Chapter 16
We return to the great hall reluctantly. Elisandra has to go back to her duties in the kitchens, and I’m still hungry after my morning with Tristan.
Thankfully, no one pays me much attention when I sit back down at one of the long tables. Elisandra leaves me with a plate of stew and warm bread. But before she turns away, she gives me a small smile.
As impossible as it may seem, I think I’ve made a friend here in Annwyn.
I eat in silence, lost in thought for several long minutes before footsteps approach.
I turn to see three of the queen’s Wolves walking toward me through the hall.
They’re a grizzled lot. All three are broad-shouldered and covered with furs, each wearing a silver wolf sigil pinned to their chest. Snow still clings to the hems of their cloaks, melting into dark patches along the stone floor.
But their scars are the most menacing thing about them.
These are men who’ve been to the borderlands and lived to tell the tale.
I eye one man’s hand, where three of his fingers end in stumps.
The Wolves stop in front of me. “The queen wishes to see you,” the tallest one says from behind a thick black beard.
“Can it wait?” I ask as I take a bite of an herb-roasted potato.
The guard looks at me, incredulous. “No one makes the Dead Queen wait.”
I shrug. “She’s dead. She has all the time in the world.”
The room falls silent.
The guard’s face flushes. “Now.”
I take another bite before I stand. Casting one mournful glance back at my hot meal, I follow them out of the great hall. Behind me, benches scrape the ground and whispers ignite like oil to flame as the Wolves lead me out the doors.
They lead me through the castle, then up to the throne room. They open the doors and I step through, but they don’t follow me.
I turn back and raise an eyebrow at them. “Not coming?”
Their faces remain expressionless as they close the door behind me with an echoing bang.
The throne room is more ominous today. The windows are dimmed by the dark storm clouds moving in.
In the distance, I can barely see the Spires through the storm raging there.
As I step further into the cavernous space, hail begins to pelt the glass like pebbles.
Vicious winds make the castle creak. I’ve come to think of this sound as the music of the north.
This time, I pay closer attention to the tapestries hanging along the left wall.
The trees are much the same as they were last time I was in here, though more are blanketed in snow.
One seems to be coated in a glistening cocoon of ice.
Just where Tristan said it would be, the twisted black tree from the temple courtyard stands in the tapestry to the left of the throne.
Its many mirrors are dim from lack of sunlight.
Now that I’ve seen it in real life, the image feels stiff, as if even fae magic can’t preserve the sacredness of such a place.
Upon the twisted black throne, the Dead Queen waits.
She watches me through her black veil as I walk toward her.
The silver moth necklace rests upon her hollow chest and her gloved fingers tap a restless rhythm along the throne’s iron armrest. To her right, Nalina stands tall, watching me with distrust. The scar across her face makes her look even more menacing.
Her hand flexes on the hilt of the sword at her hip.
I don’t miss the massive silver greatsword strapped to her back. It’s a strong woman who can wield not one, but two heavy swords. No wonder her biceps look so powerful beneath her brown tunic. If I had to wield that monstrosity, I’d topple over.
“You seem quite intrigued by our tapestries, Granddaughter.” The Dead Queen’s voice echoes throughout the hall. It rolls through the chamber like thunder.
I sniff as I stop at the foot of the dais. “Merely interested in the artwork.”
“Mmmm.”
I clasp my hands in front of me. “You summoned me.”
“I did.”
The plink of the hail sharpens against the windows as the storm intensifies. The great tapestries ripple in the draft, their embroidered trees shifting as if they’re alive.
The queen stops tapping her long fingers on her armrest. Her head tilts, veil stirring with the movement. “I wanted to give you a warning.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“To be careful.” Her voice is no nonsense. “To remember what’s at stake if you get … distracted.”
Beside her, Nalina shifts on her feet, the leather of her boots creaking. Her gaze never wavers from me, but her face remains impassive. They must teach that trick to all the queen’s Wolves.
“Noted,” I say lightly.
“This isn’t a game.” The Dead Queen’s voice is low, threatening.
“Of course not. If it were, all players would start with an equal advantage.”
The queen leans forward on her throne, and the dim light glints off her silver moth necklace. “And what disadvantages do you have?”
I list them off, counting on my fingers as I go. “Adequate training, similar skill sets, prerequisite knowledge ... That’s a big one.”
“You think we’re hiding something from you.”
I stare pointedly at her in answer.
The queen reclines slowly back onto her throne. “Well, let us amend that. What is it you need to know?”
I let out a low whistle. “Oh, so many things.”
“Start with one.”
“Alright.” I nod. I can’t ask about the wraith or the dungeon fae without showing my hand. I’ll need to start at a different angle, then make my way around. “How about the Sympathizers?”
“What of them?”
“Who are they? What do they do exactly? Who is their leader now that you’re, you know …”
“Dead?” the queen says humorlessly.
“Exactly.”
Next to the queen, Nalina narrows her eyes at me in silent threat. Her fingers curl tighter around her sword’s hilt. I can practically feel her disdain for me, the Fox in Wolf territory.
The Dead Queen doesn’t seem as ruffled. “Sympathizers are Llwyn people who seek to overthrow the Fox King. You know this.”
“That isn’t enough to understand them.”
She pauses, studying me. Though her eyes are hidden behind the black veil, I can feel the weight of her gaze on my skin. “Alright. They meet in secret. Distinguished only by the sign of the silver moth. Which I believe you’ve already guessed.”
Her eyes flicker to the hilt of my silver moth knife where it sticks out of my boot. Its bronze handle is strapped against my ankle. Without the skirts to hide it, it’s on full display like all the other weapons in this court.
She continues, “Sympathizers exist in every city, every town. Even the palace at Caerwen.”
Nalina stiffens, no doubt fearing the queen is telling me too much. The queen ignores her hesitation.
“Besides you, who else was a spy in the Fox King’s court?”
“Your mother.”
I blanch outright at that. My mother, the woman who has an ornate, marble mausoleum in the royal cemetery. Who was the Fox Queen, if only for a short while … she was a Sympathizer.
“You seem pale.”
I blink several times. “Yes, well. This is quite a revelation.”
“You wanted to know.”
“I did.” Then I add, “Thank you for being forthright.”
I didn’t truly expect the queen to tell me the simple truth. My beloved grandmother, before she was reanimated as the Dead Queen, was the leader of the Sympathizers. And my mother, the Fox Queen, was her spy.
“How?” I ask.
“How what?” the queen asks, her tone annoyed. “Be more specific.”
I sputter. “How did you do it? How did your daughter become the queen of Llwyn?”
“That is a story for another day, I’m afraid.”
But I’m not done yet. There are too many unanswered questions whirring in my brain. “How did father not see what you truly were?”
“Your father … he had his suspicions. Then, he found out the truth.”
“That’s why he killed you, isn’t it? You were trying to destroy the Fox Throne. My throne.”
She nods slowly. The motion is so slight, I almost don’t notice it.
While I understand hating my father, I’m struggling to see why my own grandmother would work to destroy a legacy I was supposed to inherit.
A throne that I was someday supposed to sit upon.
Maybe things would’ve been better once my father was out of the picture.
Maybe I could have actually been a good Fox Queen, like my mother.
But there my grandmother was, loving me one moment, then destroying my future the next.
Outside, the wind picks up. The clouds are so dark with swirling snow, the windows show nothing but a blanket of gray. The tapestries shudder against the stone wall, threads like shifting leaves in a storm.
I take a deep breath, realizing I’ve been holding it for too long. Dizziness plucks at the edges of my vision, but I force myself to focus.
The outline of the Dead Queen’s opalescent eyes are barely visible beneath her veil, but I can feel them studying me.
“Do you feel betrayed, Granddaughter?”
“Yes,” I whisper, because it’s true. Ever since I discovered who she is—what she is—I haven’t been able to love her. And I spent my entire life loving her memory. Fiercely. Obsessively. I no longer know who I am now that I know the truth.
“You shouldn’t.” The Dead Queen’s voice echoes throughout the hall, sharp and unemotional. It grates like a knife against bone.
“And why not, exactly?”
“Because I did it all for you.”
My ears ring. “Me? How could I possibly have anything to do with this?” I wave toward her grotesque body hidden beneath midnight silks. We both know that behind her veil, her gown, and her long gloves is a body of rot and decay. A skeleton without a soul.
My voice rises in pitch. Without even meaning to, I’m yelling. All the anger and hurt inside of me is spilling out.
“You’re trying to overthrow the kingdom that I was slated to rule one day! How was this for me?”
She watches me for a long moment. “Because you deserve a better world than one ruled by greed and monstrous men.”
I breathe deep, trying to steady my heartbeat.
The queen stands from her throne, bones popping with the movement. Her black gown sweeps the ground like smoke. “I hope you understand that I have shared this information as an olive branch. You do not trust me. But I assure you, I have your best interests at heart.”
For some reason, the mention of her heart makes my stomach turn. She doesn’t have a heart. Only a twisted, rotten organ inside her chest.
She lifts a hand to dismiss me.
I step forward. “I have one more question.”
She lowers her hand and settles into a patient stillness. “Go on.”
“What happened to the fae?”
She cocks her head. The movement is sharp, birdlike and unsettling. “You know what happened to them. Your ancestors chased them out of Llwyn. In the north, they died out. Dwindled to negligible numbers.”
I shake my head. “Dwindled maybe, but not gone.”
She nods in agreement. “No. Not entirely gone.”
“What fae are left? Why don’t they help fight my father’s armies?”
The queen pauses for a long while. “You did not grow up with the fae, Granddaughter, so I will forgive your ignorance in this. As all northern children know, the fae are allies against the south, in a sense. But they are not to be trusted.”
“Why?”
“Because some fae are fickle and take joy in creating mischief … and worse.”
“Then why tolerate them here in Gwyllion?”
The queen stills. “Be careful, Sienna,” she warns, her voice low. “If you keep thinking like that, you’ll turn into your Fox King father.”
My cheeks burn, and I snap my lips closed.
The queen walks past me, her steps unnaturally graceful as she crosses the throne room. Nalina trails behind her, her boots striking hard against the stone. She glances at me once, sharp and appraising, before she vanishes through the doors.
Outside, the storm howls on.