Chapter 5 #3
I breathe deeply, then shake my head. “No, she isn’t. Not anymore. She stopped being my grandmother the moment she was reanimated.”
He doesn’t argue. I wonder just how much he knows about the woman my grandmother used to be.
The woman who was adored by every servant and palace worker I ever met.
Who taught me to sneak out at night so we could dance in the moonlight.
Who taught me how to climb trees and run through the meadow without a care in the world.
The woman who saved me from my father’s cruelty again and again.
My hand reaches up toward my collarbone, to the place where her silver moth necklace used to rest. My fingers only find bare skin. I forgot how I’d thrown the necklace at her feet.
“Come with me.” Tristan shovels the last of his bread into his mouth as he stands.
I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s time you had an official tour.” He holds out his hand toward me. “We can’t have you falling into pits of corpse mice or running into our amateur undead theater troupe.”
I blink up at him from my seat on the bench.
“Are you … is that …?”
“A joke, Red.”
Despite myself, I sigh in relief. “If that’s what stands for comedy in Annwyn, I’d hate to see what you consider tragedy.
” I stand but refuse to take his outstretched hand.
I may have to play nice here in this den of Wolves, but I certainly don’t have to touch one.
My refusal just makes his irritating grin widen.
He laughs. “You’re right about that.”
Tristan leads me into the cavernous halls. Light beams through a break in the clouds and past the oversized windows, warming the stone beneath our feet. It’s a rare treat to feel this warm.
Now that we’re closer, I can see the hilt of Tristan’s sword where it sticks out of its scabbard at his waist. It’s a practical design made of silver, with few embellishments aside from the head of a wolf stamped above the cross-guard.
Our steps echo as we walk. Tristan points out various rooms and passageways. The path that leads to the throne room. The door that will take me out to the stables. The wing where the servants used to live.
“Used to?” I ask.
“They all chose to travel back and forth from the village now.”
A pit forms in my stomach. “Since when?”
He shrugs. “It’s a new development.”
“It’s me.” It’s not a question. I know in my bones that I’m the reason they left.
Tristan pauses, turning toward me. “They’ll learn,” he says with a conviction I can’t quite muster. “You’re not the enemy. If I could recognize that, they will too.” He waggles his head back and forth. “Eventually.” He resumes walking.
The note left in my room last night comes to mind, but I decide not to tell him. The last thing I need is for the Wolf to pity me. Still, there’s mystery here in Gwyllion. Maybe more than one. Tristan might be the only person who could help me figure out what’s going on.
“Last night,” I say, my voice hesitating. “The castle was so quiet. I wondered if they left for an entirely different reason.” My mind wanders back to the footsteps I heard, and the doorway that I was sure someone hid behind. And the emptiness I found instead.
“And what reason would that be?” He gives me a quizzical look.
“I thought perhaps they were afraid it’s haunted.”
To my surprise, the Wolf doesn’t laugh. His eyebrows lower thoughtfully. It takes him a full minute to speak. “They do say this castle is haunted. But not by ghosts.”
“What then?”
He watches me from the corner of his eye, reading every line in my face. “By the fae who used to rule these lands.”
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold. Something in his words resonates deep in my chest, where my power lives.
“And do you believe that?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He draws his lips into a thoughtful line, then shrugs. “Maybe.” He gives me a wry grin. “I prefer to keep an open mind.”
“So, the fae just … linger here?” I think of the eyes I felt on my skin last night. Could it have been fae, hidden deep in the shadows?
“Not exactly.” He leads me through the empty entrance hall that I found so intimidating when we first arrived.
Now, it just strikes me as sad. “There aren’t many fae left, not like there used to be in the age before the Dead Queens and the war.
Those that remain cause minor mischief. Take what they want.
Torment those they despise.” He looks at me sideways.
“There are a lot of illegitimate children who’ve been explained away by the mischief of the fae. ”
I scoff. “Naturally.”
“But …” He sighs. “The fact remains that there are many unexplainable events that happen here in Gwyllion. Not that I believe the fae can be blamed for all of them.”
“Why do you think they’re still here?”
He nods, pondering for a moment. “I suppose they’re just ... waiting.”
Tristan stops outside a simple wooden door. I lean out a nearby window and see a familiar sight. A training yard covered in snow. Frozen, straw-filled dummies and bags of sand hang from ropes, like nooses.
“Waiting? For what?” I raise an eyebrow.
“For the Heir to the North to save us all, of course.”