Page 68 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
“Good breakfast?” Their voice is entirely too light, and Talon taps a finger at the side of their chin, nodding toward me. “Think you might’ve missed something with the napkin.”
“No shit. What is this?” I hiss, shoving the stave into their hand. They watch me with a look like cautious hope. “I didn’t think it needed to be said, but I usually prefer breakfast without a side serving of treason. If anyone found this bound for my room…”
Quiet pride flickers in their eyes, as if I’ve passed some test. “You know ogham?”
I fight to keep my voice low. “There aren’t anytemplesleft.”
A strange look eases the fine lines around Talon’s eyes. They’re barely older than Finn, by the look of it, but something’s put those marks of too much grief on their face.
“Throw that in the fire,” Talon says, glancing over their shoulder at the empty hall.
I chuck the stave into the flames.
“Good.” Talon nods. “Grab your cloak. We’re going out.”
SEVENTEEN
There are no more temples left on this isle.
The High King saw to that years ago.
But I think the ghosts that died here haunt this place still.
Or their dreams do, at the very least.
To call the space Talon leads me to atemplemight be stretching the facts.Cryptmight be a more accurate name. The place is more like a basement mixed with a dungeon, overgrown with mildew and ancient treasures no one has ever bothered to miss.
The boarded-up doors lie hidden behind the kitchens and a closet of crates teeming with moth-eaten tablecloths, where no one but servants would ever need to go.
There’s a still, hallowed taste in the air, thick with dust and the faint bite of long-burnt incense. The remnants of a tattered navy cloak hang over an empty altar.
Talon nudges me deeper into the carved stone arches veiled in heavy shadows.
Candlelight flickers from just two iron lanterns on the rough stone walls. Tapestries hang from all sides. They’re beautiful but smeared and stained with a dark spray that turns my stomach. The scenes beneath are ones I’ve heard since the cradle.
Woven serpents soar through the air.
Mages call down storms from the skies above.
Rivers glow with dark, shimmering liquid, stretching out from each of the Seven Wells marked across the isle of Eireann. The water is stitched with black thread and tiny black pearls, small as grains of salt, mimicking that shimmering darkness of magic. Green hills all through the central spine of the isle are woven to give the illusion of grass dancing in the wind. Wolves prowl beneath midnight skies, standing as high as the waists of the shadowy figures of the Old Ones, their faces shrouded beneath hoods as gathering silvery storm clouds mist around the isle’s shores.
The air in the dusty quiet of the temple shifts. A strand of hair flutters loose from my long braid, and I tuck it back.
“Talon?” I barely raise my voice, but it still feels too loud in the heavy stillness. “What is this place? Why did you bring me here?”
A low, rough voice laughs. “Because I asked them to.”
Wolf steps out of the shadows like he belongs to them. He moves slowly—carefully, as if I’m an animal he’s afraid of scaring at the slightest startle. A slow, smug smirk curves the corner of his mouth, and my hands clench.
He makes a soft tutting sound, tongue quick behind his teeth. Those green eyes snare mine, and Talon—damn them—is suddenly nowhere to be found.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Wolf says, raising one dark brow. His eyes snap to the cut across my forehead. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” I watch him, wary. “And trust me—if I’d known it wasyouwaiting, I wouldn’t have.”
He actually has the nerve to laugh. “You know what? I believe you.”
“How fortunate.” My cloak feels too heavy, and warmthgathers at the back of my neck. “It’s not like I’ve ever givenyouany reason not to trustme.” He’s the one clinging so tightly to whatever scraps of information he has that it’s a wonder his fingers haven’t scraped raw.
