Page 49 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

What I wear now is a hundred times better.

I look like one of the goddesses I’ve seen stitched into old tapestries, with their wolves at their sides as guardians and the brutal curls of black and green mage-fire bursting from their hands. Like I could channel the Seven Wells themselves, if anything was left in them, and set this place alight with a snap of my fingers. Like I’m the kind of woman who could kill a tyrannical king.

My gown is midnight-black silk shot through with strands of silver that shimmer with every movement. The serving girl gives a final check to the laces crisscrossing up my spine before slipping away, leaving me alone. There’s no distracting sparkle, no bright glimmer from the silver threads. The effect is more subtle, so close to the starlike shimmer of magic I’ve now seen that my breath catches at the sight of myself once I turn to face the tall mirror.

At the same time, black is one of the colors of the High King and his family, so the color could be seen as an ode to them.

I know better.

Oh, you’ll look the part. Don’t worry.I swear I can still taste the smoke and leather of Wolf’s scent in the charged alcove space between us. My heart thrums at the memory of how that shield he keeps over his features wavered, just for a moment, in that dark alcove. How his words had slipped through the shadows like a knife.

But something doesn’t fit.

Sure, the royals would watch for treason during a high-stakes contest like the Assay. But thatdoesn’t explain why Wolf thinks Prince Cashel would be looking forhim.

A knock sounds at the door. I smooth both hands over the silk of my skirts and draw in a steady breath at the churn in my stomach.

I might die tonight.

No peasant brought into the Assay has ever survived, and there can only ever be one survivor.

This Crown has taken everything from me. My mother’s life. The very spirit of my father, after the uprising and her execution. This Crown banned and drained the magic that would’ve let me have a chance at saving my sister without bartering my life.

I’ve already survived the very worst the High King could do to us, and this will be no different.

I will do whatever it takes to survive long enough to kill the king and try to kill as many of the noble daughters who would betray Eireann as I can before I escape—either by finding my way out before the Assay ends or by winning and uncovering any kind of loophole in the rules that might let me out of marrying the prince.

Once I do, Finn and I can flee. We could go to a village where no one knows our names, maybe. Have a small farm, with goats for cheese and room to grow potatoes and herbs. Maybe a couple of cats, and an apple tree.

For some reason, I’ve always wanted an apple tree.

I slide the longer of the knives Wolf gave me when I arrived here into a band of leather fastened tight around the back of my thigh, so the thin blade hides in the curve behind my knee and well beneath the flow of the silk. The other knife goes into a gauntlet sheath over my forearm that’s covered by the flowing sleeves of the darkly shimmering midnight fabric.

Wolf’s words stalk me in the shadows.You’re exactly his type.

He’s wrong.

I’m more than a piece to be moved around on the board of whatever game the Whisperers are playing here. I’m more than bait for a prince.

I am my own person.

And I will do whatever it takes to survive.

For the first time in years, I let the fierce, crackling embers I’ve buried in order to endure each day since my mother’s execution flare and smolder through my veins.

I embrace the fire in me and walk out the door.

THIRTEEN

Aoife waits in the hall, along with Talon.

The two of them make a strange pair—Aoife with her bright softness, and Talon still wary and trying to keep their distance from her. Their brown eyes widen, sweeping over me. “You clean up well,” Talon murmurs.

I arch a brow. “High praise.”

Aoife preens over the braids woven into my dark hair, the unbraided lengths hanging loose down my back. “I told you the baths would be better than a bucket and lye soap.” Her eyes widen, sweeping over my gown. “No crimson?”

“Didn’t fit quite right,” I lie.