Page 12 of The Fox Heir

I expect her to turn toward the throne room, but the hallway she takes is unfamiliar. We wind through the castle until we reach a narrow spiral staircase, its steps worn smooth with age. It’s one of the castle’s many towers. I follow her up the steps, boots squeaking slightly on damp stone. At the top, we stop before a wooden door. The first thing I notice is the moth carved into its center. The same moth that’s on my grandmother’s necklace.

Nalina opens the door and steps aside.

I blink at her. “Aren’t you coming?”

She grins wickedly. “I’m not the one who was summoned.”

I glower at Nalina as I step into the tower room. The space is round with tall, arched windows that face every direction. From this height, I can see the roiling sea to the east. It churns beneath a jagged line of cliffs that stretches for miles. A narrow strip of beach lies below, scattered with boulders and pummeled by waves. In the north, thin tendrils of smoke rise from crooked chimneys in the village, with the wild sprawl of Annwyn beyond. I imagine that’s where most of the Gwyllion people live. The castle halls are far too empty to house many.

At the far window stands the Dead Queen. She’s tall and unnervingly slender, draped in a black gown that pools around her like spilled ink. She turns as I enter, lifting her eyes toward me through a sheer black veil. Dressed entirely in shadow, she might be mistaken for a wraith were it not for the glint of silver at her breast. The moth necklace catches the light.

The sight of it twists something inside me, and I fight the bile rising in my throat. I wore that necklace for months, dreaming of her. Longing for answers. Wishing I knew what happened.

Now I wish I didn’t.

The Dead Queen nods to me. “Granddaughter.”

I pinch my lips together, refusing to call her “Grandmother.” She isn’t. Not anymore. She’s the Dead Queen now.

“You sent for me.”

She nods. “I trust you had a restful evening.”

“Not really.”

“Pity.”

A distant roll of thunder breaks the silence. My eyes flick to the tall windows. Another storm is already gathering over the peaks of the Spires to the south. A strong draft cuts through the room, making me shiver. It whistles from a narrow wall along one side of the tower. I turn and find it lined with narrow cracks.

No. Not cracks. They’re too orderly for that. They’re thin gaps in the stone, barely half an inch wide and no more than three inches tall. It’s just enough to let the wind in. Odd. No stonemason would have made such an error, especially in a place with winters like this.

“I apologize for the chill,” the Dead Queen says. “I no longer feel the cold.”

I sniff and pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders. We face each other in silence until the wooden door opens behind me, making me jump in surprise.

Tristan brushes past me to kneel before the Dead Queen. “My queen.” She nods to him, and he rises before turning to me. “Red.”

I mask the heat rising to my cheeks with a scowl, irritated with myself for the flicker of relief I feel at seeing him. I shouldn’t be pleased. He’s my captor. The trickster. The Wolf I rescued from the edge of death in my father’s kennels, no matter how regretfully.

Today, he looks different. His strong jawline is clean-shaven, and his dark hair is no longer dusty from weeks on the road. He’s wearing black leathers and a fresh shirt now. They’re tailored to fit the Dead Queen’s court, showing off his broad frame and legs that are used to climbing mountains. A silver wolf pin now gleams from his chest. My eyes dip lower, to the leather belt around his waist and the silver sword sheathed there.

He seems taller, more composed, but his eyes are the same stormy gray. When they find mine, my chest tightens and my breath catches. I hate that he has that effect on me.

The Dead Queen turns to me. “It has come to my attention that you recently came into an unusual amount of power. But it seems you’ve burned it out just as quickly.”

I shoot Tristan a glare before responding, since he’s the only one who could’ve told her. “I have.”

“Would you explain it to me?”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

From behind her sheer veil, I can see the queen’s white eyes studying me. “When you were a little girl, I wondered if you were more powerful than him.” Her voice lowers meaningfully. “Than any of them.”

I blink several times. “Them?”

“All the Foxes before you.”

I scoff. “How could you possibly have suspected that?”