Page 111 of The Fox Heir

I nod, even though I know he can’t see it. “I’ll go.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them acknowledges the offer. The only sounds are the steady thud of hammers on wood and the sharp hiss of whetstones as villagers sharpen blades.

Finally, Hunter says, “I’ll go too.”

He tosses his hammer to the ground and wipes sweat from his brow. His jaw is clenched. He doesn’t want to come with me, but we both know I can’t carry that timber alone.

We fall into step without speaking, weaving through the crowds toward the old stables. The ancient stone buildings are half-collapsed with gaping roofs, but the heavy beams inside are salvageable.

Inside what’s left of the old stables, dust hangs in the air like mist. Hunter grabs an axe from the threshold and sets to work hacking at a beam already half-split by rot. I follow his lead, yanking the boards loose, piling anything that might work to patch the castle wall.

The silence between us stretches. I can feel it pressing down on me, the weight of everything we haven’t talked about. How all along he’s been the prize the Dead Queen wanted … and I was just the trap that lured him here.

Finally, Hunter breaks. “I’m sorry.”

I freeze; a board clutched in my hands. Those were not the first words I expected to hear from his lips. A lesser man would have had choicer words for me, chief among them being “liar,” “backstabber,” “traitor,” and maybe even “whore”.

His voice is tight. “None of this has been easy to wrap my head around.”

“You think it’s been easy for me?” I snap back before I can think better of it.

His mouth twists, as if he’s biting back another sharp retort. Instead, he turns back to his work. Splinters of wood fly under each swing of his axe.

He rips a beam from where it’s stood for a century, at least. The wall finally crumbles without it. Hunter tosses the beam onto the pile to be taken to the wall.

“I don’t know where we go from here,” he admits.

Suddenly, I feel exhausted, and not just from the manual labor. “I don’t either.”

We don’t speak again as we pile wood into the cart. By the time we haul it back through the courtyard, dusk is curling over the hills like a slow tide. Above us, the first stars begin to pierce the darkening sky.

With the night encroaching, people are finally beginning to rest. They gather in small groups, whispering and sharing waterskins. Lanterns gutter in the wind. Their light casts long shadows, making everyone look even more exhausted.

Hunter and I drop the last load of beams near the north wall and, for a moment, we just stand there. The ache in my arms has sunk deep into my bones, matching the pounding in my head.

Across the courtyard, Tristan is speaking to the village leaders, gesturing toward the weak points in the battlements. His silhouette is sharp and black against the firelight, like he’s made of shadows.

Hunter wipes the dirt from his hands and mumbles, “You should eat something.” The words are gruff, but I know he’s trying to be kind.

I shake my head. “Not hungry.”

He hesitates, as if he might argue before his shoulders sag. He turns away without another word, disappearing into the crowd of villagers who huddle around the fires. I’m left standing alone, a splintered board still clutched in my hands.

I drop it and walk through the crowd, careful to avoid making eye contact with anyone. I don’t think I have the strength to chat, knowing how many of us will be dead in the morning. I check the defenses we managed to scrape together. The gate is reinforced now, though the wood groans under its own weight. Makeshift barricades of stone and chopped trees line the walls. Every able-bodied man and woman carries a weapon, some little more than farm tools.

It’s not enough. But it’s all we have.

I climb a guard tower that leads up the outer wall. My boots trip on the crumbling stairs, but I don’t summon my light. I’d rather not draw attention to myself. At the top, the wind hits me full in the face, cold and sharp with the scent of smoke. I lean against the guard tower, disappearing into its shadow as I watch the Spires fade into twilight.

Somewhere out there, the Fox Army moves ever north. And tomorrow they’ll be here.

I grip the battlement’s edge, the old stone rough under my fingers. Part of me wishes the soldiers were here already. That I could see their copper banners slicing through the mist, and feel their war drums shaking the earth. At least then the waiting would be over.

Behind me, I hear footsteps. I know it’s Tristan before he speaks.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone.” His voice is quieter than I expected. Not the sharp-edged tone he used earlier.

I don’t turn around. “I want to look my father in the eye when he finally gets here.”