Epilogue
#80 of Fox Hunt 2: The Queen of Varimore
Epilogue
"That's a _terrible_story," Zeinara complained when Nkwe had finished speaking.
Nkwe's lips tightened impatiently, and he glared at her across the desk.
They were in the grand library in WychowlCastle. It was day, and sunlight streamed through the high windows and across the desk at which they sat, tickling the open tomes Nkwe was pouring over.
Princess Zeinara was twenty years old, tall and beautiful, and black like Etienne, with a long golden mane that fell shimmering around her shoulders and to the small of her back. Though she passed well enough as a dog, her muzzle was small and her ears were large like a fox, while her tail under the skirt of her gown was also fluffy like a fox. Her eyes were the brightest blue and were sharp and were always dancing with mirth. At the moment, however, her eyes were angry. She sat at the desk wearing a light blue gown that complimented her eyes perfectly but clashed horribly with her black fur. It was always so hard finding colors that matched both her fur and her mane. She would rather wear pants and riding coats anyway, but her father wouldn't allow it.
Nkwe had been living in the castle for as long as Zeinara could remember, and he refused to dress as the dogs dressed. He often wore long green robes that dragged the ground and a necklace of black feathers around his throat, in honor of the goddess Maret. His red mane fell in streaks under his hood and across his eyes as he glared at Zeinara, and Zeinara thought he looked exactly as young as he had twenty years before when she was but a pup. Nkwe hadn't changed a day. But that was hardly surprising: foxes aged very slowly and lived very long lives.
"Well, it is terrible_," Zeinara complained. "Daddy and the goddess didn't get to be together in the end. What kind of story is that? And it was so horridly _violent_and _dark. There was so much blood --"
"What can you expect, girl," said Nkwe heavily in his rolling accent, "when we live in a world of blood and darkness? Anyway . . ." He dropped his eyes to the open book on the desk between them. "You asked. Just be glad Mogethis didn't tell you the story. There was far more to it. More blood. More sadness. But your delicate, young mind could not withstand it. So I was gentle." He turned a page.
Zeinara's breasts heaved. She hated when he talked to her like she was five. But she knew that to him she would always be the five-year-old he had bounced on his knee. She jerked her chin and said defiantly, "What does it matter? I know it isn't true!" She waved a paw. "All of it is just a metaphor about my mother. My mother died and went far away, and Daddy couldn't be with her. Thee end."
Nkwe slowly raised his eyes to Zeinara and shook his head. "It is not a metaphor, girl." He pointed at the window, and his sleeve flared down like a wing. "Do you think that second sun in the _sky_is a metaphor? It really happened. _All_of it." He looked her in the eye a long moment, then slowly returned to his book.
Zeinara folded her arms and her lip trembled. "Then that means . . . Daddy didn't love Taiga . . . He didn't love my mother. And she's really dead."
". . . yes," Nkwe said hoarsely. He didn't look up, but she could see his lashes fluttering sadly.
Zeinara bowed her head a moment, hating the tears when they came. She'd been dreaming of her mother all her life, of her black mother and her long black mane and her warm pretty eyes. And she had asked Nkwe to tell her the story so that she could decide if the dreams were real. She slammed her fists on the desk and saw Nkwe flinch as inkwells trembled and books leapt.
Nkwe slowly looked at her and frowned sadly to see the tears in her eyes. "Zeinara . . ." he said softly, "sweetheart. . . ."
"That can't_be the way it happened!" Zeinara insisted, her voice a sob. "I wait all my life to hear the truth, and you just drop it on me like this? My own _father couldn't even tell me --"
"Zeinara. . ." Nkwe whispered again, and reaching across the desk, he slowly closed his paw over hers. He frowned into her eyes, his gaze gentle. "Sibel . . . kist on evara."
Hush, light of my heart.
Zeinara took a trembling breath and tried to stop the tears. Nkwe took his paw away and she felt an ache in the absence of his touch. But she felt soothed, lulled. She sniffled quietly and watched as he returned to his book. He turned another page.
"You have your father's temper, child," the fox said calmly.
Zeinara bit her lip and watched a tear splat on the desk, darkening the smooth wood. "I asked Daddy to tell me the truth yesterday."
Nkwe's head snapped up. He went very still. "I asked you not to do that."
"I know," she said darkly and averted her eyes. "We wound up arguing and I stormed out. I said. . . terrible things. I think I hurt him."
Nkwe sighed heavily. "You rash child," he scolded and shook his head. "Your father refuses to speak of it because it is too painful, because he knows you will do something foolish -- and just so you know," he added and frowned slightly, "that glass dagger I told you about is locked away safe. So don't go getting any foolish ideas about stealing it and running off to the gods know where. The bridge of light is not for you."
Zeinara scowled. He knew her so well. Sometimes she thought he knew her better than her father, which was hardly surprising as he had spent more time raising her. She jerked her face away and glared out the window, and her golden tresses tumbled to conceal the side of her face.
Nkwe went back to his book.
Zeinara had seen the glass dagger mentioned in the story many times in the castle, locked away behind glass. Now she knew such a dagger could make an immortal mortal. If the goddess Azrian was really her mother, she could use the dagger to make her mortal and bring her home from S'pru, the second sun in the sky. Dogs couldn't go to S'pru, but she was more than just a dog. She could go there for her father. And then Etienne would be happy. And everything would be right.
"Stop thinking about it, girl," Nkwe scolded darkly and frowned slightly as he read.
Zeinara scowled: he had picked up her thoughts. He couldn't read thoughts as well as Mogethis, but he heard her thinking on occasion. Like a whisper caught on the wind.
"The dagger was moved to a safer location," Nkwe said and turned another page. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have told you about it."
Zeinara made a face, wishing she knew how to shut him out of her mind. "So if the story is true," she realized, "that means I have an uncle out there somewhere. My mother's brother . . ."
"You would never find him," Nkwe said without looking up.
Zeinara scowled. "If you helped me, I could! You were born of magic, so the gods give you visions! You could . . ." Her voice trailed off when he lifted his eyes.
Nkwe looked at the princess with tight lips. "Why do you need to go running after this uncle of yours? Am I not your family? I love you! Doesn't that matter?"
"Uncle Nkwe . . ." Zeinara said miserably. She shook her head apologetically and her gold mane tumbled. "I -- I didn't mean . . . But he's my uncle! He would know things about my mother --!"
"I knew your mother!" Nkwe blurted angrily.
Zeinara went still: his paws were shaking.
"And your mother would not want her child wandering about the wilderness!" he went on. "Do you have any idea what sort of world it is out there? If you go into the forest, no one will care that you are a princess. They will only care that you have a tight pussy." He heaved a shuddering breath and dropped his eyes to the book again. "You are safe here, my girl. Be thankful. And let your father and I protect you."
Zeinara stared at him a long time and felt deflated. She had never been away from Wychowl in her life. Etienne, Nkwe, and Mogethis were overprotective to the point of smothering her. Nkwe had only told her the story because he decided she was old enough, that she should know the truth, and that perhaps knowing the truth would quench her curiosity. But she was more curious, more thirsty for answers than ever, and she realized her curiosity was hurting Nkwe, that it was making him feel unappreciated and unloved. She wished there was something she could say to assure him that she loved him too. Etienne had always been so busy running the kingdom that in truth, the king was more like her uncle and Nkwe was more like her father.
". . . I know, my girl," Nkwe said heavily after a time, and she knew he'd caught the whisper of her thoughts again. He sighed and his ear flattened. He had lost the other long ago - though how he would not say. "But you can not ask me to contact Yfel for you. Seeing the past, the present, and the future all at once is what makes Yfel mad. We could not rely on anything she said." He raised his eyes from the book and looked at her. "And sometimes it is best to leave the past to rest."
"You're right, Uncle Nkwe," Zeinara said softly, obediently.
Nkwe smiled. "Good girl," he said and squeezed her paw. "I think we're done here for the day. You are free of my clutches." He dropped his eyes to his book again.
Zeinara rose gracefully from her seat and went to the window. The second sun was large in the sky, and she could feel its warm and loving light gently caressing her eyelids, her forehead, the tip of her nose.
You're wrong, Uncle Nkwe, Zeinara thought. Sometimes the past won't you rest. It's time I went there. It's time I went to S'pru.
_ _ The End