Page 23 of The Fox Heir

“There aren’t.” He takes off one of his leather gloves and presses it to the bark of an old tree. “And those that remain no longer have that level of magic.”

“Then how …”

“It’s been enchanted for centuries, Red.”

My eyes grow wide with wonder. “But power doesn’t work like that. Power doesn’t linger.”

“We’re not talking about human power, Red. Fae magic. It’s different from ours.”

“But that sort of power … the amount of strength it would take for it to last centuries …”

“Was immense. Yes.”

My mind whirls. No wonder light and shadow power still live on in our blood. It lingers, like booming thunder echoing off mountains.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper in awe.

“For us, yes.” Tristan shrugs. “But the fae were far more powerful than we could possibly understand.” He nods toward the heart of the forest. “Come on, we’ve got tracking to do.” He moves beneath the trees, his footsteps muffled by the snow.

We walk west. Our tracks leave a trail for us to follow when we return, but something tells me Tristan doesn’t need them. By the way he peers at the trees and crouches to the ground in concentration, he seems to know this forest as well as the castle.

“We can’t go much further in this direction, or we risk leaving the protective barrier,” Tristan says, his voice quiet.

Up ahead, the forest turns gloomy with shadows. A thought crosses my mind. I haven’t seen a living creature since we entered the forest.

Tristan puts a finger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet. He pivots, taking us north. My legs ache from walking through the heavy snow, but I don’t complain and I don’t slow down. Next to me, a large pile of snow falls from a branch overhead, nearly catching me underneath. I peer up into the trees, squinting. The boughs ahead of us are moving, bouncing and shaking piles of snow from the pines.

At first, I think I see a family of squirrels overhead. But when I look closer, I see something else. The small brown creatures are similar in size to a squirrel, but they have no bushy tails. Their limbs are human-like, but bent at strange angles. Their bodies are round and covered in thick, patchy fur, like a winter cloak gone to moths. The creatures have wide faces with squashed noses and mouths that turn down slightly in a permanent frown. But what truly gives them away are their long fingers and beady black eyes.

“Fae,” I whisper in awe.

I watch as they hop from one overhead branch to the next, knocking snow down along their path. They pay us no attention as they continue on their journey west, toward the storm-dark trees beyond the protected area. Before the last one vanishes from sight, it turns around to stare at me. Its face is almost curious. We lock eyes for a moment before a long tongue reaches out to lick its eyeballs like a frog. It’s vision cleared, it leaps out of sight.

For a long while, I stare into the darkened forest where the fae disappeared. Tristan touches my elbow, and when I glance at him, he’s crouched low, nodding toward the opposite direction. That’s when I hear the grinding sound that echoes against the trees. I crouch beside him, on alert.

Through the underbrush, I catch sight of a giant moose. It rubs against a thick cedar tree, its muscles rippling beneath its hide. The animal must be eight feet tall, with antlers of ice-covered bone that top even that. It scrapes them high up on the tree and bark rains down like shattered glass.

Nothing in the south grows this big. My heart hammers in my chest.

Beside me, Tristan slides the bow from his shoulder and draws an arrow from his sling. To my surprise, he hands it to me.

I hesitate. He arches a brow and jerks his chin at me. I take the arrow and pull my own bow off my shoulder. Tristan grabs another one from the sling and draws it back with practiced ease, muscles flexing. He nods for me to do the same. I study his hands, trying my best to ignore the shape of his strong fingers and the way he pulls the string of the bow back effortlessly.

My arms tremble as I knock my own arrow and draw the bowstring back. I hold my breath and steady my aim at our target. The tension in the string takes far more strength than I anticipated. My arm strains and my fingers grow white with effort as I try to hold position.

“On my count,” he whispers. “Three … two …”

I can’t hold the string back any longer. The rope snaps back, stinging my wrist as the arrow slips through my fingers, arching wildly into the trees. I stumble, losing my balance and crashing into Tristan. His arrow, released in the chaos, strikes the moose high on its flank. Tristan and I look up from our heap on the ground.

The moose bellows, a sound that seems to shake the ground beneath us. It rears back, its hooves digging into the snow. Then, instead of fleeing, it stops and turns in our direction. Steam bursts from its nostrils with each breath. Its brown eyes narrow in on us as it stomps the ground in fury.

Tristan shoves me off him and grabs my arm, hauling me to my feet. We break into a sprint.

Hooves pound behind us as we dart between trees. The moose barrels after us, splintering branches with its massive antlers. I veer left, trying to escape its path, but a sickening crack stops me cold. I glance back, panic seizing my chest, as the moose tosses Tristan aside like he weighs nothing. He hits the ground hard, rolls through the snow, then scrambles to his knees.

In one swift motion, Tristan draws another arrow and shoots. It bounces off the moose’s thick hide. The moose skids, hooves carving deep ruts into the frozen dirt. Then it turns, antlers lowered, preparing to charge straight at Tristan.

“Go, Red!” Tristan yells without taking his eyes off the animal.