Page 19 of The Fox Heir

My skin prickles at the affectionate name. It sounds unnatural on her undead lips. “A weapon also has a wielder.”

The Dead Queen shrugs. “Perhaps. At least until the weapon becomes its own master. But that,” she turns her head back in Tristan’s direction, “will take time and practice.”

She glides through the castle doors, leaving me with a furious Wolf.

Tristan paces, kicking up slush from the muddy ground near the castle wall. He clearly wishes he could say more to the queen than he did. Something in the way he resisted her request irks me.

“Am I truly so despicable?” I ask.

He doesn’t even pause his pacing. “No.”

“I’m starting to wonder if that’s the only word you can use today.” I glance toward the Spires, their peaks swallowed by a storm thick with snow. I wonder how long before it reaches us.

He exhales sharply and throws up his hands. “No, you’re not despicable.” A beat. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

The words make me flush, but there’s a war inside of me. Hate battles against an attraction that I refuse to accept. Something in his gray eyes makes me feel naked, vulnerable. But I will not let this Wolf take my guard down. Never again.

I clear my throat. “How are you going to train me exactly?”

He looks around the frozen yard with its practice swords and balance posts. I’ll feel ridiculous thwacking a straw dummy, but if he thinks it will help me defeat my father, then I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to kill him.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then how do we start?”

“Not how, when.”

“Okay, when?”

“Tomorrow morning. At dawn. I’ll figure something out by then.”

“Dawn?” My heart sinks.

A hint of a smile brushes his lips. “Yes, Red. Dawn. Meet me at the front gates.”

Then, he turns and follows his queen out of the training yard, leaving me feeling very much like an annoyance and a burden.

So much for being a weapon.

After supper, I return to my room. Grateful for a moment of peace, I shut the door behind me and close my eyes. Dead Queens, corpse moths that gather in towers, crumbling castles held together by ancient spells … When will I finally stop being surprised by this place?

A small scratching sound makes me open my eyes.

I follow the sound to the fireplace, where faint golden embers still glow from the day’s fire. They’re moving.

I drop to my knees and peer closer. A tiny creature, black as coal, rolls in the soot like a bird in a bath. It’s round, like a mouse, but has no tail. It scoops up embers with its tiny hands and tosses them over its back, scrubbing soot into its fur. It wiggles its rump, then dives headfirst into the red-hot flames still burning in the remains of the firewood.

I startle, sure I’ve just watched it burn itself alive. But a moment later, it pops back out of the flames, looking thoroughly pleased with itself. I stare at it, wide-eyed.

It’s fae, I realize with a rush of awe.

When its black eyes lock on mine, it freezes. We stare at each other, neither of us quite knowing what to do next.

I break first. “I won’t hurt you.”

At the sound of my voice, the tiny fae creature darts for a crack in the fireplace wall and disappears. I stare at the spot for a long time. How many fae creatures are in this castle? Or in all of Annwyn? My head whirls with the realization that I know so little about this place. It’s at once exhilarating and overwhelming at the same time.

When I’m sure the creature isn’t coming back, I cross the room to the towering windows. The view steals my breath as the sun sets over the mountains in the west. Storm clouds ignite in violent shades of pink, orange, and red. The snow-covered peaks reflect the blaze in a dazzling display of light. Reflection, it seems, can be nearly as powerful as the source itself.