Page 125 of The Lure of Wolves and Whispers
The paper is folded in on itself multiple times, stamped with a green wax seal bearing the etched shape of a wolf’s snout, bared teeth and all.
My fingers shake, breaking the seal and unfolding the paper. Scanning over the runes there, I realize—it’s a letter. Written entirely in ogham, in two separate hands. The style of the slashing markings is different between the two. One, brutal and efficient, with sharp slashes where the lines mark the runes associated with each corresponding sound—the same hand that wrote the staves Wolf left for me before.
The other is a lighter press of the pen, the lines slightly longer and less harsh.
Finn.
Old Ones, I can hear her voice in the scant words the runes sound out. Every one of them isher, and damn, I’ve missed hearing her voice. I miss her so much it physically hurts.
My mind works, interpreting the slashes branching out from the central shaft as fast as I possibly can so her message comes together in my head. There are no names, nothing that could give us away if this fell into the wrong hands. But it’s her, all the same.
Knew telling you not to ask questions wouldn’t work.
A smile cracks along my lips. I can practically see her shaking head, the short auburn hair brushing her cheeks. Each of the lines is short, with multiple slashes needed for every runic marking and only so much space to work with.
Trust him. Trust them. Will explain. Proud of you.
Then, in an addendum squeezed into the very bottom of the page, the markings sound out a final message in Wolf’s brutal, slashing script.
Happy birthday.
My eyes sting at the words, warmth swelling dangerously in my chest.
He had looked so surprised when I mentioned in Saraid’s carriage that my birthday was soon—tomorrow, in fact, a detail someone must’ve told him… or he must’ve asked about.
Keeva, maybe… or Finn?
And as grim as it feels to think about something as mundane as a birthday in the middle of all this death and danger… he remembered.
Be ready,his note adds.
My mind spins, reading the last two words over again.
Be ready?
The Test of Strength is tomorrow, and tomorrow is just a few hours away now. Does he have a plan—for how I can find the High King, or how to get myself out of here after?
I trail my fingers over the ogham markings, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Night has fallen over the courtyard outside my room, starry and still. Mist swirls around the gnarled base of the old willowthere, twisting and twining as the slim glimmer of light from Aoife’s chamber across the garden flares.
She hasn’t come out in three days, since we got back from Eavan’s execution.
I haven’t pushed her, other than knocking on her door yesterday. I know the weight of blood shock and the horror of what happens on the Black Quay. If this was her first time seeing it up close… I shove the fresh twinge of guilt away and focus on my face in the mirror.
Strands of dark hair curl softly around my cheekbones. There’s a faint flush of rosy color, but no hiding the gash in my temple. The gray eyes staring back at me are wide. Bright.
I would be a fool not to recognize the danger I’m walking into. This night, or the dawn of the Test of Strength tomorrow, could very well be my last. And if I must face death, I’ll do it as no one but myself.
I draw no kohl around my lashes. I leave the delicate jar of gold dust where it rests on the counter, and my cheeks bare but for the flush burning there. I struggle with the laces up the back of the dress Wolf left for me in the basket, but manage it.
It’s simple and striking, so dark, it could be black—but the glow of the candlelight reveals the silk is the deepest inky green instead. The neckline is cut high, concealing the necklace my mother gave me, but the back dips down to expose the curve of my shoulders before the laces of the bodice wrap around my spine.
I draw in a steadying breath.
The dark green makes my cheeks glow, even without a hint of rouge or gold to highlight my features. My hair falls down myback in one long braid, and the sheath of my new sword fastens easily at my waist. Finn must’ve told Wolf what she promised me for my birthday. There’s no way she could afford Málmar steel like this, but the design is too much like hers to be an accident. Old Ones, there’s been no way to get new Málmar steel since the mages and their caoranachs were banished five years ago.
I can’t figure him out.
