Page 30 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

He studies me, an expression I can’t decipher working behind his eyes. As if he expects me to beg for mercy or try to run. When I don’t, he gives a single hard nod. “Yes. Kill the king and our deal is done.”

We watch each other the way a wolf eyes a snare. I could go straight to the gardai and have them lead me to the Lady of Shadows to betray his plotting, then use the chaos of the inevitable slaughter that would follow to escape.

But… if there are gardai working for the Whisperers, there’s no way to know which ones already know to look out for me—and slit my throat before I can spill their secrets.

And if I get caught first, he’ll go after Finn.

I force myself to draw in a slow, steady breath. Right now my sister isalive. If this is the price for saving her, then I’ll do what I have to do to pay that debt. I’ll find a way to survive the Assay just long enough to do what I need to andthenfind a way to escape.

Whatever else the Whisperers are plotting, I want no part in it.

But I need to know one thing. “Why me?”

The Whisperer’s dark glare softens on me, just for a moment. The stubborn hardness gives way, and the white edge of his incisorcatches on his bottom lip as he reaches for the array of blades up and down his sides. “Everyone else is too useful to risk,” he says quietly, but there’s a strange distance in his hard stare. As if he’s holding something back.

He offers me two of the knife hilts, both with steel so pure it’s almost blue. They must be worth enough for a king’s ransom—but there’s no way a rebel would have access to what looks like Málmar steel. The imitation is flawless, though, and something in my chest purrs at the ripple in the polished steel. One of the knives is flat enough to rest against my inner arm in a gauntlet sheath, if I can find one here. The other is as long as the distance from my wrist to the tips of my fingers, ending in a brutal, deadly tip that catches the light.

“As for you… I guess we’ll see what you’re made of,faolán.” He says it likefway-lawn.

“That’s not how you say my last name,” I mutter, returning the blade I snatched from him. It wouldn’t fit in my empty sheath, anyway. “And what exactly do you expect me to say if the Lady of Shadows catches me?”

He pulls the hood of his cloak up and turns for the door. The mage with the predator’s teeth is already there. His lips part as he looks back over his shoulder at me. The spymaster’s name seems to draw up a barely caged glimmer of raw hate in his green eyes as they fix on mine. “Tell her Wolf says hello.”

If one thing is clear about what happens next, it’s this.

The Whisperers donottrust me, and the copper-haired guard sticking like shit to the backs of my boots is here to make sure I don’t screw them over.

It doesn’t matter where I go over the next hours—the guard is right here with me. Sometimes they hang back just far enough for me to think I’ve escaped them, but most of the time they’re close enough for me to see every infuriating grin each time I lose track of where I’m going or nearly trip over chipping stone tiles while searching out the kitchens when Finn’s words fill my head.

Don’t skip meals.

I have about a dozen to catch up on from my days in the cell. The cooks take one look at me and make a pitying noise when I mention I’m the peasant girl here for the Assay, and I play that pity like a string I can pluck to my tune. I come away with a basket heaping with currant-studded farls of soda bread still warm from the ovens despite what’s supposed to be a shortage of grain across the whole isle, along with hunks of hard, sharp cheese and enough juicy apples to make me half suspect they think I’m leading a small army.

“Really?” I ask as my guard searches the basket before letting me bring it into my room.

They pluck one of the apples and toss it in the air, catching the crisp pink skin on a tiny dagger they pull from their sleeve in a blink.

“Really.” The guard grins, crunching into a bite. “They’re rationing meals with the servants and gardai so all the nobles have enough to eat during the Assay.”

A sliver of guilt works its way between my ribs.

I shouldn’t care, but… hunger is its own kind of torment. I know it all too well, from the years before the uprising, when our father’s stall was struggling.

I find the soft warmth of one of the farls and offer it to them as the guard shoulders open my door and follows me in.

Their brow lifts.

“Just take it.” I wave the farl of bread at them. “Don’t make this even stranger than it is.”

The guard tucks it into the bag they slide off their back. “For later.”

I shrug. “Suit yourself.”

IfWolf—my lips curl at the arrogance of the name since he’s nothing remotely close to being a protector or a guardian for me—hadn’t made it abundantly clear there’s a point to keeping me alive, I’d suspect the guard might even be here as my assassin.

But damn it, they’re funny. And almost… sweet.

I’m not stupid enough to let myself fall for it, though. I can still hear the crack of bone in the dim light of the dungeons, the heavy trudge of the guard’s boots with that peasant girl’s body slung under their arm. I don’t let myself wonder where her body is now.