Page 121 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
Not even the cicadas dare break the silence of the starry night.
The gardai lead the procession out from the castle gates, all of us still in the same finery from the banquet meant to mark the High Queen’s birthday.
There was no break, no moment to excuse anyone from the court to get ready to march. Instead, the High Queen snapped her fingers and the Lady of Shadows barked the order, waving the gardai to haul Eavan out of the room in shackles, and for the rest of the party to follow behind.
Not one person dared protest.
No one risked speaking up, not even to try to save one of their own from the horror I know—they must know—is waiting for her on the Black Quay.
Do the nobles know?
My heart is a hammer in my chest. The guilt rips at its shredded edges, seeking a firm enough hold to tear into.This isn’t what I thought would happen.No noble has ever been executed on the Black Quay. How could I have known?
It was meant to be Oona.
Oona, disgraced.
Oona, disappeared to face whatever happens to noble traitors.That violence always seems to be kept behind closed doors, where none of the rest of us can see it.
I breathe, one slow, shallow inhale after the next, and fight for control.
Above us, the stars barely flicker. The leaves barely skitter across the streets, and the only sound beneath the moon’s veiled face is the trudging of our feet over stone—and Eavan’s gut-wrenching wails.
With every step, I fight to picture the distance between here and the Black Quay as a battlefield. I try to replace her screams with all the ones I’ve heard from my friends, my neighbors, my family who met their ends just like this.
It doesn’t help. The Black Quay is not a death I would wish on my worst enemy. Somehow, I keep moving. There’s no sign of Talon near. No sign of Wolf, either.
Aoife is the only one who walks at my side, and I’m grateful she’s there. She shakes so hard, I can’t keep myself from looping an arm through hers. We lean on each other for each step across the stones that fade to dirt along the way.
She found me in the thick of the crowd, just as we watched Cash shoot daggers in the cold glare he leveled at the High Queen after she gave her order.
The whole damn court saw the way he looked at her.
Exactly as I’m sure he wanted—so that he’s seen on the right side of this, after the nobles understand what dying on the Black Quay truly means. Once they see the indignities of what the High Queen is willing to do, even to them.
The royals sit in a carriage at the front of our procession. From high up on the carriage bench facing back toward the nobles, theHigh Queen’s eyes are as cold and hard as diamonds. The absence of the High King is a scythe hanging in the air above us all.
Old Ones, whereishe?
How the fuck am I going to find him and kill him before this contest is over?
Ice slips down my spine at the sight of Cashel, sitting opposite the High Queen.
He isn’t wearing his crown now. Where it went, I don’t know. But he’s taken it off, as if in protest, and I hear more than one noble in the procession around me remark on it.
He asked for mercy,the voices whisper, and head after head nods approvingly.
And she refused.
Hope does battle with the crushing threat of guilt raging in me.
We have to cleave the nobles. We have to make as many as we can turn on the High Queen. Supporting her, supporting annexation by Cymrea needs to feel not just difficult butunthinkable.
I tell myself that I can bear the guilt of what’s about to happen if it means Finn won’t ever have to trade her life for mine, like I did to save her. If Cash meant what he said about protecting magic, and letting the mages come back.
I’ll bear the guilt if it means we still have a chance.
I tell myself this again and again even as Eavan screams.
