The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

An expression that was definitely surprise flashed across the queen’s face.

Just as quickly, it vanished. While her ladies-in-waiting gasped and fluttered their fans, Jullia met Anthea’s gaze head-on. “And that is what thou hast come to discuss in the middle of the night? I rather expected something different.”

As had I. Although I’d pictured an older version of Lodia – all squirmy awkwardness and eagerness to please – this woman had sat on the throne for quite some time now. Getting rousted out of bed to cope with a crisis involving her own kin didn’t faze her.

Or did it?

The slightest tremor ran through her fingers, and her teacup’s base struck the polished rosewood tabletop with a little clunk. I supposed that I could have imagined the tremor, and this ungraceful way of handling teacups could have been what passed for royal etiquette these days – but I doubted it. She’d been rattled.

The crucial question was: Rattled how?

Rattled because she’d had no idea what her uncle had run off to do – or rattled because she’d masterminded the scheme but hadn’t expected her move against a powerful vassal to be exposed so soon? Since I myself couldn’t tell yet, I was curious how the silly raccoon dog pup would deal with the situation.

Not well, was my guess.

Anthea, however, had picked up something in the intervening centuries. She arched a painted eyebrow and matched the queen’s silky language. “My liege, what could possibly be of greater importance than one of your vassals acting against Your Majesty’s express wishes? Left unchecked, his actions will plunge the kingdom into a civil war that will tear it apart.”

Only because I was scrutinizing the queen’s face did I pick up on the slight bit her lips tightened. It told me what I needed to know: Jullia didn’t want a civil war. She probably couldn’t afford one, not when she was squandering her treasury on her father’s lost war.

Which, in turn, meant that she hadn’t authorized her uncle to attack Lychee Grove.

“A civil war, thou sayest?”

I knew right away that Jullia was trying to extract details without coming out and asking for them, but whether Anthea could tell was an open question.

The raccoon dog clasped her hands in her lap so hard that the knuckles turned white. I didn’t think her distress was entirely feigned either. “I fear that civil war is what lies on the horizon, Your Majesty. I have seen it before, what happens when central authority – ” She was probably about to say “fails,” which wasn’t really something you said to a monarch – at least, not if you wanted them to hang on to their temper – but at the last second, she amended it to: “When nobles decide to test their limits.”

At the reminder of the disintegration of the Empire, and Anthea’s front row seat to the events both preceding and following on the heels of aforementioned disintegration, Jullia stiffened. “The Earl of Black Crag has forgotten what he owes the Crown. Is that what thou sayest?”

Anthea hesitated.

Taking a chance, I fluttered onto her shoulder and, under the guise of preening her hair, whispered, She’s fishing. Tell her what he’s up to.

Faking a smile, Anthea raised a hand to stroke my back, lifted me off her shoulder, and deposited me back in her lap. I was considering biting her finger when she said, cautiously, “I would never accuse His Grace of such ingratitude, Your Majesty. Perhaps ‘tis your uncle’s devotion to you that impels him to take such…strong action. Perhaps he has your welfare at heart, and fears that the Lady of Lychee Grove has grown too powerful and hence poses a threat to your authority, should she decide to flex her roots.”

Hmm, not bad. Anthea’s little speech incorporated turns of phrase that I might have used myself. Aww, look at her remembering my lessons from five hundred years ago, when she’d been lucky enough to shadow me and learn from the best!

Jullia was hanging onto her every word, and when Anthea paused for dramatic effect, the queen caught her breath. The ladies-in-waiting were holding as still as if Lord Magnissimus had turned them into ice sculptures.

With reasonably good timing, Anthea plunged into her conclusion. “Regardless of his motives, however, the fact remains that the Earl of Black Crag has brought his private army to surround the city of Lychee Grove. When I rushed to inform Your Majesty, he was already on the verge of attack.” (Well, to be more precise, the Lady of the Lychee Tree was the one who’d been on the verge of a preemptive strike. Thank goodness Anthea had the sense not to say that.) “Your Majesty, if we are to avert open warfare between two of the most powerful nobles in South Serica, there is no time to waste!”

For a fraction of a second, the queen quailed before the task of bringing her own uncle to heel. “Annie. Thou’rt certain of this intelligence? Thou trustest thy source?”

Anthea’s eyes dropped to me, and I gave her an emphatic head bob.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am certain of it.”

The queen rose so suddenly that she caught her courtiers off guard. “Lady Anthea, thou hast done well to bring this matter to my attention.” And before Anthea could do more than struggle to her feet, Jullia was sweeping out of the room, calling for her advisers.

Well. That had gone well. Exceedingly well, even. Maybe working through Anthea would be less of a pain than I’d expected.

Naturally, no sooner had I thought anything complimentary about Anthea than she ruined it.

“Okay, I’ve fulfilled my half of the oath. Your turn now!”

The embroidered hem of her dressing gown was making little shh-shh noises as it brushed over the courtyard flagstones. With the Hall of Harmony blazing with light and bursting with advisers and military commanders, Anthea had decided to go somewhere quiet. I’d have preferred to stay and supervise, but without her to puppet, there wasn’t much I could do.

Unless I revealed myself.

But it hadn’t come to that yet. I wasn’t that desperate yet.

I beg your pardon? Did I miss it? Was Lychee Grove saved while you and your new BFF sipped tea? I injected scathing sarcasm into my voice.

“Jullie will take care of it. She promised.”

Uhhhh, actually, no. She didn’t. She never said a single word about what she planned to do.

Jullia’s intended response had been fairly obvious, but I was in a perverse mood. Anthea’s presence – reminders of her existence, really – always put me in one. Especially now, when she was an old spirit who could take the form of a fairly good-looking human woman – and I was a drab, common, mortal sparrow. Ugh.

“Oh, come on, Piri! You really think Jullie’s gonna let her uncle start a civil war behind her back? That’s as good as telling all the other nobles that they can start fighting their neighbors too! She’s gonna have to make an example of him.”

Can she?

It was an important question, I thought, and probably one that I should have considered before I flew all the way here to strike a demon’s bargain with my least favorite raccoon dog. Now I was wondering whether a rebel earl’s beheading would count for or against my karma total.

“Yes, of course she can! She’s the Queen, isn’t she? Now tell me how to get offerings for the Kitchen God!”

Shhh! They’re going to hear you all the way to the Jade Mountains!

Fortunately, though, Anthea had gotten us deep into the gardens before her outburst, and nothing stirred except for the willow branches that trailed into the lake. The boards of the zigzagging walkway creaked under her slippers, and ahead of us, silhouetted against the moon, rose the many upturned roofs of my pavilion.

That was where Anthea was taking us. Back to where it had all started.

Or, rather, where it had all started to end, five long centuries ago.

The construction of my pavilion had bankrupted the Empire, turning into a focal point for political discontent, a symbol of imperial degeneracy, a sign that the Son of Heaven had lost his way. It had been razed by an angry mob after I fled, I’d heard, because they thought it was mine. Which was true. The pagoda had been my domain, the height from which I’d surveyed the palace and the city and the empire that I’d made my own.

Now, in Anthea’s replica of Cassius’ palace, I could almost imagine that I was back in my beloved gardens, gliding towards my beloved pavilion.

Almost.

Little details kept jolting me out of my reverie. The curve of the path was too tight, angled too sharply to fit in a garden that was too small. Not all the plants were the same, and the ones that were didn’t grow as well as they did up north. South Serica must have been too hot and humid for them.

That jade isn’t very high quality, I noted as we approached the steps leading up to the first floor of my pagoda. The stone didn’t have the translucency of the very best jade, which I, of course, had demanded for all the carved plaques that adorned the railings.

Although I was only making an objective observation, Anthea bristled. “And whose fault is that?”

I don’t know. You tell me. They were your architects and builders, were they not?

“Yeeees,” she said, stretching out the word as if she were addressing a particularly slow aristocrat, “and how d’you think they could use the best jade when no one’s been able to get their paws on it for centuries?”

Did the jade deposits run out?!

That would be a tragedy beyond imagining! Just like me, the highest-quality stones came from the Jade Mountains in the northwestern corner of Serica. You used to be able to pick up rocks in the river that contained green or lavender or creamy shades of jade. (And by you, I meant the miners. I didn’t go for backbreaking manual labor, myself.)

Anthea rolled her eyes. “No, the jade deposits didn’t run out. Or maybe they did, but who knows? It’s not like we can find out when the mountains are full of demons.”

Was that supposed to shock or impress me?

The mountains have always been full of demons. Didn’t stop humans from finding ways to mine the resources.

“Not demons like these ones. These ones are a mess. Stay away from them. At least, stay away until you fulfill your half of the oath. Then, please, by all means go and get yourself killed.”

Ah, this back-and-forth brought back long-ago memories!

One-track mind as always, I remarked, almost fondly. Anyway, we’ve gotten way off track. We were talking about modern Serica. And what a mess it is.

“No, we were talking about your oath and how it’s time for you to tell me how to get offerings for the Kitchen God.”

I’ll tell you after you save my friends. That’s how this works.

She bared her teeth. They’d shifted towards pointiness, and they gleamed in the moonlight. “You do realize, you never said what condition they have to be in when they’re saved. They only have to be alive. But as you know, ‘alive’ covers a very wide range….”

And she angled her head at the front of her toy complex, towards the main hall and central courtyard where we’d held executions.

Ugh! Was that raccoon dog trying to threaten me? What happened to her excitement at reuniting with someone who could reminisce with her about the City of Dawn Song?

Really? This is how you want to play it?

“Not at all. But you of all people should understand why I have to get him his offerings. And, honestly, what are a few able-bodied people more or less in South Serica?”

I could have pecked her eyes out – except it was my own cursed fault for not being more specific in the oath. But who’d have thought that ditzy raccoon dog had it in her? Who’d have thought Anthea would have grown up into such a spiteful spirit?

(A spirit in my own image, wasn’t she…?)

Fine, I snapped over the voice in the back of my head, the one that always sounded like Stripey’s. I’ll tell you my grand, overarching vision. But you’ll never get the details right without me – and you’re not getting any of my help if you let them maim, mutilate, or otherwise mistreat my friends in body, mind, or soul. Got it?

An eager smile lit up Anthea’s face. “Uh huh! I got it!”

Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to set up a kingdom-wide network of temples to the Kitchen God.