She has more than seven secret foxes, the fox blurted out.
She does? said Bitterblue. How many?
I don’t even know, the fox said, almost wailing. She keeps them everywhere! At the academy, the Keep, the Cliff Farm, the Varanas’ airship hangars. And they’re all so obedient!
Goodness, said Bitterblue. She’s more of a force than I realized. Well. Is that such a bad thing, for them to be obedient?
Maybe it’s not a bad thing if your person isn’t a monster, the fox said gloomily. It’s a luxury I’ve never had.
I expect Quona is much more compassionate to foxes than Ferla Cavenda was, said Bitterblue sympathetically. And certainly more fun. You, my fox, have had to be a hero. That’s much harder.
There was a long pause, during which Bitterblue examined the street, bustling with shops and vendors and small, noisy children. It was quite a smelly place, really. Fishy.
Fox? she said, suddenly thinking of it. If your siblings have names, does that mean you have a name too?
Yes, he said.
What is it? May I call you by it?
There was a longer pause. My name is Adventure Fox, he said. Adventure, for short. My siblings call me Ad.
That’s an excellent name, said Bitterblue. Thank you.
This was followed by the longest pause of all. Then the fox spoke in an almost inaudible voice. I don’t deserve to be called by my name. I’m not a hero.
What? Whyever not?
Because I did something terrible.
She’d been right, then.
It was objectively terrible, he said. You’ll never think well of me again.
Suddenly, instantly, Bitterblue guessed what was coming. She’d wondered about this, like the tiniest light paw touching her mind with curiosity, doubt. Now she took careful control of her thoughts and reactions so that the fox couldn’t feel them. Why don’t you tell me what it is, she said, and let me decide?
The fox had stopped. He was crouched under a short staircase that rose to a shop door and he was pressing himself to the wood siding of the shop, trembling. It was hard to resist the urge to crouch down, pull him out, sit on the stoop, and settle him into her lap, soothing him like a cat. This fox had comforted her when she’d been desperate. He’d risked his own safety to keep her safe.
Instead, Bitterblue climbed the stairs to the shop, because that would look normal to passersby. She shot a glance at Mart and Ranin, warning them not to follow. Then, stepping inside, she pretended to muse over rows and rows of what turned out to be pastries.
Go on, she nudged.
His voice got even quieter. I sort of, more or less, murdered Ferla Cavenda, he said. More, not less. I tripped her. Then I choked her. She was going to hurt you, and maybe Lovisa too.
Well. That was it, then. And it was more awful to hear than she’d expected, because tripping and choking were no small thing to imagine him doing. They were violent. Shocking.
But how different were they, really, from framing someone in a court of law, if the results were the same? And what would she have done, if she’d been a fox?
Oh, it was all such a mess, the things people did to each other, and the decisions that had to be made.
Why did you decide to tell me? Bitterblue asked.
Because you think I’m honorable and helpful and true, he said in a voice like crying. I want you to see who I really am, even if that’s the most terrible fox in Winterkeep.
The Cavenda house created the same illness in everyone, it seemed. Adventure, she said. You’re not terrible.
How can you say that?
Because I know it’s true.
How do you know?
She didn’t have the words for it yet. This fox had been her friend in a desperate time. He’d broken his own rules because he cared for her.
She realized that she was staring, unseeing, at a pastry very much like the pastry the fox had brought her once in the attic. To the astonishment of the shopkeeper who’d been watching the Queen of Monsea bumble vaguely around her shop, she attempted to purchase two of them, discovered that the coin in her pocket wasn’t enough money, tried to put one back, had both pastries pushed upon her by the shopkeeper who insisted that the queen could have everything in the shop for free if she liked, shamefacedly promised to send her guard in to pay, then turned to go.
“Wait! Your proof of purchase, Lady Queen!” the woman called, then handed her a slip of paper Bitterblue was sure she didn’t deserve.
Kittens, Bitterblue said expressively to the fox as she left the shop. The richest woman on earth is not the woman who should be getting her pastries for free. She tromped across to Ranin to ask him to take care of it. Then she surreptitiously slipped one of the pastries into the hood of her fur coat, took a big bite of the other, and said to the fox, Is there some dark corner somewhere where we could get you into my hood, so you can have a treat?
The fox’s voice sounded confused, and incredulous. You want me to ride in your hood, and have a treat?
Do you not want a treat in my hood? she said, then remembered that her coat had once belonged to Ferla. This fox had been in this hood many times. Oh dear, she said. I forgot that I wear her coat. I’m so sorry. Of course you might not want—
I want to ride in your hood, he said.
Oh. Good. Here, I’ll sit on this rock under this droopy tree and pretend I’m fixing my shoe. Can you manage to sneak in?
A moment later, the fox was in Bitterblue’s hood.
Is it tasty? Bitterblue said.
I—I’m afraid to eat it.
Why?
I don’t understand what it means.
The pastry?
What any of it means, said the fox. You really don’t think I’m terrible?
I think you did something terrible, said Bitterblue, because you had to. I don’t think you’re terrible. It’s not the same thing.
It’s not?
These matters are morally ambiguous, said Bitterblue with a sigh. I’ve done terrible things too. I think we need to discuss it more. I’d like to include Giddon.
I remember Giddon, said the fox. He’s the big one who wrapped Hava in a scarf.
No doubt, said Bitterblue, who hadn’t heard that story yet, but thought it sounded silly enough to be true. He knows about you.
I gave you his notes, said the fox.
Yes. He was very happy to see them again, said Bitterblue. Those notes were helpful to me. They helped me with some important realizations. Oh! she cried, remembering. I still haven’t told Giddon happy birthday!
Is it Giddon’s birthday?
His birthday was in August.