Fox's Bride by A.E. Marling Page A

expected thieves to run, so he loved staying close.
    “The Incarnate is no more.” The younger priest displayed his fortitude by holding his voice calm, though he breathed in gulps. “The Golden Scoundrel has withdrawn his soul after the wretched enchantress deserted him.”
    “Wait.” Inannis tested the firmness of the animal's joints. “This is too fast for rigor mortis. And didn't the Incarnate's earring lie farther from the tip?”
    A priest pointed a trembling finger at the fennec's face. “His nose, it's different. Lacks definition. And those whiskers! Too straight and thin.”
    “What does this mean?” Inannis asked, glee swirling inside him.
    “This—this is not the Incarnate.” A priest laid a hand over his heart.
    The older priest asked, “Then where is he? Who has taken him?”
    “We must search everyone,” Inannis said. “Every servant, every guard. No one must leave.”
    “But the guards have already left. Any of them could have our lord god.”
    “No,” the younger priest said, his voice calm.
    Tension wracked Inannis' guts. “No?”
    “The enchantress stole him. The strength of their magic lies in bringing one thing closer to another. Thus water is bound to the chains in the sky. The elder enchantress has used this power to pull the Golden Scoundrel to her. She has taken him.”
    Inannis would have found the words suspicious if he did not already know who had stolen the fennec. The priest sounded too certain, especially when the enchantress had likely left the inn before the fennec's morning nap. Even if she had the power to summon the sleeping fennec to her, she would have had to replace him with the stuffed animal. Such a swap seemed unlikely using the magic of enchantment. Inannis had mainly heard of enchantresses making objects weigh less, such as blocks of stone to help build the pyramids. Still, he was not about to point out the discrepancies.
    “Then,” Inannis said, and true passion caused a tremor in his voice, “then we must catch the god thief.”
     

 

    Chandur was sorry the Royal Embalmer had not come to see them off at the docks, even though the vulture-masked man had mentioned not to expect him. The enchantress, maid, and spellsword boarded their ship shortly before noon then had no choice but to wait. He had to think the priest’s guards would have discovered them gone by now, but he dared not pressure the captain to launch the ship. It would only draw suspicion.
    In their cabins, Hiresha fell asleep muttering. “I don't care if I never see another fox.” Chandur and Janny shared a room meant for four passengers, and jars had been packed in half the space.
    Janny said, “To think they wanted to kill Hiresha. Won't be happy until the ship's sailing, I won't. Aren't you worried for her?”
    “That's my job, isn't it?” Chandur unwound his turban.
    The time crawled by. Janny dozed with a wet snore. Chandur wanted to relax on his cot, so he positioned both hands on his sword hilt and hefted it out of the metal and leather tongs that held the enchanted blade in place behind him. Setting the weapon down, he found the cot’s smallness dug into his sides.
    When the maid woke she badgered him with suggestions about how and where he should kiss the enchantress. Chandur could imagine himself doing just that with alarming ease, and he knew he had to get out before the maid caught on to the full extent of his interest.
    “Guess I'll check the ship's Lightening stone,” he said.
    “On the way, give Hiresha her dress.” The maid lifted purple silks folded across her arm.
    “Me?” Chandur collected his weapon then reached toward the gown. The fabric caught on the calluses of his hands. “I mean, shouldn't it be you—”
    “Just leave it on her bed.” Janny scolded him with a glance. “Now off with you. I have to unpack.”
    The door to Hiresha's cabin was unlocked. He felt like an intruder, and tiptoeing while wearing his greatsword only caused the floorboards to