"She told me that if she ever heard me say Ronin's name again, she'd kill me," he said, the stag within him shivering at the promise of death—he had almost felt the scent of it, there under the midday sun.
"She will not," the baker growled, a fierce response he had not expected, not from her, she who was always so mellow and so gentle, but.. if the fire had gone to Rory's head the past few days.. and really, as he rested against the wrath in her chest, should it surprise him that he was loved: that she would protect him so?
A warm tongue licked comfortingly along his jaw, a closeness he parsed in a very human-canine way, the memory of Jigano's human body distant and aching. The fox in its place rumbled with the vibrations of his growl, and Rory's fingers tightened in the white fur. Don't, he wanted to say, don't throw away your lives for me.
Then Amalia began to speak, an echo of the venom and bitterness so many of them felt—what he had, tiredly, voiced at Maea's meeting of would-be governors when collectively accused of inhospitality. They had come and they had chosen and they had done and they weren't going to stop—
The fox in his lap flinched and tensed, ears flat in canine distress. Amalia seemed to notice how her words sounded for she fell silent, not apologizing but neither going on.
So he was left with that, the tears still drying on his cheek, Jigano unhappy in his lap, and Amalia tense and silent, brooding, behind him.
He sighed.
"Not you," he told the fox in a quiet voice, then looking over his shoulder at Amalia, a question in his eyes, a question in his voice. "I think? It's just—" He swallowed against the weight in his throat, one hand waving haphazardly, defeated. "It's easier to say 'them' than 'those, mainly Outlanders, pushing for the fall of the barrier in a very selfish and senseless way'." Briefly, he was irritated that he was even in that situation—not just by the Spire, but there, having to explain that Amalia (probably) hadn't meant it like that—but it passed quickly.
Was he just making this worse? Possibly.
"She will not," the baker growled, a fierce response he had not expected, not from her, she who was always so mellow and so gentle, but.. if the fire had gone to Rory's head the past few days.. and really, as he rested against the wrath in her chest, should it surprise him that he was loved: that she would protect him so?
A warm tongue licked comfortingly along his jaw, a closeness he parsed in a very human-canine way, the memory of Jigano's human body distant and aching. The fox in its place rumbled with the vibrations of his growl, and Rory's fingers tightened in the white fur. Don't, he wanted to say, don't throw away your lives for me.
Then Amalia began to speak, an echo of the venom and bitterness so many of them felt—what he had, tiredly, voiced at Maea's meeting of would-be governors when collectively accused of inhospitality. They had come and they had chosen and they had done and they weren't going to stop—
The fox in his lap flinched and tensed, ears flat in canine distress. Amalia seemed to notice how her words sounded for she fell silent, not apologizing but neither going on.
So he was left with that, the tears still drying on his cheek, Jigano unhappy in his lap, and Amalia tense and silent, brooding, behind him.
He sighed.
"Not you," he told the fox in a quiet voice, then looking over his shoulder at Amalia, a question in his eyes, a question in his voice. "I think? It's just—" He swallowed against the weight in his throat, one hand waving haphazardly, defeated. "It's easier to say 'them' than 'those, mainly Outlanders, pushing for the fall of the barrier in a very selfish and senseless way'." Briefly, he was irritated that he was even in that situation—not just by the Spire, but there, having to explain that Amalia (probably) hadn't meant it like that—but it passed quickly.
Was he just making this worse? Possibly.
