Page 133 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
Except—?
The wind lashes, slapping a length of thick, knotted brown rope against the stone. The force of it rams the heavy rope into the wall below the turret ledge with a brutal slam, and I nearly jump out of my skin. My eyes follow the deadly path of its length.
Someone’s taken the time to weave the rope around the crenellation of the very top of the turret in an elaborate tangle.
All the moisture evaporates from my mouth, and I think I understand—even though I would give anything to be wrong.
My gaze scans the length of the castle walls, hunting along the other turrets in the distance. The lashing rain turns them into a blur, but I can just make out the shape of a figure on each of the other turrets moving steadily down the walls.
Saraid.
Aisling.
Oona.
I draw in a ragged, shaking breath. Wipe the rain soaking my face, blurring my sight. My heart beats fast enough to fly out of my chest as I grip the rope in both stinging hands and follow it to the ledge. It seems sturdy enough. There’s really no way to be sure. I could make it halfway down and feel it give—
I shut the thought down.
I can’t go there, or I’ll never do this.
And Iwilllive—for Finn.
For everything the Whisperers are still working toward.
A free Eireann.
As long as there is breath in my lungs, I won’t give up on that dream either.
I crawl right up to the ledge and swing my feet over. I can taste the terror, the bright panic. Wind whips the rain into daggers, slashing across my cheeks. I grip the rope so hard my palms scream, despite the blue powder antidote I took just hours ago, and lower myself down.
Pain means nothing when the alternative is being dead.
I’m suspended, hanging over the ledge of the turret with nothing between me and the ground but the piece of rope burningin my death grip. A sob claws at my throat as gravity fights to pull me down, and the wind tries to help it, tearing at my gown, my hair, me.
My feet fight to find traction, searching for the knots on the rope. The muscles in my shoulders scream, and my arms shake so they feel like they won’t be able to hold on.
There it is.
My rain-soaked slippers find the knobby knot farther down the rope. And even with the lashing bite of the rain, the world around me fades beneath the deafening thrum of my pulse.
The space between heartbeats is the only measure of time. My reminder to suck in a gasping breath and lower myself another inch.
I exist caught in the space between them.
Hand over hand, one foot climbing down over the other, I descend the castle wall. Past slick expanses of rain-blackened stone and down to where the fresh, sweet smell of rain on earth and grass fills my shaking lungs. My palms scrape raw, the nerves shrieking.
Close.So close now. I have to be. Just a little bit farther…
Another drop, hand over hand, and my feet slip on slick—solid—earth. Relief slices deep enough to carve into my bones, and the sob waiting in my throat breaks free.
I did it.
I’m alive.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back to the deluge of the skies above.
The icy bite of a blade scrapes up my throat, and a cruel voice hisses in my ear. “And to think—my mother tried to convince me a Quaysideratcould be a threat.”
