Page 12 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

“Do you really think the next one will be any better?”

We both know the stories about the Bloody Prince.

Only two years older than me, but already rumored to be as brutal as his father. Apparently, he oversaw the razing of the Martyr’s temples in Dyfflin and had his best friend and his entire family killed over some perceived insult. Some say the first person he ever loved ended up poisoned. A diplomat’s daughter just before the uprising, from one of the small republics south of Cymrea that still has magic. I can’t help but wonder if the poisoner was him or the High Queen.

If the stories are true, he’s as deadly as creatlach.

I draw in a deep breath and meet Keeva’s worried gaze. She glances back at Finn. “Can I stay?” Keeva’s words are a rasp. “Just until we know she’s…”

“Of course.” My fingers find hers, and squeeze. “But she’ll get better.”

I tell myself that, over and over and over again, even as my bones ache and the light outside begins to shift to lavender dusk. My eyelids get heavy. I fight the tug of exhaustion, its milky edges pressing closer around my mind…

What feels like barely an hour later, I jolt up from where my cheek presses into the table to the sound of someone choking on their own insides. Hacking. Wet, harsh, and so desperate our father comes stumbling out of his room.

Suddenly, Finn lurches up. The bed quilt tangles and twists in her limbs. Only her hands are free, clawing at the air like they can rip out whatever chokes her from inside. A sharp sucking sound cuts through each gasp.

Old Ones, no.

Finn’s whole body heaves, and there’s no hiding the blue tinge graying my sister’s lips or the shudders racking her frame with each struggle to draw her next breath.

Dark shadows bruise her wild eyes, flying over every corner of the room, and I crumple to my knees in the dirt as Keeva kneels by her side.

Our father smacks Finn square between the shoulder blades, and the gasp she finally sucks in sounds like it’s been shredded through broken glass. Another suck of air, another smack that cuts like a punch to the gut, and Finn falls back on the sheets, blood dribbling through her teeth.

In all my life, I’ve seen her cry only once—right after our mother was executed, just before she forced me into weapons training and started skimming Father’s coins. But lying in her own blood and vomit, gasping for breaths that sound like ragged bursts, Finn sobs. And even as terror freezes me in place, I taste salt from my own tears.

She lifts the hem of her tunic, heaving as she strains to look down at her ribs. The cut there… Old Ones, the black tendrils cover her entire side. Snaking out in furious, hungry fingers, reaching up her rib cage toward…

The words choke me.

Toward her heart.

My sister shakes, shivering so violently that her teeth knock together and the mountains of blankets piled on top of her quiver.

Every rattling breath shakes me straight down to my bones.

Keeva claps a hand to her mouth at the sight of Finn’s wound and looks up at me.

Old Ones, it must be poison—but how can it possibly work so fast? Desperation claws through my insides.

I won’t give my sister up.

Finn is the one thing in this world I’m not willing to lose.

The coughing fit eases after another minute, but Finn only looks worse afterward.

Keeva’s fingers brush over Finn’s cheeks.

“I won’t lie—you look like something the mages dug up and tried to reanimate.” Keeva attempts a smile, but it’s about as convincing as the forced light tone of her voice.

“You. Still love. Me,” Finn wheezes, hand clutching Keeva’s tight.

It’s not a question. My sister says it like the fact it is.

Keeva is fierce. “Always,” she vows, blinking back tears. “You and me, always.”

I choke back a sob.