Page 99 of The Dead Queen

“In here.” Tristan practically pushes me through a narrow alley hidden by tree roots and overgrown bushes. We crouch low, trying to catch our breath. The sound of clanking armor grows louder, then fainter as soldiers run past.

Now that I have a moment to think, to breathe, a sudden fury ignites in me. We were so close! I can’t give up now. I draw my knife from the ankle of my boot. In the span of a breath, I whirl on Tristan, pushing him into the stone wall, my silver blade at his chest.

After the momentary shock, he lets out a low laugh. “Here we are again, Red. Isn’t this how we met?”

“Tell me,” I demand, pressing my blade higher, up toward his throat. “I held up my end of the bargain. I got you to the border.” I nod toward the mountain. “You saw it with your own eyes.”

“Saw,” he repeats. “I have not stepped on Annwyn soil yet, as you recall.”

“Tell me!” Tears of desperation prickle at the corners of my eyes.

The Wolf stares at me for a long moment. “No.”

My face twists in rage. “You promised you’d tell me what happened to my grandmother if I helped you escape. You promised!” I bang on his chest with my fist.

“I promised I’d tell you what I know.” Tristan says. He leans in toward my ear. “All I know is she’s dead and the queen knows who killed her.”

Numbness crystalizes over me like ice. “So, it was murder.” My voice is frail. I knew it was true. Deep in my core, I knew Grandmother’s death wasn’t an accident. Fury blazes anew in my chest. I was right all along.

My gaze travels back up to the Wolf’s cold, gray eyes.

“Come with me,” he says.

The bluntness of his request catches me off guard. “What?”

He grabs my hand on his chest. “Come with me, Red. If you stop now, here, at the edge of the border, you’ll never know the truth. Someone out there does.”

I scoff. “In Annwyn.”

His eyes don’t flicker away from mine for even an instant. “Yes, in Annwyn.”

“I can’t.” Even as I say it, I’m not exactly sure why. It’s foolhardy. It’s forbidden. It’s walking straight into enemy territory with nothing but a single Wolf to protect me.

And yet. I’ve already destroyed my entire life here in Llwyn. My father tried to murder me, then made a false son his new heir. I have no one left. Even as the thought crosses my mind, Hunter’s face flickers to the front. I’ve ruined his life too.

“You’ve wanted this for years.” Tristan whispers. “You won’t stop now. Not when you’re so close.”

He’s right, and I hate that he is. I can’t give up now. The Wolf has only known me a little over a month, and somehow, he already sees straight through me.

My mouth forms a thin, determined line. I nod only once, but it’s enough.

He pushes my knife away from his chest, satisfied. “We need to keep moving.”

We step out of the shadows, our footsteps quiet against the broken stone. Tristan moves west through the ruins, past collapsed fountains and ivy-choked courtyards. Some inner walls, still sheltered from sun and rain, hold faint traces of old paint. Faded frescoes depict once-great men and women locked in scenes from centuries past. Their faces watch us, like ghosts of families and lives long forgotten.

Someone blocks the path ahead. Two soldiers step out, swords raised. Tristan moves back, lifting his own blade in defense. They strike first. Metal clashes as he parries, blocks, then parries again.

I’ve never seen him fight like this before. He’s graceful and deeply intimidating, pushing forward with the relentless energy and skill of a trained swordsman. The Dead Queen’s Wolves must train with more than just their dark shadow powers.

One soldier lunges for me. I twist out of his reach and flash my knife, knowing it won’t do much against full armor, but I slash anyway. I won’t be dragged back to my father’s palace of horrors. I’m going to find out who murdered Grandmother. I’m too close to fail now.

The soldier grabs the fabric of my red hood and yanks, knocking me backward. I hit the ground hard, my knife skidding out of reach. Before I can recover, he’s on top of me, pinning my arms down with his knees. He fumbles for a rope, trying to bind my wrists as I twist and buck, but he’s too heavy. I try to reach inside for my power—a spark, a flicker, anything—but all I find is emptiness.

Suddenly, he drops the rope with a cry of pain. His body curls inward, and he lets out a gut-wrenching groan. I shove him off of me, and this time he doesn’t resist. He collapses to the side, clutching his head. I scramble to my feet and grab my knife in one swift motion.

I turn to see Tristan, eyes blazing with hatred, black power crackling in his hands. His soldier is writhing on the ground too.

“We have to keep moving!” I hiss. More soldiers will find us any second. We can’t waste time torturing these two. A beat passes before Tristan releases the soldiers from his power. We keep running.