Page 76 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

“Peasants can kill nobles just as easily as we kill you,” Aoife says softly. “Maybe I want to see some of those girls dead too.”

NINETEEN

The morning of the Test of Wisdom arrives with the uncanny sensation that I might be only hours from my own death.

Heavy clouds blot out the sun, leaving nothing but a dim, struggling glow at the far edge of the sky. I dress quickly, scarfing the breakfast laid out for me by a servant who slipped an extra blade inside the linen napkin she brought with my eggs and soda bread.

The blade is the same swirling blue steel as the others Wolf gave to me, the best forgery of Málmar steel I’ve ever laid eyes on—and nestled with it is another tiny stave.

My fingers shake, interpreting each runic shape silently. Two words, the figures for each letter branching out from that straight central shaft.

Stay alive.

If he weren’t so infuriating, the gesture might be almost… sweet. But I know Wolf better than he probably thinks I do by now and chuck the stave into the fire.

Still, there’s no such thing as too many blades.

I strap every last one of them to my body. Three blades, all tucked into sheaths down my waist and legs, plus the tiny one Talon gave me in the gauntlet sheath inside my left forearm. I letmyself stop to warm my hands in front of the crackling hearth before heading for my door.

The warmth chases away the lingering stiffness of the night in my joints. At least if I have to fight, I’ll be limber.

Outside my room, Talon waits—and Aoife is right beside them.

Both their faces are tense.

I raise a brow. “Good morning.” Unease roils my stomach at the tension rippling off them. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning?”

“This was waiting for you.” Talon nods to the basket at Aoife’s feet.

A heavy drape of linen lies over it, the way servants might cover a delivery of bread or fruit. But the set of Talon’s jaw is too tight for it to be anything that simple, and I reach for the cover.

Rats.

Dozens of them, huge and gray and horrible.

All with their heads sliced neatly off.

My stomach heaves, the smell of musk and fur and fear filling my nose. I reach out a hand for the wall and fight down the urge to heave up my breakfast.

Their eyes search mine. As if they know there’s something I’m not telling them. “A servant delivered it right after the girl I sent to bring your breakfast,” Talon says.

“A threat?” I grit out. The reek of dead animal isvile.

“Probably.” Aoife nods. “My bet’s on Oona.” Her eyes flash to mine. “She knows how to mess with people’s heads. Trust me.”

Well, I’m not letting her mess with mine.

“Dump those down the privy,” I tell Talon. “Or better yet,have someone scatter them in the main hall. They stink.” And I have somewhere I need to be.

Pride warms in Talon’s brown eyes, and they nod. “It’ll be done by the time you get back.” They hold my eyes. “And youwillbe coming back.”

That’s not fear prickling up my spine. I refuse to feel that.

Not when whoever sent this is out there, waiting for me.

“Lead the way.”

Gardai line the main halls. All of them wear their crisp, pressed crimson-and-black uniforms, not a drop of blood or grime on their boots or their swords. The banners hung from thick beams along the arching stone ceilings sway above, and the doors I ran through weeks ago when I fled to the garden are swung wide open now.