Page 102 of The Dead Queen

“Sienna!”

My head snaps up. Hunter is a few feet away, his wrists still bound. I crawl to him and start sawing through his bindings. As soon as he’s free, he grabs a fallen spear from the ground.

We run, weaving between men locked in battle with beasts. Bronze swords flash, but they’re no match for teeth and claws. On top of a boulder, an archer aims at us—until a corpse wolf crashes into him, sending his arrow harmlessly into the sky.

We sprint toward the safety of Ellyll, but a figure leaps into our path, sword swinging. Hunter ducks just in time to avoid a killing blow, then whirls around, spear raised.

It’s Commander Malen. He’s lost his helmet, but his copper-plated armor still gleams in the firelight. My grandmother’s silver moth swings from a chain around his neck. His breath comes in ragged bursts through clenched teeth.

“This ends now!” he shouts, leveling his silver-and-copper sword at his son. The blade glints in the shifting light.

Hunter doesn’t move. He stands his ground, spear still aimed at his father.

Commander Malen takes slow steps in our direction. “You let that whore ruin everything I’ve built!” Spit flies from his mouth as he shouts at Hunter. Whatever control he once held has shattered. I’ve never seen a man so completely unhinged.

“Don’t ever call her that!” Hunter’s eyes are dark with fury.

“If you hadn’t been born—if you hadn’t been so besotted with her—none of this would have happened!” Malen snarls. His eyes are wild. Not afraid, but enraged.

“If you weren’t so blinded by greed and ambition, you’d see that none of this is our fault,” Hunter fires back. “The king is corrupt. You’re a smart man. You must know that.”

Malen lets out a dry laugh. “And what does that matter?” He gives Hunter a condescending look, like he’s scolding a child. “As long as we come out on top, what happens to the rest of them is irrelevant. This is war, Hunter, not some child’s storybook about rescuing damsels. There’s no right and wrong. Only survival of the smartest, the strongest, the most powerful.” His sword trembles in his hand. “You’re blinded by a pretty face.” He spits at Hunter’s feet.

Hunter doesn’t flinch. He holds his spear steady, his eyes locked on his father. “I love her.”

Malen barks a bitter laugh and gives a mocking bow. “Spoken like a true hero.” He turns slowly, shifting the tip of his sword from Hunter to me.

Hunter stiffens. “Don’t.”

“Or what?” Malen asks, his voice sharp with challenge. “You’ll stab me?” He sneers. “I’ve known you your entire life, son. You have no spine. You’re weak.” Malen shakes his head slowly. “And I am done with both of you.”

Malen charges toward me just as Hunter raises his spear, ready to throw—but he doesn’t get the chance.

The corpse bear barrels between us.

I leap aside a heartbeat before it would have trampled me.

Commander Malen is not so lucky. The corpse bear slams into him with its massive head—more skull than muzzle—knocking him flat. He lets out a startled sound, his eyes going wide as he stares up at the towering beast. But he doesn’t have time to fight back.

The bear swipes, its claws slicing clean through his armor. Blood spills from the gashes in his chest. It pools beneath him like a mountain spring. As he gasps for air, more blood bubbles out of his mouth. For the briefest moment, his gaze flickers to Hunter. I almost think I see regret there, words left unsaid.

Then the corpse bear crushes his skull in a single bite.

Hunter stands frozen, eyes wide, as a dead creature eats his father alive. But we can’t stay here. We can’t wait for the bear to turn on us.

I grab Commander Malen’s fallen sword from the ground and a flash of silver catches my eye. Grandmother’s moth necklace glimmers in the trampled grass. I snatch that up too, then seize Hunter’s arm.

“Hunter.”

He turns to me, still in shock.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t …” I press his father’s sword into his hands.

He takes it with trembling fingers. It’s more ornate than his melted King’s Guard blade. The pommel is shaped like a copper fox’s face, its eyes set with rubies. The crossguard curves into the fox’s tail, its tip dipped in silver. It’s the sword of a man who did everything to claw his way into the king’s good graces. It’s the sword of a man who is now dead because of it.

Hunter’s grip tightens. His eyes burn with new resolve.

Together, we run.