Decius," Etienne muttered when the Beauceron slave carefully placed inkwell and quill near his paw.

Decius nodded and took a step back again, placing his paws behind his back.

When Etienne returned to Wychowl twenty years before, it was to find Decius working in the kitchen, having been demoted to such duties in his absence. He gladly took Decius on again as his personal slave, and the handsome male had been serving him happily ever since. He was still tall and slender and at least twice Etienne's age, an older male with a fit body, a slowly sagging belly, and small lines around his mouth and pretty eyes. Etienne often looked at Decius and thought he had aged like a fine wine.

"Who are you writing, your majesty?" Judith paused to study Etienne with her curious hazel eyes. Having lost the gift of Ti'uu's light long ago, she never covered her eyes anymore. It had been more than a decade, but Etienne was still getting used to her probing stare. He could always feel her eyes now, even when his back was to her.

"And what is the matter?" Judith added, drawing near the desk. "You look as if you'd swallowed a stone. A large one."

Without a word, Etienne pulled the raunchy letter from his pocket and placed it on the desk. Judith picked it up, and after her eyes had scanned to the bottom, she stared off and whispered, "Oh wow."

"Precisely," Etienne said darkly and dipped the quill in the inkwell. "I'm going to write my uncle. Perhaps he'll know how to . . . handle this."

Judith smiled. "Perhaps the duke should be your advisor, your majesty."

Etienne glanced at her apologetically. "I know I go to him a lot about Zeinara, but he understands how to protect her. He's been protecting himself and Cousin Richard for years . . ." He frowned at the blank parchment. "Whereas I have never faced scrutiny for . . ." He glanced uncomfortably at Decius, who was watching him with soft eyes. Etienne dipped the quill again and began to write. "A king can do what he pleases. But a queen? A female can not. The kingdom will eat her alive if I don't handle this well." He paused and frowned as he tried to form the first sentence.

"Your majesty," Judith said calmly. She was still looking at the letter and her eyes were worried. "I don't believe this letter was written by the princess of Poston."

Etienne glanced at her, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"I believe it was written by the someone else, masquerading as the princess. The Princess Ethelyn of Poston is . . ." Judith paused as if searching for the right word. ". . . a simpleton, your majesty. She couldn't have written a letter with such eloquence or articulation."

Etienne set down his quill. "What?"

"They say King Damon was cursed because he murdered his brother to take the throne of Poston," Judith continued calmly. "His wife died shortly after he married her, and his daughter was so mentally feeble when born, they kept her in a tower for ten years. He was ashamed of her. That would be the reason you had never actually met her, your highness. Nor learned of her condition. It's only recently that she's started to talk. She can barely string together a sentence."

Etienne sat back and his lips tightened angrily. "Let alone write a bloody letter. Someone is playing games with my daughter. Someone is awfully stupid."

"I can't imagine why King Damon would do this," Judith said in wonder. "He's been showering you with gifts and kissing your feet for years. He's desperate to see his son on the Emerald throne."

Etienne's lip curled. "Because King Damon isn't behind this. . . King Louis is."

"Ah," Judith said darkly. "Of course."

"Imagine the chaos if this got out? Zeinara makes a pass at Ethelyn, gets caught when the girl screams, and I lose many allies. After banning the Hunt, my daughter liking females would turn every pious fool against me. They'd say no child of King Antony's holy bloodline would commit such blasphemy in the eyes of our Lord. They'd drag up my mother's exile and her love of the foxes, and they'd say that's what happens when a bastard child breeds with filth. And with everyone in dissent, Curith would just cruise right in and seize Wychowl." Etienne clicked his teeth and slowly shook his head, tapping an angry finger on the desk. "Well played, King Louis."

"What do you intend to do?" Judith wondered calmly.

"I can't very well rescind my invitation to the Postons, nor cancel the ball," Etienne said irritably. "It took far too long to win King Damon's trust. He hates the foxes and was completely convinced he should side with Curith for years. I offend him now and I'll lose a very valuable ally. Poston boasts one of the largest military forces across the nine kingdoms." Etienne balled his fist on the desk. "Damn King Louis."

"But I can't imagine Princess Ethelyn would make an appearance regardless, your majesty. She's a simpleton," Judith reminded him.

"Is she a pretty simpleton?" Etienne asked shrewdly.

"Well . . . yes," Judith admitted.

Etienne nodded wearily at his desk. "Then King Damon will be certain to bring her. Kings and queens and nobles and just about anyone who's anyone will arrive for this ball. It will be the perfect opportunity for Damon to pawn his cursed daughter off on some petty nobles desperate for the money and connections that would come with House du Grace. He would never have to lay eyes on her again."

"I never met the princess during my trip to Poston," Judith said. "Jut saw the portraits on the walls. But you're right about Damon. I wouldn't put it past him. He'd sell his own mother to keep his name clean. And Ethelyn is quite mad, a mistake, an embarrassment. You should have seen what lengths they went to to hide the truth from me." She smiled. "They still don't know that I know."

Etienne smiled at the desk. He sent Judith to Poston the year before as an ambassador to the Emerald throne. She stayed there for six months, attending parties and ceremonies in Etienne's name, but really spying on the family for information. Etienne had been loath to send her and had been ready to send anyone else, especially one of his professional spies. But Judith had insisted. Even a professional was likely to be sniffed out by the du Graces, while Judith was the last one they'd ever suspect.

"We can avoid a disaster, your majesty," Judith insisted. "King Louis hasn't won yet."

Suddenly very tired of the daily burden political intrigue, Etienne leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steeple of his touching paws. He heard Decius pour him a drink and gladly took the glass. "What are you suggesting, Judith?" he asked, sipping the liquor with closed eyes.

"Write the letter to your uncle. Invite Duke Charles and the entire family to the ball."

Etienne moaned and pinched the flesh between his eyes. "I can not see the benefit in inviting my horrid family to Wychowl so they can embarrass me in front of the world's most influential nobility."

Judith smiled. "Really, your majesty? You can not see the benefit of using Jonathan and Corene to distract those who attend? I can see them now, bickering and upsetting chairs and keeping everyone's focus off of Zeinara. And if Jonathan doesn't bicker with his wife, he'll bicker with his father. And if Duke Richard doesn't get drunk, he'll get caught having a go with your uncle in some broom closet."

Etienne laughed dryly. "Point taken. And there's young Robin." He rubbed a thoughtful finger along his chin. "We could ask her to keep Zeinara distracted, keep her away from Princess Ethelyn." Suddenly very relieved, Etienne lifted his quill, leaned forward, and started scribbling. Decius stepped forward and quietly refilled his glass.

Judith turned back to the bookshelf and started looking again for a book.

"What are you searching for anyway?" Etienne wondered. He dipped the quill again and continued scribbling.

"There was a possible reference to a dog-fox in one of the old texts concerning the return of King Antony."

Etienne's face darkened. "You're saying Zeinara's birth was ordained?" He sighed. "I'm so surprised," he said sarcastically and continued writing.

"No. I'm saying that a dog-fox coming into existence was never impossible, as I believe it may have happened before. Perhaps more than once."

Etienne stopped writing and regarded Judith's slender back. "What?"

"It may have happened before," Judith repeated calmly. "The Second Coming, the dog-fox child, all of it. Three hundred years ago, your ancestor loved a fox. A vixen. Who was god-touched."

"And you're telling me this now?" Etienne said in amazement.

"I only discovered the story a few days ago, your majesty."

Etienne sighed and went back to scribbling. "Twenty years, Judith."

"Beg pardon, your majesty?" Judith said, still searching the shelves. She climbed the ladder and reached for a particularly high tome but could not quite grab it. Decius came over to help her and she climbed down to allow him to climb up.

"Twenty years," Etienne repeated wearily, "and you still insist on calling me by titles. Even Decius calls me by name when we're alone together." He shook his head and dipped the quill again.

Judith smoothed down her blue gown and smiled. "My apologies . . . Etienne. To the point: your ancestor did almost everything you have done. The story so incredibly mirrored your own that I assumed it was some foretelling of future events. But then I saw where the story diverged. The prince of Varimore was Prince Tomas Emerald, and he loved a vixen who had been brought to his father's court as the gift of some hunter seeking the king's favor. She was god-touched, of course, and allowed herself to be captured so she could infiltrate the castle and become queen. According to the text, her name was Ac'thalian. Etienne . . . she was the child of Ti'uu."

Etienne paused to stare at Judith. "So what are you saying?" he said slowly, unhappily. "Are you saying Ti'uu has done all this before? Created a child to take back the world for the foxes?"

"Yes," Judith said heavily. "Azrian was not his first attempt. And for all we know, she may not be his last. After all, Azrian did not do what she was sent to do. She didn't take back Aonre for the foxes. She took them away to another world, while many of them remain behind, still oppressed by our kind." Judith blinked unhappily.

Etienne looked at her and wondered what it was like for her to realize the many failings of her god. It was quite possible Ti'uu had been attempting to fulfill his own prophesy for a thousand years. Etienne dropped his eyes to the parchment and went back to writing. "So I take it my ancestor and this Acne had a child?"

"Ac'thalian," Judith corrected as Decius came down the ladder with the book. He handed it to her and she flipped it open. "Thank you, Decius . . . And, yes. They had a child."

Judith sounded so unhappy that Etienne hesitated to ask, ". . . what happened to it?" Judith didn't answer. Etienne lifted his head and looked at her. Her hazel eyes were horrorstricken as they scanned the pages of the book. Decius stood quietly beside her, his paws behind his back, but he appeared to be reading over her shoulder, and he didn't like what he was reading.

"Judith?" Etienne prompted.

Judith halted, her mouth hanging open. She slowly lifted her eyes to Etienne. "I think . . ." She swallowed and passed the book to Decius with shaking paws. Decius fumbled to take the book, watching with concern and Judith wondered through the room.

Etienne pushed himself up from the desk and helped Judith into a chair. Decius brought a glass of water, and Etienne gave it to Judith. They watched as she drank slowly and unsteadily. Her paws were still shaking, and the water splashed down her chin.

"For god's sake," Etienne muttered in amazement. "What is it?"

"You aren't the Second Coming," Judith said miserably and glanced at Etienne. "You're more like the _Zillionth_Coming." Her brows shot up on the word "zillionth" and she took another shaky drink.

Etienne took the book from Decius and flipped it open. The left page was covered in tiny text, but the page opposite depicted what was clearly a dog-fox, dying a horrific death as it burned at the stake. The dog-fox looked an awful lot like Zeinara. Etienne swallowed hard.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Judith said wretchedly. "Ti'uu keeps bringing King Antony and Queen Nadheertia back. Reincarnating them. Again and again in some desperate attempt to correct his first mistake. It was always his intention to make dogs and foxes live in harmony. King Antony and our kind were created with this purpose. We were to subdue and punish, to teach the foxes to live in peace. We were to blend with them to form a new species. It was all a horrific experiment that went wrong." She waved a miserable paw and took another drink. "King Antony tried to create a new race with Nadheertia. When he failed, he turned against the gods and killed her."

Etienne stared at the dog-fox burning on the page and felt the anger thrumming in his chest. King Antony had murdered his own love. Prince Tomas had murdered his own child. And King Bastian . . . allowed Evelyn to die. Wasn't there an Emerald who wasn't a complete ass? Etienne gritted his fangs and suddenly slammed the book shut and passed it back to Decius. "Good thing I'm not King Antony," he said, turning away.

Judith shook her head. "But you are. Haven't you been listening?"

Etienne sat behind his desk again, glowering at Judith across the room. "I would never hurt Zeinara." He took up his quill again and sniffed as he returned to his letter. "And I'd never hurt Azrian," he added under his breath.

"You don't know that," Judith said to her lap. "Things change. Maybe you wouldn't have a choice. It seems to be a pattern that is doomed to repeat itself. Perhaps a curse."

Etienne's face darkened but he said nothing.

"And I think there's more to Antony and Nadheertia's story than we know," Judith went on. "Nadheertia mayn't have been the innocent martyr history has made her."

"Is that in the book too?" Etienne muttered derisively.

"No. The book is primarily about Prince Tomas and his many wives, all of whom he murdered because they looked like Ac'thalian."

"Lovely," Etienne said sarcastically.

"It was one of Donica's collection brought over from Curith. I recognized her scribbling in the margins," Judith went on.

Etienne took a shuddering breath but didn't look up from his writing. "We're forgetting one really important thing." Judith looked at him and he smiled. "Zeinara isn't Azrian's child! Even if this 'curse' were real, she wouldn't be in danger."

"I guess we should be grateful that you and Azrian never managed to conceive," said Judith and pushed a relieved paw through her black mane.

Decius came forward with drinks on a tray, and they each took one, Judith exchanging her clear water for amber liquor.

"What are you going to do," Judith whispered after a while, "if Zeinara can't produce an heir?"

"It won't matter. I have cousins in distant places. There are Emeralds galore. There have to be if the bloodline is to survive. And knowing my family's supposed bad luck . . . etcetera." Etienne took a weary drink.

So did Judith.

"She could always name some cousin heir," Etienne said and waved a lazy paw. "It's what would have happened . . . if my mother hadn't had me."

They sat in silence for a time, as the clock ticked on the wall, as the black birds of Wychowl spun across the blue sky.

"What happened to Acne?" Etienne wondered. "I suppose I could guess after hearing that her child died horrifically in a fire."

"Ac'thalian," Judith corrected calmly.

"Whatever." Etienne took a drink.

"Prince Tomas became convinced she had betrayed him. He hated the foxes. And when he realized her entire purpose was to seduce and manipulate him, he made her mortal with something called Sky Glass."

Skkye Glass, Etienne silently corrected and remembered the dagger Sinte had stabbed him with. He still had the scar.

"He had her burned at the stake," Judith went on, "alongside his own child, who he believed to have been an abomination and a sin of nature."

Etienne made a face. "_Ouch._I come from a long line of assholes."

"Many kings do," Judith said matter-o-factly. "Of course, Prince Tomas was convinced to turn against his love by a Carrington, one of Donica's ancestors. If that's any consolation."

Etienne stared into his glass and laughed dryly. "Aha. It's not."

"It was rumored that the Carrington was a prince and the lover of Tomas. He seduced Prince Tomas and turned him against Ac'thalian."

As Hellene was to seduce me, Etienne thought darkly. "You really know how to cheer a guy up, Judith," he said and tossed his glass back for a drink.

"Your majesty . . . did you ever consider simply talking to Zeinara about her feelings toward --?"

"No," Etienne said flatly.

Judith slowly shook her head. "A talk about coming into bitch-hood should come from her father, not Nkwe and Mogethis, as much as I like them. And I don't like them much."

Etienne sighed. "It might be easier if she was a boy. But she's a girl. She's got . . . girly parts."

Judith laughed. "And here I thought you were intimately familiar with girly parts."

"Her mother was scary, Judith. Sometimes . . . she's scary. Scari_er._"

"Taiga wasn't so scary that you didn't have sex with her. And honestly, talking to your daughter about sex can't be that terrifying."

"I don't know how."

"You think any parent does? My father taught me about sex by constructing a weird model with tubes and vials from his laboratory."

Etienne winced. "Alright. I'd never go that far. I might draw a diagram, though."

Judith smiled at Etienne. "Just talk to her. Surely you have some anecdotes about your first experiences with males --"

Etienne sprayed liquor with a sudden cough and avoided looking at Decius, who was also taken aback. "How'd you know . . .?"

"I know you, your majesty," Judith said simply. "After twenty years of living with you, how could I _not_know you?"

"Aha," Etienne laughed wearily and pushed a paw back through his mane. "Right." He set down his glass and rose from his chair. Decius followed as he went to the door.

"Your majesty?" Judith called. She turned in her chair. "Where are you going?"

"To thank the Creator that Azrian and I didn't conceive," Etienne said and went out.