Page 9 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

And still, I have no idea why—or when it will happen again.

We start to pick our way through the massacre, blood squelching under our soft boots. The world sways. I reach out, one arm finding the nearest wall for balance…

And a rough hand clamps down on the back of my neck, yanking me into the shadows.

THREE

Finn whirls, sword flashing.

And she might be twice as strong as I am, more practiced from years of weapons drills and sparring and doing Old Ones know what on the streets—but I’m faster.

The hand on my neck releases, and the clang of steel on steel screams. A figure steps out from the shadows, blade bracing against my sister’s sword. Before the figure can make a sound, I snake up behind them and press my long knife to their neck.

The pulse beneath my knife flickers. I’m close enough to smell the distinctive scent of sea salt and the bitter residue that comes from too many hours spent working with hemlock.

Relief floods through me, the blade almost falling from my hand.

It’s Keeva.

“Old Ones,” I curse, and throw my arms around her shoulders. Soft curves press into me, and the warmth that always seems to radiate from her dulls the chill in my bones. “What were youthinking?”

“Some thanks for trying to keep your sorry asses out of trouble.” Keeva’s eyes crease into a smile that quickly darkens. She taps the smooth ebony stump of her left wrist against her side—an anxious tick, and a difference she’s had as long as I can remember. “Or hadn’t you heard? The gardai are on the hunt.”

“You fool.” Finn yanks Keeva out of my embrace and pulls her in close. “I could’ve killed you!”

“If anyone was going to kill me, it would’ve been Maeve.” Keeva winks at me, and a little curl of pride unfurls in my chest. “Looks like all the training’s paying off.”

“You know what the Málmars say.” Finn squeezes my shoulder. A tremor runs through her hand—exhaustion, probably. “A woman with a weapon is like lightning at midday. Just as dangerous as a storm at night. All the more deadly if you don’t expect it.”

Keeva laughs, but a darkness lingers in her brown eyes. It’s unnatural for someone who always seems to have a sly grin tucked at the corners of her mouth.

She nods at my mud-splattered cloak, parted down the middle from where I threw my arms around her. The tunic underneath is still a dull green. “Weapon or not, we need to get Maeve inside. Especially wearing that.”

Finn frowns, and a bead of sweat gathers at her temple. “What do you mean?” A flicker of something I can’t decipher passes between her and Keeva.

I pull the cloak tighter to fight the chill of the misty air.

“Didn’t you hear?” Keeva finally answers, glancing sideways at me. “The High King’s gone mad. He had a dream rebels in green are coming for his throne and sent the gardai out hunting anyone wearing it.”

A hard scoff breaks from me. “You say that like he wasn’t already out of his damn mind.”

Finn shakes her head. “He wasn’tmadwhen he banished the Martyr, or when he burned the temples down. He was a tyrant, and he was brutal, but there’s a difference.” She taps the side ofher temple. “He was stillhereuntil a month ago, even when he was in a rage at the Martyr for not saving his first queen, or terrified at how close the uprising came to—”

Keeva shoots her a warning look, and Finn’s words cut off in a low breath.

“People like to imagine magic can change the rules of nature,” Finn says more softly, shrugging. “But it’s just the isle’s raw energy, and mages are just people who’ve studied enough to shape that energy, to bend the elements to their desires. Air, water, blood, earth, fire. Magic can influence them—whipping a calm sea into waves or scorching an infection out of your blood.”

Another tremor twitches her fingers.

“But the rules of nature can’t be changed, no matter how powerful the mage. Death can’t be reversed. The rising and setting of the sun can’t be stopped, even if a mage can tear storms from the skies or conjure the air into fog thick enough to blind a whole army.” She lets out a breath that turns into a cough. “I have to think that for a king, realizing magic is beyond his control is… terrifying.”

Keeva shares a look with Finn, and her mouth tightens into a thin line.

We step through puddles of crimson, and I try to let my brain believe it’s nothing but water. Just pools of rain that I’ve trudged through a hundred times before.

Each twist and turn we take is deserted, thank the Old Ones.

“I don’t understand.” My voice sounds so loud in the deathly quiet. “How do you know about the High King’s dream?”