Chapter 14
At dawn, I tie my auburn hair into a tight braid before I pull on my leathers.
Yes, it’s practical, but the real reason is I can’t stand the feeling of hair touching my face after last night.
It takes all my willpower to push away the mental image of the fae rubbing strands of my hair all over his wrinkled, pale skin.
My head aches, and my limbs are stiff from the cold as I walk through the castle’s echoing corridors. Outside the tall windows, the sky is only barely beginning to pale with dawn.
When I arrive, Tristan is waiting in the stone archway, his silver sword sheathed at his hip. One foot is braced behind him against the wall, and he arches an eyebrow like he’s been expecting me.
“Let’s go,” I say. “We’re wasting daylight.”
The Wolf smirks. The sun has barely risen, but it seems he approves of my impatience. If he notices the scent of smoke on my skin or the scratch on my cheek from the wraith, he doesn’t mention it. We both have secrets, and he knows it.
Tristan tosses me the heavy practice sword that’s resting near his feet. I fumble but manage to grasp the hilt without dropping the dull blade on the flagstones. Wordlessly, he leads me out onto the frozen castle grounds.
When we reach the frost-covered training yard, the snow sparkles like shattered glass in the pale morning light.
Long shadows trail behind the straw-filled dummies where they lean, their heads dusted in last night’s snow.
Someone must’ve been out here before dawn, because the ground at the center of the yard is already cleared in a wide circle.
My grip tightens around the hilt of my sword.
Tristan pauses in front of me and unsheathes his silver sword. Tendrils of smoke-like shadow dance along the blade.
My eyes widen at the sight.
He holds it up to give me a better look. All along the blade, shadows swirl and dance against the silver. “A weapon can be enhanced with power, making it even more lethal.” He spins it in his hand, and the shadows twist and bend with his movement. “But you’ll need to master the weapon first.”
My heart sinks. “And my power.”
“Yes, well. First thing’s first.” Tristan clears his throat. “You need to learn how to handle your weapon properly.” He demonstrates, holding out his sword so I can mimic his grip on mine.
“Then, two positions.” He shuffles his feet, bracing his sword in front of him. “A basic block.” He pivots, turning his sword to the side in a graceful arc. “And a basic attack.” He nods toward me.
I do my best to move between blocking and attacking, but the movements feel awkward and the sword feels heavy and clumsy in my hands. Each movement makes my wrists and shoulders ache. How can anyone stand to fight with a sword? Knives are far more graceful.
Tristan nods as I repeat the steps again and again. “It takes years to master the footwork involved in sword fighting.”
“Well, we don’t have years,” I grumble, my arms burning with exhaustion.
“Exactly.” Then, without warning, he lunges toward me. His sword is a blur of silver and shadow as it arches through the air. I stumble backward. My sword clashes against the frozen ground, and the sound echoes off the stone walls. I wince.
Tristan closes his eyes for the briefest moment, his weapon frozen in mid-air. “Again,” he growls.
I pick up my sword, my face burning with embarrassment, and step into the defensive posture. My breath mists in front of me with every exhale.
The Wolf lunges a second time, his silver and shadow sword swinging right.
Our blades clash, but my grip is too weak.
The blow of his sword on mine knocks the hilt right out of my hands, and the sting of the impact lingers on my palms. I shake it off and bite back a particularly graphic swear.
If I’d had a sword in the fae’s dungeon last night, would it have made any difference?
Tristan’s eyebrows are lowered in concentration. He nods for me to pick up my fallen sword.
Does he know about the fae under the castle? As the Dead Queen’s Wolf, he must. He probably knows all the dangers lurking in Gwyllion. The thought sends an arrow of distrust into my gut. Why didn’t he tell me?
“Again,” he orders, his tone rough. “Feet apart. Balance. You’re holding it like it’s going to bite you.”
I adjust my stance and ready myself for another attack.
His body blurs in motion. With a flick of his wrist, and a twist of his foot, suddenly his silver blade is slicing toward my side. I barely bring mine up in time. The force of impact rattles through me, and the clang of metal makes me grit my teeth. Tristan nods sharply, then steps away.
“Practice your attacks.”
He nods toward a straw-filled practice dummy.
I roll my eyes before getting in position and swinging at the inanimate object, over and over again.
Within minutes, my arms tremble and sweat prickles my brow, but I won’t complain.
Tristan walks away, examining the practice equipment scattered about the yard.
My arms are screaming for me to take a break, but I refuse. I hack and jab at the dummy, straw falling to the slush beneath it. Every muscle in my body aches. My eyes dart to the Wolf. I know he’s waiting to see how long it will take me to give up. I grind my teeth.
It’s time to make things more interesting.
I keep my face placid as I stab the dummy in the chest. “What do you know about the fae who still remain in Gwyllion?”
Tristan freezes, his back to me. For a moment, all I hear is the icy wind howling over the castle’s leaning turrets.
“Why do you ask?” His breath curls in the morning air.
I feign nonchalance as I swing my dull practice blade again. “Call it curiosity.”
He gives me an assessing look over his shoulder. He knows I’m lying. The Wolf tosses his gleaming silver sword into the air. It twirls before landing back in his hand. He turns back to me and stands in a fighting posture.
I give up on the dummy and mirror his stance, keeping my eyes on his face. Watching for any hint of a lie.
He frowns. “All I know is some remain. Hidden, mostly.” He raises his free hand and makes a gesture for me to ready myself. Before I even register his movement, he lunges toward me. I step aside, barely managing to leap out of his sword’s path.
I know he’s going easy on me. My face burns with frustration. My feet step back into the fighting stance and I give him a nod to continue.
“Are they dangerous?” The icy slush seeps through my boots, but I steady myself. I’ll have to start practicing on my own, build up muscle and balance. How does he make it look so easy?
The Wolf lunges, light on his feet. This time I manage to block him, though my arms tremble and my feet slip on the icy mud. We stand with our swords crossed between us, and shadows twisting around our blades. The Wolf’s eyes are piercing, as if he’s trying to read my secrets.
He shrugs. “Everything can be dangerous in Annwyn.”
He knows about the fae in the dungeon. I can see it in the tightness of his jaw and the way his breath is quickening. I’d bet he knows something about the wraith too.
Quicker than seems natural, he whirls away, his silver sword arching right back toward me in the span of a breath. The impact rattles up my arms, but I don’t stumble this time. The thrill of success makes me grin. Progress.
Tristan exhales sharply through his nose. Not quite approval, but not disdain either. “Better.”
The moment stretches. The silence between us hums as his gaze pins me in place. This is how I want him to see me. Strong. Confident. Not weak or incapable just because I can’t wield a sword. He should know me better than that by now. After all, he’d be dead without me.
His storm-gray eyes search mine. “You’ve relied too much on other people to protect you. You need to learn to protect yourself.”
Fury wipes the smile from my face. “I don’t rely on other people to protect me.”
“No?”
“No.” I step back, swallowing a wave of defensiveness.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Then what were all those King’s Guards doing lingering in your shadows at Caerwen?”
“It’s not like I had a choice,” I bite back. “I didn’t want them to follow me.”
“Are you sure about that?” He raises an eyebrow. “It seemed like you quite enjoyed it. Dancing with your handsome groom, dressed in fine silks, always surrounded by adoring knights in copper armor.”
I grit my teeth. “It wasn’t like that!”
The Wolf uncrosses his arms and takes a step toward me. “Then what was it like?”
I hold my ground and lift my chin, so I can meet his eyes. “It was a prison.”
He scoffs lightly. “No, I think you’re misremembering, Red. I was the one in a prison, remember?”
“Not all prisons are in a dungeon.” I clench my fist around the hilt of my sword.
Tristan merely smirks. “I’ve seen my fair share of prison cells, but I’ve never seen one covered in crimson silk.”
I drop my practice sword to the ground and shove him in the chest, throwing my entire weight into it.
He barely shifts, only sighs and slides his silver Wolf blade back into its scabbard. The swirling shadows extinguish like a candleflame in the wind. His refusal to meet my anger only infuriates me further. Heat floods my face as I clench my fist and draw back, aiming for his perfect, smug mouth.
But before I can strike, the Wolf moves.
His hand shoots out, catching my fist mid-swing. In one fluid motion, he twists my arm behind my back. In the span of a breath, his other arm snakes around my chest, dragging me flush against him.
I thrash against his hold, but his muscles are iron. He doesn’t even strain. He simply waits, immovable, until my struggles break into panting curses. His breath warms the shell of my ear, and an involuntary shiver slips down my spine. I gasp, hating myself for it.
I refuse to turn my head, refuse to meet his eyes.
I can’t decide if it’s because I’m angry, or if I’m afraid he’ll see what’s really pulsing through my veins.
Because the fire that’s heating my body now isn’t just anger anymore.
It’s an entirely different kind of passion. One that I refuse to admit.
He leans his head down to whisper in my ear. “What do you want, Fox?”
The question takes me off guard. No one ever asks what I want. Hell, I barely know what I want.
“I want my power back.” I say, my pulse fluttering at the sensation of his breath on the skin of my neck. “And I want to use it to kill the Fox King.”
I want you, I don’t say. But something molten heats between my legs, anyway.
He nods, as if I said the right thing. Finally, he releases me. I whirl around to face him, my feet automatically planting a fighting stance, as if on instinct.
A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. It could be satisfaction, or perhaps hunger. His voice drops an octave. “And what do you fear?”
I stare at him, unblinking. He stares right back, his gray eyes drinking me in.
His gaze drops slowly down to the thin scar along my neck—to the spot where my father held a knife to my throat and promised to kill me.
My skin grows warm beneath his gaze, and my pulse quickens.
Something dark and dangerous burns low in my belly.
I swallow. “I fear failure.”
His eyes flicker back up to mine, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. “That you will fail the queen? Your people?”
“No.” I shake my head, irritated that he doesn’t know me better than that. “I fear that I will fail myself.”
He nods slowly. I’m distinctly aware of his body so close to mine. How easy it would be to close that gap again. My heart thumps erratically in my chest. There’s something deep inside of me that feels like I’m coming alive, bit by bit, in the face of this Wolf.
Suddenly, darkness surges forward. A twisting mass of ink and shadow curls around my ankles, then rises to swallow all sunlight.
Walls of darkness shift, pressing in. I try to draw my power, but only a flicker burns in my core.
I fight back a wave of hopelessness. I am not weak.
Even without my power, I’m something to be feared.
“You don’t need the light,” Tristan says through the blackness. “Fight like the scrappy fox I know you are.”
A thrill rushes through me as I kneel to feel for my fallen practice sword again. I tighten my grip on its hilt and grin.
I strike in Tristan’s direction, but the Wolf is faster. Even in the darkness, his blade deflects mine with ease. My frustration mounts as I press forward into the shadows, striking blindly again and again.
I feint right, then pivot, but I’m always too slow. Tristan appears from the shadows, his face suddenly a breath away from mine. Before I can react, he hooks a foot behind my ankle and wrenches me off balance. My back slams into the icy ground, the air rushing from my lungs.
Then he’s there, kneeling above me, his sword at my throat. Thick shadows swirl around the blade, waiting for his command.
I freeze. My pulse thrums against the blade’s cool edge. The shadows swirl lazily between us like tendrils of smoke. I can’t take my eyes off the rise and fall of the Wolf’s chest, or the pulse thrumming in his neck. It sends a shiver through me.
He watches me for a beat too long. Then, slowly, he lowers the blade, dragging the tip down until it rests lightly against my collarbone.
“Dead.”
I don’t know what possesses me, but I lift my chin in challenge, just enough to test the edge of the blade. The steel grazes my skin. His breath catches.
He stands, sheathing his sword. Regret floods through me, leaving a hollow ache at the loss of his body over mine. He offers me a hand. This time I take it. His palm is rough and warm against mine as he pulls me to my feet.
I don’t let go right away. Neither does he.
The tension thickens between us. Even the shadows seem to still, like they’re waiting to see which of us will break first. Tristan’s breath is heavy, and his eyes search mine in a way that can only be described as hungry. And, old gods forgive me, but I want him to devour me.
Tristan drops my hand and steps away. His movement is so sudden, it’s disorienting.
The shadows around us recoil, bending in on themselves in swirling clouds before disappearing entirely. The sunlight is momentarily blinding. We stand frozen in the middle of the training yard, but something is shifting between us. I know deep in my bones that he feels it too.
A door creaks open, and we both turn. Silently, a dark figure walks back into the depths of the castle. The voluminous black gown is unmistakable.
How long had the queen been watching us? Heat flushes my cheeks.
Another flicker of movement catches my eye. Nalina lingers in the shadows, her mouth set in a hard line. She turns without a word and follows her queen into the crumbling castle.