Page 98 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers

Talon nods, hard and quick. “I owe the Whisperers for the magic to track her, but I’d be here even if they hadn’t found her. Some fights are too important to waste time regretting how you got onto the battlefield. We’re here now—and I know where I stand in this war.”

Fire sparks in me at their words.

I reach out and rest my bandaged hand lightly over their clenched one. The needles tingling deep into my nerves are worth it.

“So do I,” I vow.

You would never guess a noble daughter died in this sand one week ago.

The festival is a riot of colors, delectable scents, and vendors hawking precious things from every corner of the isle. Musicians and buskers perform in the four corners of the entrance square, laid out almost exactly where I slid off the stolen—borrowed, I hear Talon’s voice in my head say—horse to walk to my near death.

Castle Mount looms behind us, and far to the east the first glimmer of sweeping green hills beyond the city walls shimmerunder shifting clouds and the brutal drop of the sea cliffs.

Old Ones, one day I’ll make it past these walls. Finn and me, both.

Aoife, dressed in a white gown with a thick fur wrapped around the neck of her simple gray cloak, waves from the edge of the crowd. As if she wants to stand out bynotglittering.

“I like your other cloak better,” I tease, surprising myself.

Her eyes dart over the nobles around us, as if she’s looking for someone. “This one’s warmer.” Aoife nods politely to Talon.

Talon watches closely as Aoife guides me through the densest part of the crowd, keeping me on edge.

They still won’t share whatever suspicions they have about Aoife.

I can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s just a spy’s job to be overly cautious. To worry, even if there’s no proof. Because if there was proof, they’d surely tell me.

The festival is thronging with nobles and stalls catering to them. And even though I’m not someone who is usually distracted by shiny things, Old Ones—there aresomany of them. My eyes run over glowing silver ingots laid out on a polished wood table for closer inspection, as if the vendors actually trust the precious metal won’t go for a walk into a passerby’s pocket. Cloth spun with gold draws little huddles of boys and their fathers, studying the fine stitching. One stall sells only purple things—robes and scarves and cloaks in the exact hue as the one Aoife has—and the vendor eyes the crowd with a discerning mask.

Aoife looks longingly at the rich cloth, then turns away.

“This is… something.” I don’t know what else to say.

She claps her hands and points. “Oh, wonderful. She’s here!”

“Who?” Surprises here, I’ve come to learn, are almost always bad.

“Just wait. She only comes once or twice a year, but she sells out within an hour every time.” Aoife guides me to a long line of impatient nobles, most with clinging small children.

I raise one eyebrow at Talon, and they only shrug.

Just for that moment, I can picture the way they must’ve been with their little sister—watchful, always on the lookout for danger. They remind me of Finn, and my heart flares with the pain of missing her.

I need to get a message to her after this, something Talon can pass to Wolf and Wolf can pass to her. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to or doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

I need her to be prepared to run, if things here go… badly.

Aoife brightens at the smile of the vendor and hands over a few silver coins in exchange for three small cups. Before I can protest—silver coins are worth ten times the value of the bronze coins I’m used to—Aoife hands one cup to Talon and one to me.

“Try it,” she tells us, eyes gleaming bright with excitement.

Warmth seeps through the cup to my bandaged hands, but it’s not painful. If anything, the warmth almost eases the sharpest edges of the nerve pain.

Inside the small cup is a dark, thick liquid sending up little spirals of steam and smelling like… Old Ones, I don’t even have the words. Like nothing I’ve ever smelled before. The rich sweetness is intoxicating, and my mouth instantly waters.

I glance to Talon and take a small, polite sip.

It tastes even better than it smells. Luscious. Delectable. I don’t know where to start, but I never want this cup to empty. Whatever it is leaves a thick line along Talon’s upper lip, and I smother a laugh, tapping my own and catching their eye. A smilecracks the tense line of my mouth, and with a faint flush, Talon wipes it away.