Page 13 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

Finn’s hazy eyes search the room at the sound. She tries to turn her head on the thin pillow, but the effort only makes her cough all over again. “Maeve?” she whispers.

“I’m here.” Tears turn the violet night bleeding through the windows blurry. “I promise—you’re going to be just fine.”

“Won’t…” She barely manages a small shake of her head. “Be.” Finn struggles against her blankets, eyes fighting to hold mine. Sweat beads on her forehead.

“You will.” I cup her face between my hands, not bothering to wipe away the tears coursing down my cheeks. “I’m going to get help.”

Finn’s eyes fly up to Keeva, wild fear burning in the look.

“Nothing,” she chokes out in a plea. “Dangerous.” Finn’s throat spasms and she swallows hard, one hand gripping tight on my wrist.“Promise.”

“I promise,” I vow, emphasizing each word so she knows I’m not going to fail her, that she can trust me. And that she doesn’t have to be afraid for me. “I promise I’ll save you.”

Tears well in her swollen eyes. I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead and whisper a silent prayer to the Old Ones, and even to the Martyr I barely believe in anymore.Help her hold on.

“Keep her safe,” I tell our father, who’s still hovering at the far corner of the room. His frail chest shudders, weak from years of bitter grief, drink, and violence. A steely edge sparks in his tired eyes at my order, and for a moment, I almost remember the way he used to be—the man he was when I was a girl, the man my mother once fell in love with.

Finn heaves for breath as our father comes closer, to lean over us and wipe the blood from her lips.

I step back, hands shaking, nudging Keeva with me.

“We can’t let her die,” I whisper, blinking away the sting of tears.

Keeva’s coal eyes darken. Something strange flashes there—what looks like resignation. “I might know someone who could help.”

My breath catches. “You do?”

She leans in close, dropping her voice so I have to strain to hear. “I know where to find a mage.”

What little moisture is left in my mouth turns to ash.

That’s not possible. All the mages are gone. The Seven Wells are empty—drained tonothing.

Still, desperation lights a spark in my chest. I swallow hard, fighting back the fierce flicker of what feels treasonously close to hope. “Who?”

Keeva’s brow knots, and her voice trembles. “The Whisperers.”

FOUR

The smell of blood, copper, and salt fills my nose as Keeva leads me toward the merchant quarter, cutting through the early grip of night clinging to the streets.

There’s no cleansing wash of the sea breeze now, no soothing echo of waves this far into the slums, where the King’s Road slices through Quayside uphill toward Castle Mount.

There’s only the urgent beat of my hammering heart and my feet on damp earth, and the sharp, wondering terror of what will happen if we’re caught.

Impalement is a slow, agonizing way to go—more often than not, it takes days to die. And no one in Quayside will risk putting the condemned out of their misery and being branded a traitor themselves by one of the gardai.

We let them suffer to keep ourselves safe.

But Finn… Fiery certainty heats through my bones.

I won’t let her suffer.

“Why didn’t the tincture work?” My words come out in a whisper as the deepening night stretches out around us. We can’t be more than two hours to midnight, judging from where the moon hangs in the sky above.

Keeva draws in a heavy breath.

“The tincture I tried fights infection. If it’s poison, Maeve,not all of them have simple antidotes. Or if there’s something like mage bones ground into it…” Keeva shakes her head.