Page 45 of The Fox Heir

She must sense my discomfort because her face melts into empathy. “I imagine it’s a great burden, having a name like that.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

Across the room, someone clearly mumbles something that sounds remarkably like “Llwyn whore.”

Elisandra casts another glare across the room, then turns back to me with a sigh. “You must think Annwyn is a terrible place.”

I shrug. “Well, there is a lot of doom and gloom.”

“And ice. And snow.”

“And corpse wolves.”

A grin flickers at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, those too.” She exhales again, softer this time, and studies me with a look caught somewhere between pity and mischief. After a moment, she stands straighter and taps her hand on the table. “Come. I want to show you something.”

I take a long swig of ale, emptying my cup before I stand. My legs ache, but I stifle a groan and follow her. We ignore the stares and whispers as we walk out of the great hall. The second we’re out the door, I hear the hum of conversation resume. Elisandra takes me through familiar castle halls without a word. Other villagers nod to her as we pass, but none spare me a glance.

We stop in front of a heavy wooden door near the throne room. She pauses with her hand on the handle.

“Don’t mind the mess.”

She pushes the door open. Inside, a cavernous room is stuffed wall to wall with such a random assortment of odds and ends that it’s staggering. My eyes widen as I take in the sight. There are barrels filled with empty spools for thread. A mountain of fireplace pokers and ash shovels clutter an entire corner. Old furniture is piled on top of more old furniture. On top of that, there are moth-eaten bolts of holey fabric, which spill down to the floor below like faded waterfalls.

“What is this place?” I ask.

We pass a gilded mirror leaning against a stack of crates, and its cracked glass reflects fragments of my face. My eyes are haunted and strange in the splintered glass. I hardly look like myself anymore.

“It used to be a ballroom,” Elisandra says as she closes the lid of a trunk filled with old clothes and spiderwebs. “Now, it’s storage.”

I look down toward my feet. Sure enough, beneath the dirt, there’s a mosaic floor in shades of black and white. For a room this size to have such intricate flooring, it must have been a spectacular ballroom. It’s difficult to believe such a room was ever used in Gwyllion, given the state of the castle now.

Elisandra pushes an old boot out of our path with her foot. “We can’t afford to get rid of anything, so it ends up here.” She looks up at the hundreds of years’ worth of broken chairs, bolts of stained cloth, tables, even cradles. “We come here to find replacements for anything too broken to use. Or if we need wood to burn.” She points toward a pile of furniture that’s been chopped down into kindling. “But this isn’t what I want you to see.”

We wind our way through the clutter, squeezing past wardrobes missing doors. Elisandra pauses to run a finger over an ornately carved cabinet. Wood-carved trees seem to shift in a breeze, raining flower petals over two lovers lounging together beneath their limbs. It’s an idyllic scene that feels remarkably out of place in Gwyllion with its cold stone walls and winter storms. It makes me wonder what Annwyn is like when it’s not coated in snow and pounded with ice storms.

Next to me, there’s a crate filled with disintegrating straw. I brush the straw away, and something sparkles.

“It’s … crystal.” My breath catches with surprise. I rub away the grime with my thumb to reveal green glass decanters so delicate they must be the work of a master craftsman. They’re empty, of course, except for dust.

“We used to be a fine castle, you know.” There’s a note of defensiveness in Elisandra’s voice. “Though that was long before I was born.”

I look around with new eyes. This room isn’t filled with mere junk; it’s the archive of a great era. Sure, it’s nothing like the organized archives back home in the palace at Caerwen, but it’s a historic collection, nonetheless. I lift a heavy blanket from a mound and uncover a chandelier with teardrop glass in shades of rose and lavender.

I have to blink away the disbelief. “It’s hard to imagine something like this hanging at Gwyllion.”

Elisandra’s expression softens. “Every time I come here, I wish I could have seen it.” Her voice sounds almost wistful. “Royals, both human and fae, spent their summers here by the sea. There were feasts every night. Hunts and garden parties by day. The balls were the stuff of dreams. It was second only to Ellyll, the main residence of the Fae Kings and Queens.”

“Before the humans usurped them.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounds far away, lost in the fantasy of the past.

“This was a summer palace?” I ask.

“The sea gives a lovely breeze in the warm months.” Outside, the wind howls, rattling the windows in their panes. Elisandra shrugs. “It was mostly shut up in the winters, given the …” She gestures toward the snow-frosted glass.

I drop the blanket, letting the chandelier sink back into its dark slumber. Nearby, I spot piles of velvet curtains faded to ghostly shades of plum, rose, and forest green.

Elisandra tilts her head. “Just a little farther.”