Chapter 40 #3
Hunter’s brown eyes dart up toward mine. “If I am truly the Heir to the North, as you say, then we aren’t enemies at all.” Hunter stands, sheathing his sword. “The human realms were not at war with each other. Only with the fae. And then,” his eyes drift to the queen. “With the Dead Queens.”
She nods, affirming.
Hunter looks back at me. “I will serve the Fox Heir. The true Fox Heir. Until she no longer needs me.”
“And then?” I ask, my voice tense.
Hunter takes a deep breath and looks toward the crumbling Gwyllion Castle. “And then we’ll figure out the rest. When the time comes.”
My heart swells. I’m so glad to have him on my side again, I could cry. I reach forward and place my filthy hands on his cheeks. “Thank you,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion.
He gives me a shadow of a grin. “I’m sorry.”
I sniff. “Me too.”
“As touching as this is,” the Dead Queen says. “You’ll need more than a Fox and a knight. I cannot leave Gwyllion. I must maintain the border and protect what’s left of our kingdom.”
“But you will need to help us,” Hunter says. “You’re the only one with enough power to stop him.”
She shakes her head slowly. “Power is made stronger by ruthlessness and cruelty. The Fox King knows no bounds. His recent transformation is only further evidence of his inability to control his lust for power.” She holds out her hands, as if there’s nothing else she can do. “I, quite simply, am not enough.”
“Who else could possibly help us?” I ask.
The Dead Queen stares pointedly at Tristan for a long time, until he finally drags his eyes away from the fire. Understanding slowly washes over his face. “No.”
“You must wake them.” Her voice is unwavering.
Tristan clenches his jaw.
“Who?” I blink rapidly, certain I’ve misheard her.
“The high fae.”
I blanch, coughing on ash. “The fae?” All I can think of is Moribund. I shiver. Then it dawns on me: the only stories about sleeping fae are the old kings and queens.
“But they’re just fairy tales … aren’t they?” Hunter asks.
Tristan’s voice is colder than usual. “The fae kings and queens are very real.”
Hunter shakes his head, trying to dispel his disbelief. “But that would mean they’ve been sleeping for over two thousand years. Is that even possible? Could they be woken after all this time?”
The Dead Queen waves her hand toward the crumbling castle and the new storm that’s roiling along the fae-enchanted edge of the Spires. “Anything is possible. You just need to be wise enough to believe it. And strong enough to fight for it.”
“How many are there?” I ask.
“Once, there were twelve. Now, only six remain.”
My jaw drops. “How are we supposed to find six sleeping fae monarchs who’ve been hidden for thousands of years?”
“The tapestries will show you.”
I stare at her. “The … tapestries.”
“I’ve seen you studying the tapestries in the throne room. You know they’re no ordinary artwork.”
“That—I mean, sure,” I stutter. “They change with the weather, but how could they tell me anything about the fae?”
“They’re windows into prison cells,” the Dead Queen says, as if it’s an ordinary thing to peer across the expanse of time and space with needle and thread.
“Each fae monarch lies beneath a black tree, trapped in iron. The tapestries are how the human kings of the north kept an eye on them during their imprisonment.”
Our eyes move to Hunter.
“My ancestors,” he says hollowly.
She nods.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Hunter asks. “I don’t think they’ll like me much, seeing as I’m allegedly from the family that imprisoned them.”
“That’s why my Wolf will accompany you.” Her opalescent eyes dart to Tristan. He stiffens.
Behind me, Hunter lets out an involuntary groan. He shoots me a worried glance.
She continues, “He knows the ways of Annwyn. He was raised on fae lore. This is a journey for all three of you.” Her voice is sharp and her undead eyes dart between me, Hunter, and Tristan.
“Show them that both the north and south are allied in this. Free the ancient fae, and beg them to help us end the Rogue King.”
We stare at her, slack-jawed and bewildered.
“Sounds like a suicide mission.” Tristan grumbles as he kicks a copper helmet. It rolls toward the Dead Queen’s feet. “Well,” he pauses, eyeing the queen. “At least, it is for the living.”
The Dead Queen’s face grows grave as she turns to me. “You will need to become more wolf than fox if you are to succeed.”
“How so?” I eye her with suspicion as shadows etch deeper into the creases of her decayed flesh.
“Foxes are solitary creatures … but wolves are pack animals. If you are to find the fae, you will need to work together.”
I glance between the two men and heave a shaky sigh. “So, we need to find and wake six angry fae kings and queens who were forcibly put to sleep over two thousand years ago, and beg them for help.” I laugh humorlessly. “Should be easy.”
All around us, the pyres crackle and burn as day turns to twilight.
Hunter pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation. “As much as I hate to say it, the Dead Queen is right. We have to find the high fae before your father does.”
I look to Tristan. For the first time since the battle, a flash of life flickers behind his eyes. A slow grin spreads across his face.
“Chin up, Red.” His canines glint in the firelight. “You know how much I love hunting.”