Fithir—The Queen's Garden.

	It had only been a few days since Connor had left for Oseille, but Fithir missed him.  She wasn’t used to his being gone.  They had only courted for a year before they married, and neither of them had left the city since.  During the day, she was certain he would come back.  At night, she lay awake in a cold room that was too quiet without him snoring in her ear.
	To keep bad thoughts away, she invited Niamh to the castle, to show off the garden.  She was proud of her flowers, and the little vegetable patch she'd only started in the spring.  It was the one thing in her life she had any control over.  The young rabbit seemed like she would be pleasant company.  Niamh would be a change from all of the foxes that she had to deal with every day.  Anyone who was brave enough to challenge Marcan had to be worth knowing.
	The child arrived at noon, and Fithir met her at the door with a mug of tea to warm her up.  Niamh was washed, and her fur was brushed smooth, but her ears drooped, and there were shadows under her eyes, from lack of sleep.
	“They'll both come back, you'll see.  If she's anything like her father, she'll march through those gates with him slung over her shoulder,” said Fithir.
	“If she doesn't go with him.  She used to talk about him all the time.  She'd do anything to get him to love her,” said Niamh.  The child's voice was tight with anger, and her ears were laid flat, like a fox's.
	“And you don't think he deserves that?” said Fithir.
	“No.  But after nine years, I think he needs to earn it.”
	After Niamh finished the tea, they walked around the winding garden path, each wrapped in her own thoughts.  The flowers that Fithir had nursed all summer were dead, but she hadn't had the heart to clean the beds yet.  The dry stems rustled in the cold little wind that blew through the garden.
	On the other side of the garden wall, soldiers were marching to the sound of drums.  Fithir found it annoying.  Every time their sergeant barked new orders, Niamh cringed and bared her teeth.  Fithir couldn't help but feel a little bit hurt by this, even though she knew better.  
	“You must think we're the worst kind of barbarians,” she said.
	“Rabbits fight, too,” said Niamh.
	“To defend themselves.  Foxes kill,” said Fithir.
	“You gave me Ciara.  She makes up for a lot,” said Niamh.
	“Not enough.”
	They stopped at the far side of the garden, in front of the graveyard.  Greenhouse flowers still hung in limp garlands over the wrought-iron fence.  Little ceremonial flames still burned in the copper dishes set on the heads of the stone Gate Foxes, and the smell of hot oil brought Fithir back to the last funeral.  She hadn’t cried when they buried her daughter.
	“I never wanted to be a mother.  I'm sorry for the deaths of my daughters, but they’re better off,” she said.
	“Why didn’t you refuse?” said Niamh.
	“I couldn't.  There has to be an heir.”
	“What about Ciara?”
	“The law doesn't recognize bastards..  All she gets is her mother's name, and, if she's lucky, anything Deirdre decides to leave to her.”
	Niamh plucked a dying purple crocus from a box by the fence, and held the bloom under her nose.  Then she crushed the flower, and threw it away.
	“And you never tried to fix this?” said the girl.
	“What can I do?” said Fithir.
	“You can act like a queen.  If you don't like the laws, then change them.”
	“The Church won't like that.  Marcan thinks we're too soft on adultery as it is,” 
	“What about your people?” said Niamh.
	“I don't know if they would understand,” said Fithir.
	The little rabbit turned away from her, and she felt a little stab of fear.  These were thoughts she'd never shared with anyone, because none of her foxes would understand.  You did what was expected of you, in Cearnach, because everyone else did the same.
	“No wonder she was banished to Oseille,” said Niamh.
	Fithir was surprised at the bitterness in the child's tone.  It wasn't proper, in one so young.
	“If she'd stayed here, you wouldn't have met her,” said Fithir.
	But Niamh was no longer listening.  The girl's ears had gone flat, and her teeth were bared in a good imitation of a fox’s snarl.  Marcan was halfway down the garden path, walking slowly as if he owned the place.  When he saw he had their attention, he smiled.  He was good at pretending to be friendly.  When he was a foot away, Fithir stood up, and flattened her ears as a warning.
	“You’re making my guest nervous,” she said.
	“She has nothing to fear from me, as long as she behaves,” said Marcan.  
	“You’re not supposed to be here.  The garden is mine.”
	“Of course.  But my lord Connor has come home, and you should be with him while he recovers,” said Marcan.
	Chills ran down Fithir's back, but she kept her face bland.  Too much depended on her, and this was no time to let her feelings show.
	“How bad is it?” she said.
	“Just a scratch. The lynxes are too cowardly to put up much of a fight,” said Marcan.
	“What about Ciara?” said Niamh.
	“What do you think?  The little bitch probably led the attack.  She vanished with all of her friends after Connor's fighters drove them off,” he said.
	“She wouldn't do that.  She's trying to help,” said Niamh.
	“What do you know?  You're just a rabbit.  I wouldn't expect you to be able to see the truth if it was dangled in front of your face,” said Marcan.
	Fithir grabbed Niamh’s arm as she lunged at Marcan, and pulled the girl close.  The child struggled, and pried at her fingers, but not too hard.  Fithir could feel the girl trembling, and when she wrapped her arms around Niamh's shoulders, the little rabbit pressed in close against her.
	“She was trying to protect him.  She hasn’t done anything wrong,” said Niamh
	“She’s an abomination in the eyes of God,” said Marcan.
	“Whatever she is, she’s under my protection,” said Fithir.
	“You can't do that,” said Marcan “Only the king can--”
	“If Connor doesn't agree, he can tell me himself.  Until then, you have no place to speak for him,” said Fithir.
	She swept past him, pushing Niamh in front of her.  When they got to the garden gate, she faltered and had to lean on Niamh’s shoulders while she got her breath back.  The broad square in front of the castle steps was filled with people.  It looked like the entire city had followed Connor home.  The castle steps were still clear, but only because they were surrounded by the surviving half dozen of Connor's scouts.  Everything was quiet, and she could smell blood and lathered horses.
	One horse in particular was standing next to the garden gate, in a small clearing of his own.  He was a big, black stallion, with no saddle and a shaggy mane that fell past his shoulders. When Niamh saw him, she tore away from Fithir, threw her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his mane.  When she raised her head again, her eyes were wet.
	“It’s Embarr.  But if Ciara isn’t here, then he shouldn’t be here, either.  They always stick together,” said Niamh
	“Connor might know where she is.  Come with me, and we’ll ask him,” said Fithir.
	“He’d better.  I knew she’d get into trouble,” said Niamh.
	When they got to where the soldiers were standing, a grey fox in a captain’s uniform broke from the ranks.  She saluted, which always embarrassed Fithir, and ran up to open the door.
	“I tried to get him to stay back, and let us do the fighting, but he wouldn’t listen,” said the captain.
	“Nobody is going to blame you,” said Fithir.
	“There was a strange vixen who followed him all the way from the city.  It’s her fault that he got hurt.  She got shot, and he went mad trying to get to her.”
	“What happened to her?  Where did she go?” said Niamh.
	She grabbed the captain's arm. The grey vixen flinched at the unexpected touch, and shoved Niamh away, but the rabbit was right back at her.
	“How was she hurt?  Tell me now,” said Niamh.
	“I don't know.  She vanished.  I had more important things to do,” said the captain.
	“Ciara was trying to keep Connor safe, and you just abandoned her.”
	“Yes I did.  I know where my loyalties are.”
	“She's his daughter.  You owe her, too.”
	“She's a traitor who deserves to burn in Hell,” said the captain.
	Connor’s door opened at the noise, and he limped out into the hallway, hands clutched to his head.
	“That's enough, both of you,” he said.
	“My lord, please excuse me,” said the captain, and she bowed “When I went to fetch your lady, this rabbit followed us.  I should have chased her off.”
	“I invited her.  And if you had answered her like a civilized person, there would have been no problem,” said Fithir.
	Connor looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and he smelled like whiskey, and  the mints he'd eaten to mask his breath.  Fithir couldn't stop the little flash of anger that ran through her.  He'd promised to give up drinking after their last child was born.  She bit it back, like she always did, but she was afraid that one day it would grow so big it would choke her.
	“It's good to see you home,” she said.
	“Never doubt that I will always return for you,” said Connor, and he kissed the top of her muzzle.  It was a rote greeting from the earliest days of their marriage, but it never failed to comfort her.
	“I'm sorry I disturbed you, too.  But this is important,” said Niamh.
	“You really love my little girl, don’t you?” said Connor.
	“My lord, be careful.  After twenty years, old secrets are best left buried,” said the Captain.
	“Everyone in the city knows by now, anyway.  She's my daughter, and I'm not going to lie anymore,” said Connor.
	“And you'll say that to Marcan?” said the Captain.
	“After everything these children have done?  I never would have thought that a rabbit could feel that way about a fox,” he said.
	“There's a lot you don't know about us,” said Niamh.
	“So I'm learning.  If I'd known more earlier, think what would be different.  But it's too late, now,” said Connor.
	He fell to his knees in front of the girl, hands clasped in front of him like a supplicant's.
	“I've been a coward all of my life.  I want to make up for that,” he said.
	“Tell me where Ciara is,” said Niamh.
	“You seem to be convinced that I know.”
	“She went all the way back to Oseille, by herself, to find you.  You have to know.”
	Connor sagged, and he rubbed his fingers across a shallow cut across the side of his muzzle.
	“She caught me while I was only halfway there.  I told her to go home.  I was sure she'd listen,” he said.
	A burst of shouting made them turn, and Marcan strode up the hall with an old skunk in a white coat a step behind him.  Neither of them looked pleased.  The doctor shook a finger under Connor's nose while his whiskers quivered with rage.
	“I told you to stay put,” said the skunk.
	“I have too many things to do. I shouldn't have let you bring me back,” said Connor.
	“Ciara insisted,” said the doctor.
	“And then she disappeared.  Would you like to explain that to her girl, here?”
	The doctor looked directly at the girl for the first time, and he shut his mouth with a snort.  Niamh's ears colored with embarrassment, but the girl looked straight back at him with her head held high.
	“Explain what?  I saw her, yes.  I've lost count of how many bandages I've put on that girl.  What she did after that is none of my business,” said the doctor.
	“Please.  You're my last hope, Feargus,” said Niamh.
	The old skunk made a show of checking Connor's pulse, and he pressed his fingers against the side of his patient's neck while he counted under his breath.  Then he frowned, and scribbled something down on the pad he always carried.
	“She's in Blackpool, with her mother,” he said.
	“My lord,” said Marcan, who had pushed himself forward in the brief silence “It's bad enough that you bring heathen doctors in.  But I thought you knew better than to bring rabbits here.”
	“Why?  She's a sweet girl, and my friend,” said Fithir.
	“You know better than that,” said Marcan.
	“I know she treats me like a real person, instead of some fragile doll.  Which is more than I can say for most people in this city,” said Fithir.
	Marcan dismissed her with a smirk, and turned his attention back to Connor and the doctor.  Fithir bristled, and her anger rose until her vision blurred with it.  But Niamh touched her wrist, and she settled back again.  The girl was smiling, for the first time since Fithir had met her.
	“You look after your family. I'll go and take care of mine,” said Niamh.
	“But it's so far to Blackpool,” said Fithir.
	“I'll have Embarr with me.  I'll be as safe with him, as I would be with anyone else,” said the girl.
	Fithir gave her a kiss on the top of her head, for luck, and then Niamh put her ears down, and ran.