Page 70 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

He shifts back, eyes lingering on my face. Those full lips curve again, and there’s something akin to… satisfaction in the way his gaze stays on mine.

Wolf rubs one hand along the stubble of his jaw, avoiding the scar. “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’ve had enough of yourdealsfor one lifetime.”

“And yet you still haven’t fulfilled ours. Some might call me generous offering you another.”

“Some might call you a lot of things.” I glare up at him. “Most of them aren’t fit for polite company.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m about the furthest thing you’ll ever find frompolite company.” His gaze taunts me. As if whatever he expected from me, it wasn’t this, and he… enjoys it. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

“And I’m just supposed to trust that anything you tell me is the truth?”

His skin is warm enough to heat the small space between us as he sidesteps my knife and leans in close enough to whisper in my ear.

“You might not like the answers, but I’ve never lied to you.” A whisper of relief that makes absolutely no sense trails soft fingers up my ribs, stirring something in my core. “I don’t lie. For all my faults…” He says the word with all the bite of an old wound. “That’s not one of them.”

His words are embers, burning away the last of my resolve.

“Come on,” he challenges, dark eyes daring. “Just one little question.”

I grit my teeth.

It’s only the closeness of him that makes me waver, I tell myself. The contrast of the cool air outside with his heat so near to my skin in this crypt. Temple. Whatever he calls this place.

The crack in my resolve has absolutely nothing to do with the wary hunger flickering in his deep green eyes, or the way he bites ever so slightly at the edge of his lip as he studies me.

“One question,” I whisper back to him, caving.

Wolf’s eyes roam over my skin. In the dim light, and the solemn stillness of cold stone all around, this place feels like it stands outside time. Like the world could burn down beyond these walls and all the secrets between us would still be right here.

“We’re not the ones burning harvests in the north,” he answers roughly. “Word hasn’t made it into the city yet, but there are Cymrean fighters in pockets around the isle. They’re the ones burning the grain. Though I admit…” He tilts his head, like he’s testing me. “Wearethe ones stealing the caravans.”

Grim understanding turns my breath to a rasp.

“You’re stockpiling.”

“Yes.” Wolf looks away then, hands trailing down his knives. “There’s a famine coming, whether this harvest holds or not. I’ve seen the records from the granaries. There isn’t enough if the harvest falters even by half to feed everyone through the winter.” Hesitation weighs across his face, and his words shift into a rough vow. “I want to make sure we can feed as many people as possible when it happens.”

When. Not if.

Starving people will turn on the nobles—and if this is like the last uprising, the nobles will turn to the Cymrean fighters burning the grain in the first place, hiring them as mercenaries to protect their estates from riots. There would be a small army of Cymreans right here on our isle, one that the High Queen could turn against us as soon as it suits her.

The picture that comes together in my mind is horrifying. “They’re making sure we’re too weak and poor to fight back when they annex us.”

Wolf’s eyes flicker over my face. “Yes. But there are more of us than you know about.” He offers the words without me having to ask for them. “And not just in Dyfflin. Fang—the mage you met at the house—think of her like…” His mouth twists. “Ourgeneral.”

He shifts then, moving quickly behind me so his chest is a hair’s width away from brushing against the sensitive curve of my spine.

Every nerve in my body lights up.

Wolf reaches around us to point to one of the tapestries on the wall in front of me.

I swallow, trying to focus on the painstakingly stitched details.

A map,I realize with a jolt.

It’s Eireann.