Page 63 of The Fox Heir

“No!” I point out past the cliffs and the pounding shore.

Lightning flashes again, and Tristan sees it too. “That can’t be …” his voice is lost to the wind.

Thunder booms, and we watch as a ship is swallowed by the raging sea.

Chapter 21

By daybreak, the bodies start washing up on shore.

The storm ceased soon after it capsized the ship, as if satisfied with its catch. Its belly full of dying men, it dissipated as if it had never been there at all.

Dawn arrives without the usual fanfare of blazing colors, but rather with the gradual lightening of a gray world. Tristan sounded the alarm, gathering men from the town while I changed out of my wet clothes and warmed myself by the fire. Even now, as feeling returns to my limbs, I can’t stop shaking.

I’ve seen death before. Many times, in fact, but I’ve never seen the sea take an entire ship in one swallow. One moment it was there, tossing violently among the waves. The next, it was gone.

Someone knocks on my open door. I turn to see Tristan, his face pale and gaunt from lack of sleep.

“You asked me to tell you when we’re going to shore.”

I nod, standing on tired legs. “I’ll follow you.”

Tristan leads the way down the steep path, down to the sea. In the hazy light of a cloudy dawn, I can see the shore is littered with what’s left of the ship. Splintered wood from the hull, casks, and crates speckle the coast.

And, of course, there are the bodies.

Tristan turns to me. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“I’m coming.”

He nods, assuming my answer before giving me a way out. I’m a healer. I’ve seen bodies mangled and torn before. Drowning is a new one though, battlefields being mostly inland.

The first body we see is a man dressed in a waterlogged cloak. There’s sand in his hair, his clothes, and his ears. His skin is pale and puffy, with the disturbing pallor of the drowned. His eyes stare up at the sky. I hope he doesn’t have to replay his last sight over and over again in the afterlife. I place my hand over his eyes to close them forever.

A short distance away, Tristan kicks away tiny shoreline crabs who’ve already begun feasting on another dead man. The corpse’s mouth gapes open in a small pool of water.

“They’re from Llwyn,” Tristan says, breaking me out of my stupor.

My head shoots up. “How can you be sure?”

He points to the sword still strapped to the waist of a nearby body. “The hilt is bronze.”

I rise to my feet to get a closer look. True enough, the man’s weapon is a muted shade of copper and decorated with the face of a growling fox.

“Why would they be out at sea in Annwyn waters? In the middle of winter?” I turn to Tristan.

He shakes his head. “I have no idea. It’s a wonder they even made it this far north, this time of year.”

My head swirls with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Did my father send them on a suicide mission to capture more territory from the sea? Are more Fox Soldiers approaching from other directions, winter storms be damned?

The impossibilities are endless. And yet, here lie the bodies of his men, washed up on the Annwyn shore in the middle of winter. Sheets of ice slide gracefully over the smooth pebbles, between the bodies jostled by the waves.

Tristan turns to three old women who are assembling a pyre to burn the dead.

“That can wait,” he says, his voice laced with urgency. “Open the crates and casks. Look for anything that might give us a clue as to why Llwyn soldiers were so far north.”

The women drop swollen bodies and the shredded remnants of the ship’s sail. One of the villagers produces an axe. Another has a pry bar. They get to work opening anything that’s still sealed. Ale spills, the scent mixing with salty seawater as it foams in the waves. One of the casks holds animal feed, making me cringe. More than people died on that ship. Horses, likely. Depending on how long they were planning to stay in Annwyn, possibly farm animals as well.

Another crate cracks open with a soggy thump of an axe. From inside, copper-plated armor spills onto the rough sand. My family’s emblem stares back at me like a ghost from the past. The fox makes me shiver as if it were my father’s eyes watching me, plotting his next attempt at my life.