Page 103 of The Dead Queen

Around us, the battle has turned into a twisted dance of shadow and blood. The bonfire has spilled over and a blaze rapidly consumes the dried autumn grasses of the valley. Smoke billows up into the sky, the fire greedy in its hunger to burn. The fire illuminates the carnage that surrounds us. Men, gaping, bleeding, dead. Corpse wolves with gore on their maws search for their next target. One spots me. Its white eyes reflect the inferno around us.

“Keep running!” Hunter yells, snapping back into survival mode. He stands with his father’s sword at the ready.

“No, Hunter!”

The corpse wolf snarls in a low, haunting rumble. As if it delights in drawing out the torture. As if it enjoys the taste of mounting fear.

“I love you, Sienna.” Hunter steels his gaze on the corpse wolf. “This is not how you die.” He runs toward the creature.

“Hunter!” My voice is high, hysterical with fear.

The corpse wolf sprints—faster than anything with broken legs and rotting sinew should be able to. Hunter slides to the ground just as the corpse wolf lunges toward me. He swings his sword upward, the blade slicing, spraying blackened, fetid blood across the grass.

Then, from behind a wall of fire, another wolf emerges, its milky eyes locking onto mine. I turn and run.

The creature charges after me. I can’t fight it with just a knife. My power is still empty, burned out by the wraiths. I search wildly through the chaos for any escape. Up ahead, a narrow gap between two boulders is my only shot.

With barely a second to spare, I dive for it, squeezing through the tight crevice. The wolf snaps at my heels, its teeth tearing through the hem of my red cloak. I shove myself deeper into the rocks, panting, as the wolf snarls and lunges. Its hot, putrid breath washes over my face as it tries to reach me.

Suddenly, there’s a loud thwack and the creature falls to the ground. For several seconds, I stare at its white eyes and unmoving jaws before I realize someone is yelling for me.

“Red! Red, hurry!”

A familiar hand reaches into the crack to help me out. I grab it, stepping on the corpse wolf’s head as I crawl out from between the rocks. When I emerge, I see Tristan. Sweat drips down his temples and there’s blood smeared across his cheek.

“Tristan?”

“Are you alright?” The blazing fire reflects in his eyes. He’s lost his fox sword, but he’s clearly improvised. At his feet lies the corpse wolf, its head severed cleanly from its body by an axe still buried in its neck.

I nod. “I’m fine.” Several yards behind him, a wolverine feasts on a man’s internal organs. “How did you …?” I can’t stop staring at the beheaded wolf. “Can you kill what’s already dead?”

“It’s their one weakness,” Tristan says. “Severing the spine.”

I nod, like that makes any sense at all. In a world where the dead can rise, what’s a little severing of the spine?

Tristan’s expression turns grave. “It’s now or never.”

Annwyn. This is our one chance to reach the trees at the base of the Spires and cross into enemy territory. I hesitate, scanning the chaos for any sign of Hunter. When I turn back to Tristan, he shakes his head slowly. We can’t wait. I know this in my bones, but it doesn’t make it less painful.

I follow him, weaving through boulders and rubble. We pass the chaos of dying men and undead creatures, all illuminated by uncontrollable fire. Finally, we make it to the edge of the valley. The shadowed trees are just ahead when a voice cuts through the air, calling my name.

I freeze. Tristan notices and turns back, urgently waving me forward.

“Red! What are you doing? We’re nearly there!”

That’s when we both see him.

Hunter.

Gone is the clean-cut boy in gleaming copper armor. He’s limping after us, pain etched into every line of his bruised face. He’s filthy, caked in dirt and blood, some of it likely not his. More drips from a gash at his temple. He looks nothing like the boy I grew up with. The boy I loved before the world ruined me.

And yet—he’s never looked more beautiful.

“What are you doing?!” he yells.

It takes me a moment to realize he isn’t talking to me.

“I told you to protect her, not kidnap her!” His face is lit with a rage I’ve never seen before. He steps nose to nose with Tristan, who stands there coolly, as if Hunter had simply asked whether he takes sugar in his tea.