Niamh—Call To Arms

	Niamh woke slowly, still drunk with her dreams, and with her legs tangled in the sheets.  She could feel the sunlight coming in through the big double window on the other side of the room, warming the spot between her shoulderblades.  Her fur still felt thick with dust, in spite of the long bath last night.  But the mattress was soft, and the pillow was scented with lilac.  She rolled over to let the sun warm her bad hip, and snuck a hand across the bed to pull Ciara closer.
	When she felt only cool sheets where Ciara should be, the chill that washed over her took sleep with it.  She sat up, half afraid that her dreams had come true during the night, and tumbled herself out of bed in her hurry.  The sheets were silk, and they pulled away easily when she grabbed them.  She landed in an awkward heap, with her good leg pinned painfully under her, and a cramp in her thigh.
	But then Ciara was beside her, like she had been there all night.  She was naked, except for her amethyst pendant, and her fur glowed in the morning light.  She was still dripping from her bath, and she smelled of wine and dark chocolate.
	“You slept a long time.  It’s almost ten,” said Ciara.
	Her fingers dug into Niamh's leg, massaging the knot of muscle into softness again.  The heat of Ciara's breath warmed Niamh's throat, and she shut her eyes, as Ciara's fingers moved teasingly up her leg for just a moment.
	“You didn’t sleep at all.  Everything in the room smells like you, except the bed,” she said.
	“I had things to think about.”
	“What things?”
	“Things I'd rather not talk about.  I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel yet.  I'm not ready to deal with anything else this morning.”
	Ciara gave her thigh one more squeeze and lifted her back up onto the bed.  She kissed Niamh on the top of her muzzle, and slipped away to sun herself.  The window was open this morning, and there was just enough of a breeze to make the late summer heat bearable.  There was some noise from the direction of the front gate, but no more than there was on a busy afternoon at home.  She could smell pancakes cooking somewhere, and had to wipe her mouth before Ciara saw.
	“Welcome home,” she said.
	Ciara grunted, and turned a little to give her back more heat.
	“I don't know this place any more,” she said.
	“Did you get to talk to your father?”
	“We shouted at each other for a while.  It was just like old times.”
	“But you got in to see him.  One of the perks of being a princess, I guess.”
	“I'm a swift fox.”
	“Half.”
	“The wrong half.”
	Niamh got up and found an old blue towel where Ciara had dropped it next to the bath.  It was rough, and balding in places.  But it was better than letting her drip on the floor.  Niamh's hands slid over Ciara's body, to dry her, but also to soothe her.  This wasn't the first time Ciara had stayed up all night, and it showed in the way she jumped at the lightest touch.
	“I don't mind, really,” said Ciara “There's far less blood on this name, and it's every bit as good as anybody else's.  I just wish... Well, that doesn't matter.”
	The towel was growing damp and heavy, so Niamh abandoned it for the silver-backed brush that had been placed on the side of the bath.  Ciara's fur was thick, and it tangled easily, so she had to follow the brush with her fingers.  As she did, she could feel the muscles in Ciara's back soften.
	“I still don't see what difference it makes,” she said.
	“Rabbits generally don't.”
	“But you're his daughter.  As hard as you try to hide it, you look just like him.”
	“I belong to my mother.  I have her name, so I'm stuck down at her level,” said Ciara.
	When Niamh had finished brushing her fur, Ciara got dressed.  She hadn’t bothered to pack anything but her black work clothes.  But she’d washed them and mended the tears in her shirt.  She tucked her shirt into her shorts, and added a new belt.  When she was done, her clothes looked nearly new, and she made a slow, self-mocking twirl, holding her tail out to one side like the hem of a skirt.  It ended when Niamh caught her, and slid an arm around Ciara’s waist to pull her in close.  Ciara leaned her head back against Niamh's shoulder, and shut her eyes, with a little sigh.
	“Some princess I would make, even if I wanted the job.  Which I don't.  Not even a little bit,” she said.
	Her words were slurred with sleep, and Niamh thought she might fall asleep on her feet.  But there was a nervous energy buzzing through her that made her feel like she was vibrating in Niamh's arms.
	“You need to take care of yourself.  That means you come to bed on time, and don't wander around all night.”
	“It's all moving too fast.  If I sleep, Oseille might be lost before I wake up.”
	“It can't move that fast.  Everyone's still groping around, trying to remember where they put their swords, and what happened to all those uniforms they used to have.”
	Ciara laughed and shook her head until her muzzle banged agianst Niamh's.
	“I used to think that, too, when I was a kit.  Then I got a horse for my birthday,” she said.
	“Oseille can be replaced.”
	“The people there can't.”
	“Rabbits can take care of themselves.  They were for hundreds of years before you were even born,” said Niamh.
	There were three buttons on Ciara’s collar, which she hadn't bothered to fasten yet.  Niamh slid her hand into Ciara’s shirt to stroke the fur on her chest, and tease it between her fingers, and when she put her palm against Ciara's chest, she could feel the girl's heartbeat slowing.
	“This isn't your fault,” she said.
	She had gotten Ciara to actually lie down on the bed and close her eyes, when the morning calm was broken by a trumpet under their window.  It was joined by another horn a little further away, and then another, and none of them were on the same note.  Niamh straddled Ciara's waist to keep her still, but the girl twisted around and slipped out from under her anyway.  She nearly made it all the way out the door, too, but Niamh managed to grab her by the tail.  Ciara rounded on her, actually snarling from the insult, but Niamh didn't let go.
	“It's none of your business.  Stay here, like I told you to,” she said.
	“Let go.  He lied to me,” said Ciara  “Of course he did, tell the stupid bitch what she wants to hear, and she'll go away, right?”
	“You aren't being fair.  He hasn't had time to do anything yet.  He was probably getting some use out of his bed, like sensible foxes should,” said Niamh.
	“He can try, then.  Let go of my tail,” said Ciara.
	“Not unless you take me with you.”
	Ciara yanked her tail out of Niamh's hands and fussed at it, smoothing the fur back down again.  Her ears were flat, and she growled to herself the whole time in a way that sent ancient chills down Niamh's back.  But Ciara wasn't paying attention to her anymore.  She was looking out past Niamh's shoulder at the window.  All around the hotel, Cearnach had grown still again.  But Niamh could still hear trumpets calling to each other somewhere on the other side of the city.
	“Don't ask me to do that.  You don't have any idea what those trumpets mean,” said Ciara.
	“That doesn't matter.  If you go down there, I'm going with you.  I'm not going to have you vanish on me,” she said.
	“But you're--”
	“I'm tired of hearing that from foxes.  I know you don't mean it like that, but think for a minute.  How many people are going to care about me right now?”
	“You're a foreigner.  Nobody's going to care what species you are.”
	“Then I'll deal with that when I have to,” said Niamh.
	She found her clothes where she had dropped them last night, and got dressed while Ciara sat on the bed and tried to hide her impatience.  As soon as Niamh finished buttoning her shirt, Ciara grabbed her by the wrist, and they ran.  They passed the grey fox in the upstairs hall, and he had to flatten himself against the wall to keep from being trampled.  Niamh risked a glance over her shoulder just before they hit the stairs, to make sure he wasn't hurt.  But all she saw was the door to one of the rooms closing behind him.
	Now that the noise had ended, life had gone back to nearly normal around the hotel.  People milled in the streets, all shouting at each other at the tops of their voices.  They only stopped long enough to buy something from one of the merchants who had set up stalls along the street, or to try to beat each other to a sale.  But as they got closer to the middle of the city, soldiers started showing up on the streets.  Most of them stood around in loose groups, looking like school children who had been asked to line up for the very first time.  But groups of them were forming up into long lines that filled the streets, and these foxes looked more serious.  These lines were thickest around the castle, and eventually they had to slow down to a fast walk.  Ciara shoved her way through without looking at them.  Niamh kept her head down and followed, uncomfortably aware of the curious and hostile attention that followed them.
	“This is an open city, isn't it?  I wouldn't have thought that visitors would be that uncommon,” said Niamh.
	“It depends on what kind.  They see a lot of merchants and mercenaries, people who have decided not to let an old grudge stand in the way of making money,” said Ciara.
	“Saoirse said once that she used to come here all the time, when she was younger,” said Niamh.
	“I know.  Connor used to complain about having to deal with stupid, stubborn rabbits.  But she didn't come here for fun,” said Ciara.
	An grossly fat red fox in red silk robes was waiting for them at the bottom of the castle steps.  He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, and he was watching the soldiers milling in front of him with a smirk.  He stank of wine and, as they got closer, he raised his head to look down his muzzle at them.
	“The castle is closed,” he said.
	“No, it isn't, Marcan.  Those doors haven't been locked in a hundred years.”
	“Its been nine years,” said Marcan
	“That was different.  Then, there was an army outside the walls.”
	“They're out there now.”
	Ciara stood up on her toes, and craned her head to look towards the front of the city.  She was too short to see over the heads of the people around her, but she didn't have to.  Niamh could see murder in the priest's expression.
	“I don't have to let you in, Miss Lohan.  Not after what your mother has done,” he said.
	“I'm not her.,” said Ciara.
	“Do you think that matters?” said Marcan.
	She started for the stairs again, and when he grabbed her wrist, she yelped and kicked him in the shin.  It was and awkward, backwards kick, and it didn't land hard.  But he was already off balance, with both feet on different levels, and he fell down hard.  He landed at Niamh's feet with a grunt, and his robes piled over his head.  Niamh jumped over him and ran up to join Ciara at the top of the stairs.  As she did, she was probably the only person in the city to see the look of shame that flashed across Ciara's face.
	“Wherever Mom is, she'd have a thing or two to say about this priest,” said Ciara “She always warned Connor not to let the Church in here.”
	“Can they really do anything to you?” said Niamh.
	“You mean for whatever Marcan thinks she's done?  No,” said Ciara.
	One of the nearby soldiers helped the priest to his feet, and got shouted at for his trouble.  He shoved his helpers away and stomped around in a circle, yelling at all of the soliders around him, while they trailed uncertainly behind him.  The officer in charge turned and waved an impatient hand in their direction, Three fighters obiediantly left their formation and trotted up to join the priest at the bottom of the stairs.
	Surrounded by the soldiers, the priest stormed up the stairs in a flurry of robes.	“Arrest her,” he said.  
	But the soldiers hesitated, and looked back to their commander for confirmation, and Niamh pushed Ciara behind her, so that the girl's back was to the door.
	“I'm not going to let you do that,” she said.  
	“You don’t have any rights in this city.  If you open your mouth again, I’ll have you arrested too,” said Marcan.
	“I’m here to talk to your king about his interest in Oseille.  If you continue to insult me, I’ll go home, and he’ll miss his chance,” she said.
	The priest’s lips pulled back in a sneer, showing stained, crooked teeth.
	“Don’t be absurd.  You’re not an ambassador, you’re just a kitten,” he said.
	“Nobody else will listen to him.  This is the only chance he’s going to get.”
	Ciara turned and hit the doors hard, three times, until they rattled on their hinges.
	“The bitch betrayed us.  She wouldn't have been anything without us.  And you're here as her spy, aren't you?  Nobody else sees it, but I do,” said Marcan.
	Behind them, a lock clicked, the castle doors swung open, and Fithir came out onto the steps.  Niamh knew who she was at once, from all the stories Saorise had told about her.  She was a little unsteady on her feet, as if she’d just woken up, and her ears were flattened dangerously against her head.  But when she saw what was happening, she took them both by the arm and pulled him close to her.
	“Leave these children alone.  They haven't done anything wrong,” she said.
	“They don't have to do anything.  Just having them here is bad luck,” he said.
	Fithir drew Ciara back three steps towards the open door.  As they passed, Niamh grabbed Ciara’s wrist, so she wouldn’t get left behind.  Marcan followed them, but his voice had turned into a whine.  In front of his Queen, he didn’t look nearly as dangerous. Behind him, his stolen fighters ran back to their lines without looking back at him.
	“She’s dangerous.  You know what Deirdre was like,” he said.
	“I know.  I’ll take my chances,” said Fithir.
	She drew them back through the door, and slammed it in Marcan’s face.  They heard him hit it, and Niamh drew back, afraid that he would come in after them.  But after Fithir barked at him, the pounding stopped.  In the silence that followed, she toyed with the ring she wore on her left hand, and took several deep breaths.
	“I’m sorry about that.  But he won’t bother you again, I promise.  While you are here, the two of you are my guests,” she said.
	She took them both by the arm and steered them towards a small door at the far end of the cooridor.  It opened into another, more narrow hallway, and Niamh could smell fresh bread somewhere on the other end.  But Ciara balked when they started to walk down this hallway, and she turned towards the large double doors at the end of the first hallway instead.
	“I need to see my father.  Please?  He told me he would give me some more time,” she said.
	She slipped out of Fithir’s grasp, and ran to the double doors.  But these were locked, too.  She shook and pulled at them, until Fithir pulled her away.
	“You can’t see him.  He’s outside, with the soldiers, because at forty-four years old, he’s decided he has to be the kind of king who goes out to fight with his army.  I'm sorry,” she said.
	“But he can’t even hold a sword without cutting himself with it.  He’s going to get himself killed,.”
	“He has been training,” said Fithir, with a hint of pride in her voice.  
	“I can only imagine.  Mom tried to teach him to use a sword once, and she never could talk about it later without laughing herself in to a coughing fit.”
	“He wants to help.  He's never had much excitement in his life.”
	As she talked, Fithir edged around them, until she was standing between Ciara and the exit.  But Ciara never looked at her.  Instead, she kept turning in small, quick circles, like she was looking for something she'e expected would be there.
	“I shouldn't let you go.  I promised Connor that I’d keep you safe,” said Fithir.
	“I have to.  There’s still too much between us,” she said.
	“I know.  And I told him you'd say that.  But I couldn't let you go without trying.”
	Fithir dipped a hand in the pocket of her dress and produced a small envelope, which she held out for Ciara to take.  Ciara stopped circling to take the letter and tuck it in a pocket, which was long enough for Fithir to catch her arm.
	“I don't think you should have any trouble, but just in case, this will get you back into the city.  You aren't going to convince him to change his mind.”
	“I think I'm the only person he'll listen to,” said Ciara.
	“Yes.  And you've already seen how well that worked,” said Fithir.
	But she led them over to the far side of the room, just across from the door she'd first tried to push Ciara towards.  In this corner of the room, the dusty blue carpet looked more worn, and there was a small metal ring set into the floor.  Together, Ciara and Fithir pulled back the carpet, and prised up the small trap door that it revealed.  From where she stood, all Niamh could see was a metal ladder leading down into darkness, and the air smelled musty.
	“I almost guessed the right corner,” said Ciara.
	“Yes.  I don't know why we don't have them sealed up.  They aren't really a secret anymore.  But I don't think Marcan will think to look for you at the other end, either,” said Fithir.
	Ciara knelt down in front of the door, and swung one leg down onto the top rung of the ladder.  But before she could start down, Niamh dropped to her knees and brushed the hair out of Ciara's eyes.
	“You’d better come back,” she said.
	“I will,” said Ciara.
	She kissed Niamh on the hinge of the jaw, and Niamh took her hand as she started down.  They both held on as long as they could reach, and Niamh only let go when she felt Fithir grab her belt to keep her from sliding in.
	“She'll be okay.  Her family is good at looking after themselves,” said Fithir.  But she sounded close to tears.