Page 82 of The Fox Heir

“What?”

“Don’t let this place turn you into a monster.”

“What makes you so sure I’m not one already?”

In reply, he reaches out and brushes a snowflake off my cheek. My heart stills. The touch lasts just for the slightest moment, but it’s enough. It has to be.

I think of the Dead Queen’s black veil, of the silver moth that rests against dead flesh. I think of all the horrible decisions I’ve made in my life and all the heartache I’ve left in my wake. I’m not convinced I’m not a monster already. But if a brave, truehearted Hunter believes in me, maybe I can believe I’m not completely lost yet.

“I promise.”

We stand there too long for friends and not long enough for lovers, while the snow blankets the world and the wind whistles through the Spires.

I’ve ruined everything with Hunter. And I truly don’t deserve him. Yet here he is, standing before me in the gently swirling snow, the wilds of Annwyn behind him. Wherever this journey takes us, whatever the spring thaw brings, I know one thing will always be true.

Hunter is the greatest man I have ever known. And I am the luckiest woman in the world to know him.

Chapter 26

That night, I toss and turn, my mind racing. Everything is in ruins. Hunter and Tristan are at each other’s throats. My father wants to kill me. And the Fox Army is waiting for the first sign of spring to cross the Spires and take Gwyllion, the last remaining fortress in Annwyn. If the Dead Queen loses this castle, they lose the entire war. Not to mention their home.

And somehow, I’m supposed to fix everything?

I rub my palms over my eyes. There’s no use in staying in bed with my mind a jumbled mess. I swing my legs to the ground and throw my red cloak over my shoulders.

I’m already at the door to the courtyard temple of the Tree God before I realize where my feet have carried me. Light streams through the crack in the door, illuminating the dark, dusty hallway. I push the door open and step inside.

The first thing I notice is the sacred tree bathed in muted moonlight. Reflections bounce off the mirrors that hang from its branches. They twist and sway, flashing like fireflies. I glance up at the snow trapped against the skylight. It’s a filter, keeping the Moon Goddess from fully reuniting with her beloved Tree God.

The second thing I notice is that I’m not alone.

Nalina kneels on the moss in front of one of the large carved stones. The etching on the boulder depicts a crescent moon with swirls emanating from it.

She must have heard my approach because she speaks first. “I’ve always wondered what this symbol meant.”

I step out of the shadows near the doorway. As I near, I sense her weariness. I’ve never seen Nalina like this, on her knees, her shoulders slumped. It’s unnerving to see someone so strong appear so broken.

For one horrible moment, I realize I might have interrupted her praying. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She shakes her head slowly. “Everyone is welcome in the temple.” She draws her eyes away from the etching and squints toward me. “Even Foxes.” There’s a slight humorless smile in the corner of her mouth. She stands with a sigh and levels her gaze at me. “Just don’t get used to it.”

I nod, feeling like my presence here is sacrilege somehow.

Nalina turns toward the tree, and we both stand in silence. The filtered moonlight dances between the slowly spinning mirrors. There’s an ache in my chest, like a longing for something I never knew to begin with. I wish I could see this place in its former glory. I wish I understood why it still feels so holy, even centuries after it was abandoned. Did the old gods feel pain when they lost the faith of their people?

“What are you doing here?” Nalina finally asks.

I shrug beneath my red cloak. “I’m not sure. I couldn’t sleep. My feet brought me here.” I pause, taking in the moonlit courtyard. “Maybe I was led here by old fae magic.”

I say it as a joke, to lighten the mood, but Nalina eyes me skeptically. “You know, the fae used to believe magic was sacred. That it made its hosts divine.”

I laugh lightly. “Funny to think of Tristan as holy.”

I expect this to bring a smile to her face. Tristan is, after all, her friend. But it doesn’t. A crease forms between her eyes and she frowns.

“He’s not what you think he is.”

I turn toward her. “How so?”