The girl glanced back to me and smiled. “Oh, hello again!”
“Hello.”
“You just missed him. He woke up a few moments ago, but he was in quite a bit of pain, so I gave him something to sleep. My name is Briath, by the way.”
“Cerys,” I said. “What did you give him?”
“Some tea, of course.” She laughed.
I didn’t want to find out what kind of tea that was.
“Ooh—there’s a—” She gave a squeak as Vala poked her head into the room.
“That’s Vala. She won’t bite,” I assured her.
Briath’s eyes brightened. “I’ve never seen a bear this close before! You have such beautiful fur!” she said, rushing over to smoosh Vala’s face in her hands. The bear let her, looking like a dog who is content with letting a child pull her ears.
Fox appeared to be sleeping soundly, and yet something seemed off about him, though I couldn’t quite tell what. Perhaps it was just from all that we had been through, and now I saw him in a different light. “Thank you for taking care of . . .” I realized what was different. “Where . . . where are his claws? He had claws.”
“Oh?” She glanced over at his very human-looking hands as she rubbed Vala under the chin. “I don’t see any.”
“No, but he had them!” I gently turned his face to me, putting my thumb between his lips to find that his teeth were blunted, too. I quickly drew my hands away. “. . . He’s human?”
“He wasn’t before?”
“No—no, he was . . . he wasn’t as . . .” I didn’t know how to describe it. That he’d had claws and slitted eyes and sharp teeth, and now he didn’t. “I changed him again,” I said, realizing it with dread. “Oh, kingsteeth, he’s going to kill me.”
“You saved him, so I don’t think he’s going to kill you,” Briath patted the bear one last time, muttering, “Good girl,” before she gathered up the herbs and bandages that were scattered around the bed.
“You don’t know him like I do. He almost lost it when he realized he didn’t have a tail. I don’t want to imagine how he’ll react now.”
She gave me a strange look and then shook her head. “My sister told me not to ask strange questions, so I’m just not going to say anything. I’ll be back if you need anything.” She left, with one last pat on the bear’s head.
Vala sank down in the corner of the infirmary room, put her nose under her paw, and started to snore.
The candle beside Fox’s cot burned low. His breath was long, eyes closed in a restful sleep, and it was then that I dared to take his hand. It was much larger than mine. At the ends of his fingertips where his claws had been were smooth nails, and his fingertips held calluses not unlike those of the guards who had been leading us about here in Voryn. I rubbed my thumb over Fox’s knuckles gently, up to the paper-white scar that circled his wrist.
“Thank you for coming back to save me,” I whispered. “It was a bad idea, but I’m glad you did it. I couldn’t have faced Wen alone.” My fingers wove between his like a braid. I had held hands with boys in town before, but it had never been a particularly memorable experience.
But this felt . . . it felt—
Groggily, Fox’s long eyelashes fluttered, and I was falling into eyes that were no longer slitted like a fox’s, but round, the irises golden, like an endless expanse of wheat. I sat back, trying to get control of my suddenly racing pulse—and realized I was still holding his hand. I quickly let go.
Kingsteeth, what was wrong with me?
For a long moment he didn’t say anything, and then: “Am I dead?”
“No.”
He sighed. “Well, that’s a relief.”
24
The Tongue and the Thorn
Fox
DAISY DIDN’T KNOW what to say after I’d awoken. I didn’t think I could stand her crying again. I didn’t want to start crying, either; it looked like terrible business—one of the many things I did not want to experience as a human, but my chest felt tight thinking about it. She quickly let go of my hand the moment we both realized she had it, but my skin still tingled.
As the haziness slowly faded from my brain, memories of the last few days came back in flashes. I curled my hands around the sheets of the bed, trying to hold myself together, but the more I remembered about the corruption, the hunger, the change—
“I’m glad you’re awake,” Daisy said, oblivious of my white-knuckled grip. “I was worried you’d be passed out for a while.”
“I’m fine,” I replied. Was it too short? Was my voice too thin? I remembered the taste of her blood in my mouth, the smell of her fear on her skin, the warm pulse of her heart, quick like a rabbit’s—
It revolted me.
My bottom lip trembled. No. I didn’t want to unravel—I couldn’t. I had to keep myself together in front of Daisy. I didn’t want her to worry about anything being wrong with me.
A young girl parted a curtain of what looked like glass in the door and said, “Lady Cerys? I need to treat his wounds. You can come back later, though. You also should take it easy with your bruised ribs. You don’t want them to get worse.”
She had bruised ribs? It took her a moment to get to her feet, but when she did, I noticed that her lips were pursed into a thin white line, her face purposefully neutral, trying to hide how much her own wounds hurt.
Here she was with bruised ribs and a torn-up hand and she was more concerned about me?
She curtsied a thank-you to the girl and turned to me. When I didn’t say anything else, she left the room.
It wasn’t until after I was sure she was gone that I exhaled, pressed the palms of my hands against my eyes, and sucked in a ragged breath. The memories came back like a rainstorm, and my chest tightened. I clenched my teeth against a sob, but I couldn’t keep it down. They were so visceral—the pain, the bits of me that I’d lost, moment by moment, as I descended into hunger.
Nothing but hunger.
I shuddered, and my eyes burned, the telltale sign of the one thing I didn’t want to do. Kingsteeth, no. Don’t cry, don’t cry, I told myself, sucking in a breath. It turned into a sob. My vision blurred, eyes hot with tears.
I was crying.
I was right. It felt terrible.
I hurt everywhere, and the pain wasn’t like some thorn I could pluck out of my paw. It was sharp and throbbing, and I pressed my hands over my mouth to keep myself quiet. A hand touched my shoulder.
It was the girl. The one who had sent Daisy away. She couldn’t have been much more than a child. Ten, maybe.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I won’t tell her.”
I pushed the tears out of my eyes, but they just kept coming. When Daisy had been at that cell, I had wanted to kill her—more, I had wanted to tear her limb from limb. I had wanted to feel the crunch of her bones under my teeth. I had wanted to taste her and savor her—
I hated this feeling. I needed to get out of this body. I needed to get out of this head. I needed to return to my old heart.
That corpse of a man—Seren—had said he could do it. If I got him the crown, he could change me back. With the memories of that hunger quaking in my bones, I considered it. If I gave Seren the crown, then he could turn me back into a fox, and I could be on my way. I could forget about all of this.