In his dream, Rey was still a king.
He’d never had a proper crown in his time. He’d just been the person people called on to solve disputes or bless a marriage or a baby. No one had the iron to spare to make a crown, and what use did they have for gold? To one of the warrior kings, Rey would have looked like a peasant as he’d walked through the dappled forest outside his small realm of farmland and quiet rivers.
Like he had in the waking world, Rey stumbled into a clearing in the heart of the woods where the fox was waiting for him.
But this fox wasn’t the one he’d met centuries before. His fox was a lively, wild creature, clever and fond of simple pleasures—this fox was a corpse, its neck broken, limbs splayed, matted fur dark with blood. Its belly was cut open, and amid the maggots and viscera in the lush grass, Rey could see something dark and sinuous winding through the mess.
He leaned down and picked it up. Blood slid over his fingers and stained the beaded necklace King Tristan had given him, which draped heavy over his hand.
The dead fox stared up at Rey, mouth open in a rictus grin, and winked.
Rey awoke with a start. The sun was rising over the fields north of Duciel, and Eli was asleep at Rey’s side, his clothes dirty and damp with the dew on the grass.
Rey’s hands were empty.
Eli was awake before Rey could lie back down, rolling onto his side. “Morning, fox.” Rey smiled weakly. “We should put more distance between us and Duciel. What were you thinking? d’Hiver?”
“It’s a possibility.” Rey got up and helped him pat the grass down over where they’d slept. “We should find a forest and seek the Green Man. He might shield us for a night, at least.”
Eli grimaced. Rey didn’t blame him—the Green Man was notoriously fickle. Still, it was a better chance than relying on Emile de Guillory’s mercy.
Unicorn seemed happier to be outdoors, at least. They took it slow through the farmlands. Farmers were out for the harvest, but few paid much attention as Rey and Eli took the walking paths between fields.
They foraged as they walked, stripping a rare raspberry bush and filling their bag with roots and herbs. Eli was an expert at it, stopping every few feet with another find, and when they reached a shallow river, Rey made a fool of himself trying to tickle trout while Eli sobbed with laughter on the bank.
“No, keep going,” he said, as Rey came up for air after tripping for what had to be the hundredth time. “You almost got one. Or you can go to the shallows and pick some crawfish instead, but who wants the easy way?”
Rey splashed him.
They spent far too long wading in the shallows. It felt almost like they were getting away with another trick, laughing andtrying to catch crawfish while soldiers from Duciel scoured the roads.
“This is how you survived for five years?” Rey asked, when they’d feasted like ancient squires over a makeshift cookfire and navigated the tree-lined edge of a small village.
“It wasn’t this enjoyable,” Eli said, and went pink. “I shouldn’t say that when we’re being chased. But I feel almost lighter now that someone knows, even if the people who know are the ones who tried to have me killed.”
“Well, you did rub their noses in it,” Rey said, and Eli flashed his shy smile. “That has to be rewarding.”
They cut through an abandoned field full of wild wheat and scraggly grass, and Unicorn glared down a flock of goats and had to be held to the side so as not to pick a fight. The sun started to set, and at the end of a long, open field of grass, a group of women were trooping toward one of the walking paths.
“What are they doing?” Eli asked, as they stopped and waited for the women to pass at a safe distance.
“Building a Harvest Mother,” Rey said. He gestured to the field, where an effigy made of wheat, willow, ash, and yew towered on a small platform. “Do you want to say hello?” Eli gave him a curious look, and Rey took his hand. “That’s what the Harvest Mother is, Eli, the effigies they make every spring and autumn. She’s in all of them, but she only gets up and walks around in the effigies she likes.”
Eli had gone pale. “We used to burn a puppet made out of wheat every autumn, in the fireplace. You’re not saying she was in that?”
“Sorry, kid, you kind of burned a spirit. But if it helps, everyone does.”
The grass was soft and still damp with rain from the day before, and the sun was starting to set as they approached the Harvest Mother. She didn’t look much like a woman, was barelyhuman-shaped at all, and seemed stranger and wilder than the Green Man at his worst, with her face of woven wheat and her arms stuck out like a scarecrow, waiting for the fire.
Rey bowed when they reached her, and after a bewildered pause, Eli followed suit.
“Harvest Mother,” Rey said. “You are well-crafted.”
A wind rustled the wheat stalks and made the twigs of yew shiver. A voice rose from the figure, echoing with the hiss of a knife through wheat and the scrape of shovels in the earth.
“A fox-man and a knight,” she said. “Have you come to watch me burn?”
“I will, beautiful, but maybe not tonight.” Rey glanced at Eli. How had the Harvest Mother known to call him a knight? He didn’t look like one.
