Page 28 of The Fox Heir

As if on cue, a muscle spasms along the side of my neck. I dip my fingers into the cool balm and rub it into the knot. A sigh escapes me as warmth spreads through the sore muscle. This was a gift. It’s a far cry from the ominous messages left for me. Gods, Gwyllion gets more confusing by the day.

“Thank you,” I say into the empty hall. I’m not fooled by the silence. Someone—or something—is watching me.

At the end of the lantern-lit hall, a door hinge squeaks. I lean out of my doorway to squint past the shadows. A shadowed figure peers out from behind a partially opened door at the end of the hall. It’s only a few feet tall, like a child, and yet I know instantly that it’s not. Its hand on the door frame is thin and pale, almost blue. Its eyes glisten black in the lamplight.

I lift the jar and nod toward the creature. No, not creature, I correct myself. Fae.

It shuffles back out of sight, but not before I catch the unmistakable shape of a smile.

It seems I have unexpected allies here in Gwyllion Castle.

Part Two

The Wraith

Chapter 10

When my eyes snap open in the middle of the night, I know I’m not alone.

Moonlight drifts in through the tall windows, casting beams of silver onto the stone floor. It must be after midnight. The silence is all-consuming, suggesting everyone has long-since gone home for the night.

I sit up, my blankets pooling around my waist. Goosebumps prickle all along my skin, and my breath makes misty clouds in front of my face. This cold is unnatural, even for Gwyllion.

At the far side of the room, a shadow stirs.

Instinctively, I reach for the moth blade on my bedside table. My eyes are wide as I try to peer past the streaming moonlight and into the shadows beyond.

“Who’s there?”

Slowly, a pale figure emerges from the darkness. Dread pools in my stomach. I’ve seen this woman before. It’s the ghost from outside the castle gates. Her long dark hair floats on an invisible current, and her torn white gown billows around her.

The wraith hovers at the foot of my bed. Her dark eyes bore into mine, silent and unblinking. She doesn’t show her ghastly teeth this time, just watches.

“What do you want?” My voice trembles. My hand is slick with sweat where it grips the bronze hilt of my knife. I’m not sure the blade would matter, not against something like her.

I’ve faced spirits twice before and nearly died both times, but my gut tells me this woman is different. She doesn’t appear to be mindlessly bloodthirsty or trapped in an endless death loop. There’s no gnashing teeth, no wailing or shrieking, just calculating stillness. Like she’s sizing me up, same as I’m doing to her.

We stare at each other for a long, breathless moment. Then, without warning, she turns and slips through the door like smoke.

My heart pounds, loud and urgent. Something pulls me to follow her. It would be wiser to stay here, within the supposed safety of my room, but there’s something odd going on here in Gwyllion Castle. I can feel it. I see it in the tightness around the villagers’ eyes, and hear it in the brittle silence that fills the halls. Whatever the secret is, I intend to find it.

I wrap a blanket around my shoulders, slip my feet into boots, and follow her into the hallway.

The wraith lingers at the end of the corridor, hovering like an invitation. Then she turns left, vanishing from sight. I rush to follow. She doesn’t glance back as she glides into a different wing of the castle. She knows I’m behind her and keeps just far enough ahead to stay visible, but never quite reachable.

Eventually, I find myself in a long hallway on the opposite side of the castle. One wall is lined with the remains of portraits. Ripped canvases show grim, faded faces of important people long-since dead. Whoever they were, they’re now forgotten here in this dusty corridor that has a distinct smell of dead rodents in the walls. I wonder if this used to be additional living quarters, back when Gwyllion was a bustling fortress. Before most of Annwyn was laid to waste in the Llwyn wars.

I’m beginning to wonder if the wraith has a purpose beyond leading me in circles. But just when I’m certain she’s playing some silent game of cat and mouse, she slips through a doorway and disappears. I draw the blanket tighter around my shoulders, then reach out to open the door.

The hinges creak, as if they haven’t been used in a long time. Inside, the wraith has disappeared.

The room seems to be a rather ordinary bedroom. Or was, before it fell to ruin. Now, everything is coated in dust. A small hole in the window seems to be a passage for birds seeking shelter from the weather. Beneath it, scraps of nesting material lie scattered in a loose heap.

Tiny creatures have chewed away portions of the bedding, and the curtains around the wooden bedposts are dulled from age. At the center of the ceiling, an ornate chandelier droops. Cobwebs sway lazily from its crystals, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the filthy windows.

This was clearly once the room of a lady. I open the wardrobe to see moth-eaten silks and furs hanging limply. Some have fallen to the floor and become homes for mice. The clothes used to be quite fine. The cuts and colors suggest a young woman wore them once. Maybe not more than a decade ago, based on the fashion.

I move toward the window, unsure why the wraith would lead me here of all places. Outside, the view overlooks the southern forest and the path to the front gates. Was this the wraith’s room when she was alive?