Page 106 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

“Because of a deal I made with you.”

Is that… amusement flaring in his eyes? Or frustration? Both?

“Don’t worry.” Whatever flickered through his green gaze shutters in the next heartbeat. “The Assay will be over soon enough.”

My stomach roils at the thought of the third—and final—test.

There’s been no letter from the High Queen’s secretary, no clue for when the Test of Strength will be. And Old Ones, I’m not ready.

Not with my hands still like this.

“What do you know about it?” My voice sounds small in the swell of the flickering darkness. I force steel into it, if only to calm my own thundering heart. “The last test.”

“Nothing.” There’s a tinge of rough regret behind his words ashe rakes a hand through his dark hair. “And not for lack of trying.”

I can’t help but wonder what thattryingactually entails.

I can’t imagine him letting go of his secrets, that hard shield he keeps around himself. But if what Cashel said is true, maybe he did once. And he paid the price.

Wolf navigates the tunnel by what seems like memory. There’s no way to tell which direction we’re going apart from the growing burn in my calves and thighs from the steepening incline, and I muffle a hiss of pain at the sear down my ribs as I try to draw a deep breath.

His hand twitches at his side at the sound, inching back just a fraction before he clenches it and runs those long fingers over the rough walls.

Eventually, the incline evens out. Wolf runs his hand along the hollowed-out stone a few feet in front of me and pushes back a scrap of fabric that rustles at his touch.

Shards of light scatter in long lines over the stone underfoot.

My eyes protest, then adjust as he waves me closer to his side.

“Hurry.” Wolf holds the fabric back as I follow him out. “This part of the castle’s pretty much deserted now, but you never know who’s slinking around.”

“Adulterers and assassins,” I mutter under my breath, and his lips twitch.

“Excuse me?”

Heat rises up the back of my neck. “Nothing. Just… inside joke.”

A flicker of curiosity flares in his eyes. “With Talon?”

“Cashel,” I answer bluntly, and those eyes flash. “Weren’t you the one who said I’mexactly his type?”

“That’s not what I—” He lets out a heavy breath, then grits his teeth and throttles whatever thoughts churn behind his eyes. “Never mind.”

Satisfaction curls through my core at the rare glimpse of him unsettled.

The corridor he leads me out into is empty and as still as midnight. Motes of dust tickle my nose. The iron candle holders mounted on the sides of the narrow hall are coated in thick layers of grime, and slats of wood haphazardly cover a leaded glass window at the end. Jagged slashes of light manage to bleed through.

Wolf leads me toward where the wall—scarred by the marks of conflict, the long slashes of heavy swords—opens into a narrow, twisting staircase. My stomach clamps at the steep pitch of the steps, a spiral disappearing up into the darkness, with narrow slices of light breaking the shadows every ten feet or so.

Wolf takes the steps like they’re nothing.

He lingers, though, waiting every few moments for me to catch up since the staircase is too narrow to climb side by side. He’s watching me, just close enough to reach out if I ask for a hand.

“What floor is this?” There’s no hiding the strain in my tone, or the flicker deceptively close to concern in his eyes as he glances over his shoulder to me, slowing his pace ever so slightly.

My thigh muscles burn, pushing me up the final steps, and the spiral climb ends in a tight alcove. It’s barely large enough for two to stand in front of a wooden door the color of faded green ink that waits with a simple iron latch and a heavy brass knocker almost identical to the one on the Whisperers’ safe house in the merchant quarter.

Wolf pauses at the door, gaze darting to me and forehead creasing in a frown.