Fox
FOX
AGE 7
While some Dragonborn have been amenable to assimilation and have outwardly transferred their allegiance to the king gods, it still is unclear if such action will truly bring the people of Suvi together. Until the belief in the dragon gods and the faeries of the forest is eradicated, the Dragonborn will continue to persist as a separate entity from the Dereyan mind.
-Lird W. Viona, Assimilation or Elimination: A Philosophical Debate
“B ack with you, faery spawn!” cried, pushing forward with his sword née tree branch until his brother was forced to retreat.
“I will eat your blood!” Leon said, spinning and slashing out with his own blade—a true practice sword carved of polished wood that their father had gifted him last week.
“You can’t eat blood, you idiot.” He followed his words with a jab to Leon’s side.
“I’m magical. I can do what I want, Dumbass !”
“Language,” their mother said from where she was sitting beneath the small pitaya tree. A servant had brought a small wooden chair for her to sit on, the shade of the leaves above her protecting her olive skin from tanning. His father hated it when she looked too dark.
They were outside the manor wall, down by the small man-made canal that carved through the royal and military quarters. It was the peak of the dry season and the sun shone long and hot through the day. Perhaps and Leon should have taken this as a hint to stay inside, at least in the sharp heat of afternoon, but they were far too bored of wandering the manor’s halls. So instead, they moved between playing in the field and jumping in the canal to cool their reddening skin.
leaped back as his brother jabbed his sword at him, the wooden blade smacking him on the side. He squealed loudly, falling back into the grass with a dramatic kick.
“You will not defeat me,” he said, doing his best impression of imminent death. “My dragon will protect me! He comes now!”
Leon gave an equally dramatic cry, hands raised to protect himself from the threat of the unseen creature.
“What is this?” a cold voice asked.
stopped his thrashing along the ground immediately and pulled himself up. His father was striding across the grass, face pulled into a scowl. He’d been meeting with the king, and it didn’t look like it had ended well. His long golden hair was tied back, but countless strays had escaped, giving him a disheveled appearance. It was a look that never boded well. Leon had gone quiet, too, standing at attention as his father stopped beside them.
“Leon?”
“Yes, Father,” he said, voice smaller than it was a moment earlier.
“Are you savages?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you traitors to the king?”
“No, sir.”
“Only savages and traitors believe in dragons and magic.”
“Yes, sir,” Leon and said together.
“Men and soldiers fight against the Dragonborn rebels and true threats to the kingdom, not mythical monsters.” He paused, as if waiting for an argument, but Leon and both stood, unmoving. “Go inside. The tutor left you extra work to complete, and I need to speak with your mother.”
With reluctance, dropped the tree branch he’d been using onto the ground and followed his brother as he headed back up the small hill toward the manor. He looked back only once just as his father’s hand cracked across their mother’s face, the sound of the clap echoing across the field.
* * *
That night, the bruise was already starting to bloom across Mother’s cheek, a red darkening to mauve beneath the powder pressed against her skin. She gently took his hand as he automatically reached up to touch it, as if he could wipe it away.
“Do you want me to read you a story?” she asked as she sat on the edge of his bed, the plush mattress dipping beneath her weight.
“It’s okay,” he said, eyes lingering on the bruise with guilt.
“You always love a story,” she said. Her skin was cold as she pressed her hand against his cheek, cupping him and forcing him to meet her eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”
Hot tears burned his eyes. It was the most she’d ever acknowledged the marks that Father occasionally left on her.
Her fingers gently tipped his chin up, meeting his eyes once more. She wiped away his tears.
“Never let them see you cry, Little ,” she said.
He nodded, biting back the tears until his eyes were dry once more.
“How about I read the dragon and the hare, again?” She pulled the book from the small pile of stories tucked hidden beneath his bed.
“Can I listen, too?” Leon was leaning in the doorway, voice a whisper.
Their mother smiled and opened her arms in answer, waiting until Leon was sitting on the bed beside to open the book. Her voice was soft, never rising above a whisper.
His father was somewhere in the manor, probably in his study or in his room, separate from her own rooms. One day, his father would find the small stash of books Mother had hidden. She had tucked them away last cycle when his father had decided Leon—and by extension—was too old for faerytales and books. The stories would be burned and the punishment meted out. But for now, in the dark and quiet of the night as his mother did her best impression of the deep timbre of a dragon’s voice, was happy with their little secret.
Someday, their little safe space would crumble, but not today. Not yet.