Page 123 of The Fox Heir

This can’t be happening. They need me. Tristan. Hunter. The people of Annwyn. I refuse to die like this. Not before I’ve killed the Fox King.

“Why?” I ask.

Without a word, she lifts the hilt of her sword and brings it down.

The world goes black.

Chapter 37

The first thing I feel is the cold.

It’s not the crisp, biting cold of the courtyard. This air is musty, damp.

Stone bites into my spine, and I realize I’m lying on the ground. I groan. My head is throbbing. I lift my hands to cradle my skull, but find my wrists are bound in front of me with rusty irons. I’m shackled.

“Damn it, Nalina.” My voice sounds distant in my ears.

Boots scrape across the ground ahead of me. I squint through the dim light. Chains pull against my shackled wrists, pulling my arms above my head, dragging me across the filthy ground. My shoulders pull painfully in their sockets as I’m dragged slowly down a long, dark hallway. I tug the chains and sit up. Someone releases the tension on the shackles, allowing me to scramble to my feet.

I blink hard, struggling to force my vision into focus. Nearby, water drips and rats scurry, their tiny claws scraping against the floor. The world swims around me: a rough stone floor slick with moisture, crumbling walls, a ceiling so low it nearly brushes my captor’s head as she watches me.

Nalina.

The memory slams into me like a hammer. She turned on me. How long have I been unconscious? The sounds of battle are gone. Or maybe they’re simply too far away to hear from wherever we are.

A few yards away, Nalina holds the other end of the chain attached to my shackles. My silver moth knife glints from her belt, and she’s watching me, her face grim.

My mind reels. None of this makes sense. Is she working with my father? No, she would never align herself with the Fox Army. She’d rather die.

Dampness prickles my skin. The air down here has a wet, cloying stink of mold, rusted metal, and decay.

My heart lurches as panic claws up my throat. I know this smell. I know this place.

I jerk against the shackles and iron bites into my wrists. My light power flares instinctively, then sputters and dies, like a candle snuffed out.

Nalina gives me a patronizing glare. “So much for your mighty light power.”

I say nothing as I try to access my light again and again. There are embers there; I can feel them burning in my core. I haven’t reached complete burnout yet. So why can’t I even make a simple orb of light?

Nalina crosses her arms in front of her chest impatiently. “Your shackles are made of iron.” When I don’t give her the reaction she’s expecting, she straightens, studying me. “You don’t know, do you?”

I just glare at her.

She lets out a bark of laughter. “How can that be? A Fox Heir with fae magic in her bloodline. And she doesn’t know about iron?”

The realization crashes down. In all the old stories, the fae were weakened by only one thing: iron.

“But, those were fairy tales …”

Nalina leans in close. “All fairy tales start from truth. That’s what makes them so powerful.”

“But there’s iron everywhere.” I stammer. “In wall sconces, even the door hinges! I’ve used my power around iron before.”

Nalina tsks, as if I’m a naughty child. “Iron has to touch your skin to paralyze the power in your blood. Otherwise …” She shrugs. “It’s just a useful decoration.”

My mind is whirling. My eyes dart to the skeletons and decaying corpses strung up along the hallway. They’re all bound with iron shackles. Skeletal hands clutch at the air, their faces frozen in endless, silent screams.

“Why do you think all of our weapons are silver? Hm?” She raises an eyebrow. “So anyone can wield them, powerful noble or not.” She taps the gleaming blade of her sword. “And what of your great Fox Army with its showy bronze and copper armor?”