Page 120 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
Relief is a wildfire, surging through every part of me.
He searches Saraid next. She’s moved to stand beside me, chin high as she meets his cold gaze straight on, golden hair half torn from the braided twist at the crown of her head. Her eyes narrow.
“Clean,” Cash repeats, a shiver of something dangerous streaking across his eyes as they linger on hers.
Saraid sinks into a deep curtsy, and he moves to Aisling, also clean, and then Oona.
My ribs tighten. Violent hope sinks its fangs into my marrow.Couldhe have managed it after all?
Oona’s dark lips press tight, all the color draining from hercheeks as Cash’s hands brush over her hips. Her waist. Down the curves of her legs beneath her skirts. “No pockets,” Oona says, arching a brow as he checks for them anyway.
And he steps back once more, eyes like ice. “Clean!” he cries.
Fuck.No wonder he couldn’t plant the vial—she didn’t have pockets.
Eavan is the last one in the line. Her tall shoulders are bent but she keeps her sharp chin held high as his hands sweep over her wrists, her waist, her pockets…
Cash jerks back, the shock he paints across his features terrifyingly convincing as he glances down at his own hand, then lifts it up high, the vial shimmering in his grasp.
Gasps and screams slice the air from the crowd behind us.
Eavan’s eyes go wide, terror draining every ounce of the flush from her cheeks.
“It’s not mine,” she shrieks. “It’s not mine, I swear!”
Guilt tastes sour, sliding between my teeth. This wasn’t the plan. It was supposed to be Oona—one targeted, strategic blow to cleave the nobles. Eavan isn’t the High Queen’s favored competitor. Her family can barely feed their own people—that’s why she was making a deal with Oona outside the baths all those weeks ago.
I grit my jaw, shoving the surging guilt back hard enough that my teeth ache. If I let it grasp hold of me and take over, nothing will ever change on this isle.
At least her death will be quick.
Probably—I don’t know how they execute noble traitors.
The Lady of Shadows says nothing, but the way she commands the gardai is clear as she lifts one robed arm and pointsdirectly at Eavan. They rip through the crowd, swords drawn, seizing her arms and pinning her in place as Cash makes his way back to stand behind his father’s throne.
The dais creaks.
Every eye from the court flies up to the High Queen.
For a long moment, she is silent, eyes narrowing.
Thinking.
With a blatant glance at the Lady of Shadows, Cash leans forward over the back of the High King’s throne. He keeps his voice low but lets the entire court see him try to convince his stepmother of something. I catch wisps of words likeexileandjustice.
The court hears them too, approving, nodding. As if no one here has the taste for blood, if it comes from one of their own. I can’t help but wonder whether anyone spoke up for Wolf’s family, five years ago. Or is that bloodshed why so many seem wary now?
A small pool spreads out around Eavan’s feet, her sobs shaking the air.
The High Queen’s crystal eyes sharpen on Cash as she sneers at him. “Fool.”
My muscles tense.
Cash stiffens, glaring back at her. All the court sees it. I’m sure it’s no accident that he lets his stepmother be the one to step up to the edge of the dais as the Lady of Shadows slinks back. As the nobles fall silent, every breath taut, the High Queen calls out to the gardai restraining Eavan of Antrim—
“Take her to the Black Quay.”
TWENTY-NINE
