Chapter 18
By the time I reach the cemetery, I’m out of breath and my side aches. I lean against a crooked tree, hoping no one saw me.
Worry clouds my mind. Not for myself or the fate of the Fox Throne, but for Elena.
If Malen put her up to this, it’s her neck in the noose, not his.
She’s the one parading a bastard as the king’s child.
It will end badly for her. It always does.
She’s yet another woman trapped in the Fox King’s sticky web, and I can’t help but pity her.
I curse and throw my basket of flowers into the pond. Geese scatter away from the assault.
“I was afraid you’d died.”
I whirl around to see Tristan a mere three feet behind me.
It strikes me that I’ve never seen him in broad daylight before.
Our previous interactions had always been in damp dungeons and dim chambers.
He’s younger than I originally thought. Possibly mid-twenties, though the bruising and swelling around his face makes it difficult to tell for sure. His eyes though, look ancient.
“You waited.” My words come out on a breath.
Now that I’m alone with the Wolf, free of shackles, I know I should be afraid …
but all I feel is relief. I’d expected him to make a break for it, to vanish.
That would’ve been the smart thing for him to do.
Hiding on palace grounds seems highly illogical.
Especially if he’s waiting for a stubborn heir who may turn around and betray him.
He steps closer. “I said I’d wait for you. Wolves always keep their word.”
“Yes, the code of honor. You mentioned that.”
He nods.
“Why?”
He tilts his head to the side, very much like the animal he’s so often referred to. “Why live honorably?”
I shake my head. “Why wait? Why risk your life for a woman you don’t know. Who’s the daughter of your sworn enemy?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t turn his pale eyes from mine. “Because I need your help.”
I cross my arms and frown. “You travelled all the way to Caerwen alone. What makes you think you need my help going back?”
“Because this time, I have the Fox King on my trail.” His tone is even, honest. “And you know the way to the borderlands better than most in Llwyn.”
I narrow my eyes, studying him. If he’s lying, he’s good at it. I don’t see any telltale signs of deceit. No wavering eye contact or fidgeting. Still, I don’t believe him. He’s a Wolf, he would be fine without me. There’s more at play here.
The question is, can a Fox outwit a Wolf to get what she wants?
“I’ll consider it,” I say. “But I need some answers first.” I glare at him. “The truth! No more lies and deceit. I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.”
In the pond, a frog jumps into the water, creating ripples that spread slowly, but unstoppably across the entire surface.
“Alright,” he says, finally.
I square off. “Who is the Heir to the North?”
He sighs. “I’m not sure.”
“You crossed Llwyn and risked your life in a king’s palace, all for something you’re not sure about?”
“It’s complicated.”
“How?”
“Given the centuries-long war, the last of the royal bloodline disappeared some time ago. But rumors reached us in Annwyn. They say the heir still lives. Only …”
“Only?”
Tristan sighs. “Only it’s difficult to confirm without proof.”
I jut out my chin, defiant. “Then how do you know the rumors are true?”
He gives me a sideways smirk. “Suffice it to say, they come from a credible source.”
I nod, sensing he’s telling the truth. “Who are the sympathizers my father mentioned?”
“Southerners who think your family should be ousted.” His eyes grow dark. “That your father’s cruelties against Annwyn are grounds to usurp him.”
“How many are there? Who are they?”
He just shakes his head, either because he doesn’t know, or he isn’t willing to tell me. How can there be an entire group of people who hate my family, yet I never knew about them? It’s not a secret that I’m no fan of the king’s. Wouldn’t someone have told me?
Even as the thought crosses my mind, I know the answer. No. No they would not. Because being royal is the loneliest position in the world. Everyone wants to be seen with you, but no one trusts you.
If I can’t trust anyone in my own homeland, I may as well try trusting someone from Annwyn. I’m out of options.
“Fine.” I nod. “I’ll take you to the border.” I expect to feel regret the instant it’s out of my mouth, but I don’t. Instead, I’m filled with an odd sense of calm, like I’m finally choosing the right path. “I’ll help you escape, in return for one thing.”
His eyes are hard, but he waits for me to continue.
“The truth. You must tell me everything you know about my grandmother and the sympathizers.” I swallow.
“Not until I reach Annwyn.”
“I understand that.”
His nostrils flare as he mulls it over. Then he nods.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the chill of autumn. I likely just signed my own death warrant, helping a criminal escape. Worse, I’m helping the king’s would-be assassin go back to Annwyn.
“Tonight,” I say. “I’ll gather supplies and meet you back here at midnight.”
I’m in my rooms, stuffing a sack with basic necessities for the journey, when I hear a knock on my chamber door. I still, my soiled borderland dress in hand. Perhaps, if I pretend I’m not here, they’ll leave.
The knock sounds again. I stuff the dress into the sack, then toss the whole thing under the bed before turning toward the door.
“You may enter.”
I expect to see one of my father’s many messengers, or possibly even Hunter, but I’m completely wrong. When a small, old man in brown robes steps inside, I have to do a double take. It’s the librarian.
He gives me a bashful smile. “Many apologies for interrupting you, Your Highness. I hope I’m not too much of an inconvenience.”
“N-no. Not at all. Sir … um.”
He smiles, good-naturedly. “No ‘sir’, my lady. Just Merle. I am but a humble servant to the muse of books.” His quiet, casual nature puts me somewhat at ease.
“I’m glad to finally learn your name.”
He nods his appreciation. “I won’t take much of your time. I heard a rumor that you were looking for something.”
He takes a small, worn book out from inside his voluminous sleeve. He holds it out to me.
I take it in my hands and stare at the cover. There are no words on the leather, just the thin, silver outline of a moth. The same moth that now rests against my breast bone, beneath my dress.
I look up at him, wide-eyed. “How did you …”
“The books, ma’am.,” he says matter-of-factly. “The ones you left behind in the library when Sir Hunter was called away.”
A blush spreads across my face. For a moment, I genuinely thought he’d heard about my interest from the shopkeeper in White’s End, as ludicrous as that would be. A royal librarian would never mix with the likes of a pawnshop owner.
He waves away my embarrassment, likely chalking it up to modesty. He did walk in on Hunter and me in the library, doing quite a bit more than reading. “Fear not, your secrets are safe with me.”
For a moment I wonder whether he means my compromising situation with Hunter, or my interest in moths.
Merle bows, slightly. “I’ll take my leave.” He turns and opens the door.
I hold up a hand. “Wait, please.”
He hesitates, his hand still on the doorknob. “Yes?”
“This book,” I hold it up. “The moth …” I shake my head, trying to find words that make sense. “You once told me I look like my grandmother.”
A nostalgic smile spreads across his face. “I did. She was a great lady. One of the best.”
My heart twists in my chest. “Yes. She was.” I run my fingers over the book cover. The fabric is as soft as a moth’s wings. I make a reckless decision and pull the necklace out from beneath the neckline of my gown.
Merle doesn’t react, just watches me with curiosity.
“Do you recognize this necklace?” I ask. “It was hers.”
He nods, just once.
“Do you know anything about it?”
Merle watches me for a long moment, weighing what must be a million answers before he speaks.
“I know that it was very precious to her. And that she would be proud to see it around your neck.” For the briefest moment, his eyes linger on the scar at my throat before he bows slightly and closes the door behind him.
In the silence of the room, all I hear is the blood roaring in my ears. I sit on the edge of the overstuffed bed and open the book’s cover.
The Silver Moth Society
A treatise on the demands of the Llwyn people in favor of the permanent destruction of the Fox King and all future despotic rulers.
On the inside cover, someone penned a list of names. The first one sends a bolt of lightning into my chest: áine.
My hands shake so violently, I drop the book to the floor.
In a blind panic, I scramble beneath the bed and claw up the loose floorboard where I used to hide treats as a child.
I toss the little book inside as if it were a hot ember, then scramble backward until my spine is pressed against the wall.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I try to make sense of this.
I am the heir to the Fox Throne. And yet …
My grandmother was an Annwyn sympathizer.