Page 48 of The Fox Heir

I take another bite before I stand. Casting one mournful glance back at my hot meal, I follow them out of the great hall. Behind me, benches scrape the ground and whispers ignite like oil to flame as the Wolves lead me out the doors.

They lead me through the castle, then up to the throne room. They open the doors and I step through, but they don’t follow me.

I turn back and raise an eyebrow at them. “Not coming?”

Their faces remain expressionless as they close the door behind me with an echoing bang.

The throne room is more ominous today. The windows are dimmed by the dark storm clouds moving in. In the distance, I can barely see the Spires through the storm raging there. As I step further into the cavernous space, hail begins to pelt the glass like pebbles. Vicious winds make the castle creak. I’ve come to think of this sound as the music of the north.

This time, I pay closer attention to the tapestries hanging along the left wall. The trees are much the same as they were last time I was in here, though more are blanketed in snow. One seems to be coated in a glistening cocoon of ice. Just where Tristan said it would be, the twisted black tree from the temple courtyard stands in the tapestry to the left of the throne. Its many mirrors are dim from lack of sunlight. Now that I’ve seen it in real life, the image feels stiff, as if even fae magic can’t preserve the sacredness of such a place.

Upon the twisted black throne, the Dead Queen waits. She watches me through her black veil as I walk toward her. The silver moth necklace rests upon her hollow chest and her gloved fingers tap a restless rhythm along the throne’s iron armrest. To her right, Nalina stands tall, watching me with distrust. The scar across her face makes her look even more menacing. Her hand flexes on the hilt of the sword at her hip.

I don’t miss the massive silver greatsword strapped to her back. It’s a strong woman who can wield not one, but two heavy swords. No wonder her biceps look so powerful beneath her brown tunic. If I had to wield that monstrosity, I’d topple over.

“You seem quite intrigued by our tapestries, Granddaughter.” The Dead Queen’s voice echoes throughout the hall. It rolls through the chamber like thunder.

I sniff as I stop at the foot of the dais. “Merely interested in the artwork.”

“Mmmm.”

I clasp my hands in front of me. “You summoned me.”

“I did.”

The plink of the hail sharpens against the windows as the storm intensifies. The great tapestries ripple in the draft, their embroidered trees shifting as if they’re alive.

The queen stops tapping her long fingers on her armrest. Her head tilts, veil stirring with the movement. “I wanted to give you a warning.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“To be careful.” Her voice is no nonsense. “To remember what’s at stake if you get … distracted.”

Beside her, Nalina shifts on her feet, the leather of her boots creaking. Her gaze never wavers from me, but her face remains impassive. They must teach that trick to all the queen’s Wolves.

“Noted,” I say lightly.

“This isn’t a game.” The Dead Queen’s voice is low, threatening.

“Of course not. If it were, all players would start with an equal advantage.”

The queen leans forward on her throne, and the dim light glints off her silver moth necklace. “And what disadvantages do you have?”

I list them off, counting on my fingers as I go. “Adequate training, similar skill sets, prerequisite knowledge ... That’s a big one.”

“You think we’re hiding something from you.”

I stare pointedly at her in answer.

The queen reclines slowly back onto her throne. “Well, let us amend that. What is it you need to know?”

I let out a low whistle. “Oh, so many things.”

“Start with one.”

“Alright.” I nod. I can’t ask about the wraith or the dungeon fae without showing my hand. I’ll need to start at a different angle, then make my way around. “How about the Sympathizers?”

“What of them?”