Page 87 of The Fox Heir

“Get out,” she growls. Her withered face contorts with rage. She points to the door. “I said, ‘Get out!’”

I glance at Nalina, unsure what to do. But the infuriating mountain of a woman just stands there, calm as can be. No doubt she’s been waiting for an opportunity to toss me out into a blizzard.

Elisandra shakes her head. “No.” She grabs my elbow possessively.

Tabitha’s eyes narrow. “I will not have that Fox in my home, Elisandra. You should know better than that.”

“I do.” Elisandra nods. “But we have to at least try.”

My eyes dart to the boy lying on the quilts. Even from a distance, I can sense his fever. I can feel Death calling him. With sudden clarity, I realize what this is about.

“Let me help him.” I shrug off my red cloak, which has grown damp and heavy from melted snow. Elisandra takes it before hanging it on a hook near the door. “Nalina was right to bring me.” I shoot her a glance, but her face reveals nothing. These damn Wolves and their stoic expressions.

I take a step toward the boy.

“Do not touch my grandson!”

I stop.

The man near the fire eyes me with a look of resignation. “Tabitha, it may be the only way.”

She glares at him. “Jona will heal.”

“He will not.” I say it with a certainty that I know deep in my bones. My power already hums inside my sternum. It knows too. I turn to the man. “What happened to him?”

He gives Tabitha a warning look as she takes a breath to protest. “He fell from the roof while he was fixing a hole in the thatching. He hasn’t woken.”

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

My eyes grow wide with disbelief. “Yesterday?” I look to Nalina. “Why didn’t you summon me sooner?”

She speaks through gritted teeth. “In case you haven’t noticed, Fox. You’re our last resort.”

I try not to take offense.

Tabitha shoots the man a traitorous glare and kneels down next to her grandson. She puts one gnarled hand on the boy’s forehead. His skin is damp with sweat and his cheeks are dangerously pale.

Next to me, Elisandra wrings her hands. Her desperation is obvious. In this land of cold people, she’s the only person who has shown me kindness. I will do anything she asks, I realize. Even if I need to throw Tabitha out into the blizzard myself.

I hold up my hands toward the old woman, pleading. “Tabitha. I know you don’t like me, but I promise I can help.”

“I don’t want your filthy Fox paws on my kin.”

The man speaks up, his voice stronger this time. “And would you rather he die?”

Tabitha’s body stills, her hand on the boy’s cheek.

The man limps toward her, his cane tapping the ground heavily with each step. “Because that’s what’s coming for him. Death. Unless you let the Fox Heir try. You have to make a choice here, Tabitha. Death, or your own damn pride.” He rubs a weary hand over his eyes. “We’ve already lost so much.”

He doesn’t need to remind us what this town has lost. There are no healthy young men or women in Gwyllion anymore. Only the very young, the injured, and the very old. It’s a terrible price to pay in the hopes that the survivors can someday live a life without war. Without the Fox King taking more, and more, and more.

For several moments, no one speaks. We watch the old woman think as the room falls still. Tabitha’s breath catches, and I see pain flash across her face like a dagger. I know that feeling; I've felt it too many times. The agony of loss, the fear of helplessness.

“Fine,” she whispers. “Save him. If you can.” She gets to her feet again, her knees cracking. “But I can’t watch.”

Elisandra gasps in relief. “Thank the old gods …” she whispers under her breath.