Page 119 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
The terror is star-bright and blinding. I can see the war in their eyes.
Their mouth opens, words gathering—
A gardai slams the hilt of a dagger at the side of my head.
Pain explodes from my temple; hot, sticky heat pours down my face. I don’t feel the ground beneath my feet as two gardai blur at my sides and throw me down on the floor in front of the dais. Rough hands seize Oona by the shoulders. Another pair grabs Aisling by the throat, and Eavan by the waist when she tries to duck and slip back into the crowd.
Saraid slams into the hard tile under the brutal grip of one of the gardai as the crowd scatters, pulling back to leave the five of us exposed and panting in the center of the floor.
Directly in front of the thrones—where Cash now stands beside his stepmother.
The High Queen listens again as the Lady of Shadows leans toward her ear, the royal spymaster’s features shrouded by the heavy drape of the dark cloak.
Does she ever let the court see her face?
“There is a traitor in our midst,” the High Queen shouts, eyes snapping to the gardai, then at us. “Search them.”
Pressure turns cold at the small of my back.
Cash brushed a hand there, just before…
My hands fly to my pockets, searching as the gardai surge toward the five of us in a horrendous blur of black and crimson.
Did he plant it onme?
Desperation flares wild and hot, thick enough for me to taste. My hands sear with pain, and I taste salt and iron where blood courses down the side of my face.
But my hands find nothing.
No vial tucked into my pocket, no liquid magic slithering over my fingers.
And just as the gardai reach for me, Cash’s voice barks out.
“Stop.”
The gardai freeze.
Every eye in the room leaps to him, both hands gripping the back of his father’s throne.
The throne that will be his.
The High Queen levels a lethal glare at her stepson. “Sitdown,” she hisses.
“No,” Cash booms, loud enough for the entire court to hear him defy her. “Iam the one who will be king next. And a king must know how to identify traitors, don’t you agree?” His tone is pure hate, the implication in the words subtle—but pointed enough that even the noble daughters glance among themselves, as if doubting what they just heard.
Cash steps down from the dais, boots sharp on the marble tile. Flickering candlelight turns the rubies in his crown toglowing blood, and he bends to help up Eavan from where she lies crumpled on the floor, one hand at her waist as the other brushes at her skirts—steadying her, anyone would think.
I know better. The breath slams out of me, horror quivering in my throat, but I don’t dare let my gaze lock on his hand in case it draws anyone’s attention. Every one of our lives—mine, his, Wolf’s, and Talon’s, even Finn’s and Keeva’s—all depend on this moment.
And if he just did what I think, Eavan’s about to become what I swore I wouldn’t accept. A necessary sacrifice.
Cash steps back from Eavan and looks over all the rest of us who already stand on our own.
He stalks in front of us, eyeing each of us in turn.
He comes to stand in front of me first, running both hands over the velvet flowing down from my waist. Over the empty pockets, down each of my legs. Over the insides of my wrists. Anywhere that a person could hide something.
Cold navy eyes flash up to mine. “She’s clean.”
