Page 41 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

“Definitely more,” a familiar, tired voice adds from behind me.

I whirl.

Talon towers over us in the dusty air of the corridor. The freckles across their nose and cheeks stand out against the pale pallor of exhaustion. A deep gash cuts across their cheek—still raw.

A heavy blend of dread and sorrow tangle in my stomach.

With a nod to Talon, the servants scatter down the staircase.

When it’s only us two, I cross my arms and glance up at them. “How many of the dead are from your sword?”

Talon rubs a hand across their face. “None, unless they raised theirs at me first.”

I scoff. “And did the girl you killed in the dungeon raise one at you too?”

Why couldn’t the Whisperers have forced her into this instead of me?

Talon’s mouth draws into a tight line, guilt clear in their brown eyes. They’re quiet for a moment; their shoulders sag with the release of a heavy breath. “She was… a necessary sacrifice.”

I fume. It’s the phrase those with power use to ease their conscience when they decide which lives matter more than others.

“She was just like me.” My chest aches. “Just like you, once.”

That is, if they’re telling the truth about being from Quayside.

Talon shifts, subtly guiding me back toward my door. There’s no one coming up the stairs at my back, but they guard them anyway. Their voice is low. “The High King thinks the ones burning the grain are here in the castle.”

I arch a brow and let them open the door for me. “Are they?”

The only answer Talon gives me now is alook.

Their brown eyes sweep over the room. “Wolf managed to bring what you need?”

There’s something in their tone that pricks at me. “He didn’t seem happy about it.”

“Being here is… hard for him.” Talon’s eyes slash out to the window, avoiding mine.

“I’m sure.” But somehow, I doubt it. He probably revels in this shit, sneaking into his enemy’s stronghold, slinking down halls grander than anything he’s ever seen in his life.

Logs crackle in the hearth, and a flare of heat ripples out from the snapping flames. Talon’s eyes land on the table by the fire, flying wide. “You left that lying around?”

Hand-scrawled ink lines sit in the margin of the book Wolf gave me, at the end of chapter thirteen. The markings are familiar:ogham, but the sound they make in my head… it’s foreign but eerily familiar, as if I’m hearing the Eireician I know through the muffle of centuries.

A hinge creaks in the cool air, and the flames hiss in the hearth.

The door on the other side of the garden cracks open, and Aoife slips out.

Talon’s eyes fly to mine, then back to the book. “Hide that.Now.”

I snap the book shut and stuff it under the mattress. What about a history book could possibly be worth hiding? But I would’ve said the same about green tunics a month ago too.

Talon’s fist grasps the doorknob just as they turn back to me. “Be careful with her,” they warn quietly, nodding to where Aoife nears in the garden. “Find out what she wants but don’t trust her.”

“I don’t even trustyou.”

The flare of hurt in Talon’s brown eyes is so brief, it’s almost easy to convince myself it wasn’t there at all.

Almost.