Page 15 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
No.
This one is amber and black, but that flicker of gold…
It’s the unmistakable flash of coins, flying from the carriage. A wrist draped in brown silk stitched with gold tosses handfuls of precious golden coins from the amber-and-black carriage. Bodies jump to catch them, or duck to scoop whatever hits the ground.
And just like that, the tension in the air evaporates.
I watch the white carriage that coiled so much anger in the crowd roll up toward the merchant quarter and hear the growing cheers ahead. As it disappears in the mist, the amber carriage ambles past us, a seemingly impossible amounts of coins still flying from the noble daughter inside to the crowds.
Anger makes my skin prickle.
No wonder the uprising failed if the crowds are this fickle.
“We’re running out of time,” I say finally, so low I almost think Keeva doesn’t hear me at first.
And honestly? I’m not sure I’m only talking about Finn.
Keeva’s dark eyes sweep out over the crowd. “Yeah,” she admits. “I think we are.”
FIVE
Atingle runs along my exposed skin where the thickening mist brushes over me as Keeva leads me deeper into the merchant quarter.
“Do you ever think about why the Martyr left us?” I look up at the faint stars above. “Sheabandonedus. Every person on this isle.”
Keeva glances over one shoulder and pins me with a knowing look. “Be careful, Maeve,” she cautions. “Especially given who we’re about to ask for help. Play the game or they’ll slam the door in your face—if they don’t stick a knife in you first.”
“I’d like to see them try,” I scoff. The words sound braver than I feel, and the look Keeva shoots me makes it clear she sees right through me.
“Trust me—these aren’t people you want as enemies.”
I kick at a loose cobblestone. “I’m getting a little sick oftrust me.”
“Believe me.” Keeva’s black eyes darken in the shadows. “I’m getting sick of a lot of things in this city.”
Her tone draws me up short. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Keeva rubs a hand over her face. “Forget I said anything.”
I bite my tongue—yet again.
Survive.That’s what I have to do. That’s all Finn has to do, no matter what secrets she’s keeping. Nothing else matters, so long as we’re alive, and together.
The streets are wider here in the merchant quarter. This part of Dyfflin is farther from the docks, rising up the foothill of the mountain where the High King’s castle looms above. Signs of the Assay are everywhere in the bits of dyed cloth in the colors of the isle’s oldest noble families. I lose count of how many different banners hang tucked in the corners of windowsills, covered by panes of glass that are clear instead of smeared with grime.
Seven, eight… no, it has to be seven different banners.
The shadows just make the shades look different. One almost looks like the dark green of the finest ink, or a wild, dark sea. But none of the noble families use that color in their banners—at least, none I’ve ever heard of.
Was it one or two entire noble families executed after the last uprising?
The uprising and the aftermath are a blur in my memories, blackened out by terror and grief.
Voices rise as the door to a winehouse down a lane to our left swings open and couples stumble out, smelling like fine wine and pipe tobacco and the mellowing nabisa leaves that grow in the inland hills. They argue over themselves, debating the skills and merits of the noble daughters, or their houses. I can’t tell which.
My calves ache from the incline; the salt sticking to my skin isn’t from the sea air but my own sweat.
Most of the people living in these gray stone town houses have some kind of connection with the High King and his court, or access to markets abroad as merchants. If any of the merchants have noble blood, it’s weak—nobles who were recently granted their titles, or else merchants with a royal commission. None of them have any idea what it’s like to struggle—to fight.
