Page 83 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
Clinging thinly to the surface around the ice cube is a strange, almost slick viscosity. Swirling the glass makes a thin web of tendrils stretch out from where they melt off the ice.
The High Queen’s words claw through me.
Some will have more than others, but none are entirely safe.
Realization slams into me. My eyes fly up to Prince Cashel’s.
His gaze darkens, and he glances down, then back up in what could be coincidence—or what could be a subtle mimic of a nod.
I shove away the acid bite of fear and reach for the glass of clear liquid.
If I’m right and the tart wine has mandrake in it, the risk ofhallucinations in a test that could turn into combat in a heartbeat is too high to take. I can’t defend myself if I’m seeing visions or don’t know where I am. There’s only one option.
And I can only pray I’m not already too late.
Condensation fogs the cup with the ice cube. I send up a silent prayer, thanking the Old Ones and even the Martyr herself for the chill in the air. I’ve only prayed to her a handful of times since my mother’s execution, but right now I don’t care. This is about survival—I’ll thank or pray to whoever I can if it might help me live. If it were as warm as it should be right now, the ice would’ve melted entirely, releasing every drop of the poison I suspect is frozen in the cube.
The longer I wait to drink what I fear is slowly melting, the more I’ll have to suffer through—and the higher the risk the dose will be strong enough to kill me.
Half the grains of sand have slipped through the hourglass by now.
I bring the cup to my lips, closing my eyes. Finn’s face fills my mind, soft worry etching across her familiar features, and Old Ones—I miss her.
Resolve hardens in my chest.
I will make it home to her.
Stay alive,Wolf’s rough voice urges again as I steel myself and feel the cool brush of midnight eyes locking on me.
I drink the whole thing down in one gulp.
Viscous, chilled water slides down my throat.
One swallow is all it takes. There’s no taste, no smell. No sign at all other than the viscosity that swam around the cube—andthat’s the part that makes tears sting my eyes. There’s only one poison Keeva ever spoke about with anything close to fear—the one she calledthe poisoner’s poison.
Creatlach.
It’s lethal, and completely undetectable, apart from its thicker-than-water consistency. Keeva always said it comes from the dew that gathers on the oldest graves and crypts—and that it sets a victim’s very bones on fire, burning them black until every nerve is nothing but ash.
It’s an excruciating, slow death in the right dose.
My stomach twists at the thought. What kind of dose did I just drink?
I have to hope most of the poison hadn’t melted out of the ice cube by the time I drank it. If it was a small dose, I’m about to be in a world of pain for the coming hours, but pain is better than hallucinating if this test turns into combat, or one of the other girls decides to attack me.
If I was too late, and the ice has melted more than I realized…
Deep in my chest, my heartbeat flutters. My limbs tingle. Pressure builds, an aching pulse like a drum beating in my very bones.
I force myself to stand straight and meet the High Queen’s narrowed glare. There’s only one reason she said what she did to the nobles while I was here with them. She’s betting I won’t survive this test, just like every peasant in the Assay before me. That it won’t matter whether I ever learned the truth—that there’s still magic left in the Seven Wells.
I willneverstop fighting, not now that I know there’s still hope.
The wind rustles my hair away from my heating cheeks. I count every heartbeat, measure every breath against the one before, as the hourglass drains, and none of the remaining noble daughters collapse. Saraid staggers back from the table, so I see her past the row of screens to my left as she sticks her fingers down her throat, deliberately vomiting whatever glass she just drank right back up into the sand. Her cat eyes snap to mine as she wipes her mouth, like she wants to see if I’ll be the one who falls next. When the nobles jeer, she shrugs and turns back to the crowd. “The rules said we had to drink one cup empty—not that we had to keep it down after.”
Damn, she’s clever. I should’ve thought of that.
Instead, I’m onfire.
