Page 32 of The Fox Heir

The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. When my grandmother was alive, she was filled with love for me. Overflowing with it. Her entire life revolved around me and making sure I knew how much I was adored. That loss scarred me deeply. And while I don’t consider the reanimated version of her to be the same woman, perhaps a small part of me still clung to the shadow of a dream. A hope that her love somehow remained for me, even after death.

My eyes flicker to the silver moth necklace that rests against the black silk of her bodice. I swallow hard, banishing the memories of the woman who once wore it. She is dead. And this abomination is wearing her skin, like a grotesque theater costume.

“We’ll put your horse back to rest,” she says.

“Thank you.” When the words come out, they sound slightly strangled in my throat.

“But I wonder.” She pauses, thinking. “Do you truly think the Annwyn people are so different with our monsters than you are with yours?”

I blink several times. “You mean the foxhounds?”

She nods slowly. “They are living, but monstrous all the same.”

I can’t argue with that logic.

The Dead Queen watches me for a reaction. “And would you pardon the living for murder, yet punish the dead for killing in self-defense?”

I never thought of it that way. If I had to choose between death at the hands of my father’s soldiers or at the jaws of a corpse wolf, what difference would it make? In the end, it’s the same thing. Death.

My temples throb. Nothing I grew up believing about this place is true. Right and wrong blur until I can’t tell them apart anymore.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

She drums her fingers on the stable latch. It’s an oddly human motion for a corpse. “I only meant to bring you comfort. I see now that it was misguided.”

I merely nod.

“Your mother loved all of the earth’s creatures too.”

The mention of my mother is so unexpected, so sharp, pain shoots up my spine. Panic seizes me. Suddenly, I realize there’s a question I need to ask. To clear the possibility from any future doubt.

“My mother. Is she like you?”

If this queen could reanimate the frozen corpse of my beloved horse, then who else has she tried to bring back?

The queen tilts her head. “Dead?”

“Yes, but not just dead.”

She hums low in understanding. “No, Granddaughter. Your mother is truly gone.” She turns away from me, staring back into the horse stall. “We do not reanimate people. To do so is high treason.”

Her face lifts toward Tristan in the back corner. He nods in affirmation.

“Except for new Dead Queens to replace the old,” I say.

She stands unnaturally still for some time before her veiled face dips into a slow nod. “Yes. As difficult as it is to lose someone you care for, that is the end.” Silence stretches between us, unbearable and filled with grief. “Your mother was a far better queen than I am. But she is truly gone. And we both have your father to blame for that.”

I scoff. “I’m no fan of the Fox King’s, but even I can’t blame him for a woman dying in childbirth.”

The Dead Queen turns toward me sharply. “Your mother did not die in childbirth.”

All around us, horses snort and stomp their feet anxiously.

My heart begins to race as I slowly process her words. “But I thought …”

“You thought what?”

My words come out slowly with confusion. “I thought I was the one who killed her.”