Page 119 of The Fox Heir

The swarm is so dense it blocks out the sun. The air turns thick, vibrating with the whir of wings. Dread surges through my chest. I turn to cover my head as they rush past us like a storm aimed for the battle below—from enormous cicadas and grasshoppers to the tiniest gnats and nymphs. And, of course, moths. Thousands of them.

My skin crawls as they brush against my hair and cloak, and my stomach twists in revulsion. But the Dead Queen hasn’t moved. She hasn’t even flinched. Her veil streams in the wind as her insects swarm past her.

I duck behind the barricade wall as they fly by, blackening the sky as thoroughly as twilight. Screams echo below. I scramble to peer through the cracks in the battlement wall. Dead insects swarm and dive at the copper-clad Fox Soldiers.

Only the Fox Soldiers.

I can feel the Dead Queen’s power weaving through the swarm, directing it like a conductor guiding an orchestra. It’s terrifying. But it’s also magnificent.

The people of Gwyllion watch with a mixture of horror and awe as insects crawl across copper armor, looking for gaps to sting and bite through. They fly into the soldiers’ mouths as they scream, causing them to choke. They burrow into flesh, eating the Fox Soldiers from the inside out. The air hums with the furious beating of millions of wings.

Beetles attack, knocking grown men to the ground. Wasps sting any visible skin. Moths, delicate as lace, cling to eyes and mouths—blinding and suffocating. Horses scream and rear, throwing their riders. Soldiers toss their infested armor aside as they claw at their skin.

It’s carnage. I should look away, but I can’t. Every scream below is one less threat to Hunter. One less blade aimed at Tristan. The thought steadies me, even as my hands shake.

It is beautiful, in a terrible way.

I glance at the Dead Queen. Her veiled head is tilted slightly, as though listening to music. She looks almost serene, as if the massacre below is a hymn only she can hear. For the first time, I begin to truly understand what kind of creature she is. The Dead Queen is darkness made flesh, yes. But she is also so consumed by a single-minded purpose, there is no room for anything else: Revenge.

And I am more like her than I ever dared to admit.

Gradually, the swarm drops to the ground, one by one. Their corpses litter the battlefield. Alongside them, hundreds of dead Fox Soldiers lie. Some of their faces are so swollen from stings, they hardly look human.

Cheers rise up from below. Annwyn fighters hug each other and sob in relief, but I know it can’t be over. I scan the distance for the flash of a white horse and a copper banner. I find Father, waiting.

“Why is he just standing there?” My words sound weak, as if I already know the answer.

Behind him, a second line of copper emerges from between the trees. More Fox Soldiers. At least twice as many as before. They rush toward the castle.

I turn to look at the Dead Queen. “That was just the beginning.”

From behind her veil, she nods. “Now.”

As if on cue, the wind picks up. It howls as the storm finally breaks through the enchantment along the mountain peaks in the distance. There isn’t much time before it reaches the battlefield.

My auburn hair lifts from my shoulders, tugged by the wind, as I reach for my light. It pools like a torch in my outstretched hand. I close my eyes and feel the golden power as it surges within me. It claws to be released, fierce and wild. I don’t force it. I don’t make demands. I simply embrace it. My power knows my heart, and it senses my intentions.

Scattered all along the crumbling battlement wall, villagers take notice. They point to me, and beat their weapons against the stone, the rhythm rising like war drums. It creates a cacophony loud enough to rattle my bones. Loud enough for the fighters below to hear.

They were all waiting for this.

Below us, Gwyllion fighters retreat to take cover behind shields and overturned wagons. When the new wave of Fox Soldiers surge onto the battlefield, I release my light, holding nothing back. The power tears free in a searing rush, so blinding it momentarily burns my vision. The brilliant glow reflects off their copper and bronze armor, amplifying and redirecting the light back into their eyes a hundredfold.

Blinded, the Fox Soldiers fumble. Their shouts turn to screams as they clutch at their eyes. They stumble into one another, clatter to the ground, and trample each other in suffocating piles. The Gwyllion fighters hold steady in shaded huddles as I send every ounce of light into the faces of my father’s men.

Then, our own second line of defense bursts through the castle gates. Their eyes are blackened with soot to absorb the light, and they’re wearing a variety of wide-brimmed hats and veils to shade their faces. They sprint across the battlefield to impale the blinded Fox Soldiers on farm tools and pikes. Blood spatters and the air fills with an iron tang so strong, I can smell it high above on the battlement walls.

Beyond the blinding light, I sense my father’s eyes on me. It’s why I wore the red cloak, after all. So he could watch as I killed his men.

My blood sings with the thrill of power. The Fox King tried to extinguish my gift. He belittled me, berated me, tried to replace me, and then locked me up in a dungeon to die.

But I survived. And now, I’m the reason his men are dying. As my light power finally fades from my outstretched hands, I look beyond the battlefield. Even from a mile away, I can sense my father’s fury. The Dead Queen was right. He knew I was stronger than he was. Even with all his armies and all of his rage, his power can’t compare to mine. That’s why he never fights on the battlefield. That’s why he never deigned to heal soldiers in the borderlands. It’s not just that he doesn’t want to ... It’s that he can’t.

The realization makes me laugh. He may be the mighty Fox King, but he is weak. He’s just a little man who hides behind a big army and a family name.

The wind tears at my cloak as thunder crackles toward us. The encroaching clouds block the sunlight as they move across the sky. But there’s another boom, and it’s not thunder. The wall lurches beneath me. The ground trembles, and the world tilts.

Too late, I realize I’m falling.