Page 20 of The Fox Heir

I squint but can’t look away. The jagged mountains shift with sun and shadow, changing from molten gold to deep violet. In the distance, a pack of corpse wolves howls into the encroaching dusk.

After twilight fades into night, I turn my gaze toward the south. It feels like I can see Llwyn there, just beyond the Spires and storm-heavy sky. My thoughts drift to the palace in Caerwen, where my father is no doubt still seething over my escape.

And even though Elena betrayed me by calling her son my father’s heir, I still hope she survived my father’s curse of inconvenient women dying too soon. No matter how wrong things went between us, I never wanted to see her trapped in my father’s web.

No one deserves that fate.

A knock on the door brings me back from my thoughts. I turn from the darkened windows, and I’m surprised to realize there are tears on my cheeks. I wipe them away hastily, then open the door.

Nalina stands there, like a mountain topped with a thick blond braid. She thrusts something toward me.

“Here. For you.”

There’s a clump of black leather in her outstretched hands. I take it warily. It unfolds in my grip, showing itself to be a pair of leather breeches like the ones she wears.

I lift an eyebrow. “Oh, um …”

“He insisted.”

“Pardon?” I look up at her, wondering if I somehow misunderstood something.

“Tristan.”

“Ah.” I force a smile. “Thank you, but I’m not sure they’re⁠—”

“He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” She sighs her disappointment. “Believe me, I tried.”

“Hm.” I purse my lips, unsure what to say.

“They were an old pair of mine. I had them taken in. You’re not as tall or strong as I am.”

I ignore the insult. My legs itch just at the sight of the tight, black leather. How does Nalina wear these every day? “Why do I need them?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t ask. But he said they’re for tomorrow. For training.”

“Of course. Training.” I mumble. I am not looking forward to whatever the Wolf has in store for me. It’s bound to be unpleasant.

Nalina turns to leave, then looks back at me, her hand resting on the enormous sword at her hip. “I hope they know what they’re doing.” I must look confused because her mouth turns down even further. “With you, I mean.”

I nod. “You and me both.”

She studies me for a second longer before stomping back down the hall.

I close the door and hold up the breeches. Black leather, slightly scuffed. These were clearly not her favorite pair. They don’t hold nearly as many scratches and repairs as the ones I’ve seen her wearing.

I toss them onto the bed and fumble beneath my skirts to remove my stockings. It’s probably best to try the leathers on now, before I’m expected to wear them for whatever torture Tristan has in store for me next.

Another knock sounds at the door, softer this time. I pull the stocking off my foot as I call out.

“Just a moment!” With one foot bare and freezing against the stone floor, I open the door.

There’s no one there.

I look down the hall in both directions, but whoever knocked hadn’t wanted to wait. After closing the door again, I reach down to wrestle with my other stocking. I barely have time to slide it over my knee before another knock sounds. This time, I open it within seconds.

Still, no one.

I pause, waiting. All is silent. But as I turn to close the door, a flash of white on the ground catches my eye. At my feet, there’s a torn slip of paper. The handwriting is messy, but familiar. I saw it once before.