Page 42 of The Fox Heir

“Well, we don’t have years,” I grumble, my arms burning with exhaustion.

“Exactly.” Then, without warning, he lunges toward me. His sword is a blur of silver and shadow as it arches through the air. I stumble backward. My sword clashes against the frozen ground, and the sound echoes off the stone walls. I wince.

Tristan closes his eyes for the briefest moment, his weapon frozen in mid-air. “Again,” he growls.

I pick up my sword, my face burning with embarrassment, and step into the defensive posture. My breath mists in front of me with every exhale.

The Wolf lunges a second time, his silver and shadow sword swinging right. Our blades clash, but my grip is too weak. The blow of his sword on mine knocks the hilt right out of my hands, and the sting of the impact lingers on my palms. I shake it off and bite back a particularly graphic swear. If I’d had a sword in the fae’s dungeon last night, would it have made any difference?

Tristan’s eyebrows are lowered in concentration. He nods for me to pick up my fallen sword.

Does he know about the fae under the castle? As the Dead Queen’s Wolf, he must. He probably knows all the dangers lurking in Gwyllion. The thought sends an arrow of distrust into my gut. Why didn’t he tell me?

“Again,” he orders, his tone rough. “Feet apart. Balance. You’re holding it like it’s going to bite you.”

I adjust my stance and ready myself for another attack.

His body blurs in motion. With a flick of his wrist, and a twist of his foot, suddenly his silver blade is slicing toward my side. I barely bring mine up in time. The force of impact rattles through me, and the clang of metal makes me grit my teeth. Tristan nods sharply, then steps away.

“Practice your attacks.”

He nods toward a straw-filled practice dummy. I roll my eyes before getting in position and swinging at the inanimate object, over and over again. Within minutes, my arms tremble and sweat prickles my brow, but I won’t complain. Tristan walks away, examining the practice equipment scattered about the yard.

My arms are screaming for me to take a break, but I refuse. I hack and jab at the dummy, straw falling to the slush beneath it. Every muscle in my body aches. My eyes dart to the Wolf. I know he’s waiting to see how long it will take me to give up. I grind my teeth.

It’s time to make things more interesting.

I keep my face placid as I stab the dummy in the chest. “What do you know about the fae who still remain in Gwyllion?”

Tristan freezes, his back to me. For a moment, all I hear is the icy wind howling over the castle’s leaning turrets.

“Why do you ask?” His breath curls in the morning air.

I feign nonchalance as I swing my dull practice blade again. “Call it curiosity.”

He gives me an assessing look over his shoulder. He knows I’m lying. The Wolf tosses his gleaming silver sword into the air. It twirls before landing back in his hand. He turns back to me and stands in a fighting posture.

I give up on the dummy and mirror his stance, keeping my eyes on his face. Watching for any hint of a lie.

He frowns. “All I know is some remain. Hidden, mostly.” He raises his free hand and makes a gesture for me to ready myself. Before I even register his movement, he lunges toward me. I step aside, barely managing to leap out of his sword’s path.

I know he’s going easy on me. My face burns with frustration. My feet step back into the fighting stance and I give him a nod to continue.

“Are they dangerous?” The icy slush seeps through my boots, but I steady myself. I’ll have to start practicing on my own, build up muscle and balance. How does he make it look so easy?

The Wolf lunges, light on his feet. This time I manage to block him, though my arms tremble and my feet slip on the icy mud. We stand with our swords crossed between us, and shadows twisting around our blades. The Wolf’s eyes are piercing, as if he’s trying to read my secrets.

He shrugs. “Everything can be dangerous in Annwyn.”

He knows about the fae in the dungeon. I can see it in the tightness of his jaw and the way his breath is quickening. I’d bet he knows something about the wraith too.

Quicker than seems natural, he whirls away, his silver sword arching right back toward me in the span of a breath. The impact rattles up my arms, but I don’t stumble this time. The thrill of success makes me grin. Progress.

Tristan exhales sharply through his nose. Not quite approval, but not disdain either. “Better.”

The moment stretches. The silence between us hums as his gaze pins me in place. This is how I want him to see me. Strong. Confident. Not weak or incapable just because I can’t wield a sword. He should know me better than that by now. After all, he’d be dead without me.

His storm-gray eyes search mine. “You’ve relied too much on other people to protect you. You need to learn to protect yourself.”