Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

Wren notes each signal to Wolf’s distress, forcing his mouth to frown in concern. Unrested people are the easiest to irritate. Their emotions are already raw; I can manipulate that. “I simply wanted to report to you that the spy is safely ensconced in my tent. She had very little information to share with me.” Wren chews his next bite slowly, adding, “Are you feeling okay?”

“No,” Wolf snipes, slumping into a chair beside Wren. He opens his mouth as though he’s preparing to share all of his burdens, then closes it just as quickly. After a moment’s thought, Wolf mutters, “I’m still deciding what to do with the wretch, so you’ll have to keep her nearby for a while longer.”

Wren nods, seizing the opportunity to begin sowing seeds of distrust. “Well, I had an idea about the spy. Perhaps, after she breaks and tells me how she’s been getting information to the Ddraigs, we could use her to our advantage. We could plant some bad information and send the spy running back to Iris. Draw her out of her hiding place and lure them all into a trap. Get them to come to us, but make sure we have the high ground. She’d never be suspecting such a plan, and your brother—”

“Is too stupid to ever think of it either,” Wolf agrees with a wicked gleam in his eye as he stands and paces around the table. “I like it, Wren! Go explain it to Jackal—”

“I think it would be best if it comes from you,” Wren whispers, pinching his hands under the table to keep his smile from showing. A happy expression would disrupt his forthcoming lie. “Every time I try to join Jackal and his men at their campfire, they either quit talking or leave. It’s the strangest thing.” Wrinkle your brow, pinch your lips together just a little, blink once or twice, not too much. Wren walks himself through the body language that will make his words seem plausible. There’s time enough to revel in your victory when it’s complete. “Jackal and his gang will be sitting around the fire, discussing something in hurried whispers, but the minute I appear, their conversation stops altogether. The subject changes, usually to something forced, superficial, and mundane. It’s almost as if—” Wren stops intentionally, dropping his eyes to his plate. The crumbs are there; now, Wolf just needs to take the bait.

“You think they’re planning something?” Wolf whispers, his eyebrows raised as he pauses midstride and turns on Wren. “Surely not! Jackal has been an ally ever since I removed Fox.”

“Right,” Wren shrugs, picking at the venison on his plate without eating any more. “I’m sure he’s been an asset.” Not enough, not enough. Wren’s mind races for something else that might paint Jackal as a traitor. “And the fact that Jackal was the one who caught Lynx out in the forest is just a coincidence. I guess I’m just tired.” Wren rubs his eyes for show, coughing to cover his sigh of relief. All the mental planning done the night before the deception begins always pays off in the end.

Wolf stares at him hard, watching for any signs of betrayal or manipulation as he mulls the implication. “You know, Jackal’s men clam up around me too.” He leans heavily against the counter, exclaiming, “I’d have said that kind of behavior was because you come from the House of Vultures if it wasn’t happening to me too.”

“I’m sure it’s because you’re the leader. They’d have no reason to want to overthrow your power. Jackal is not strong enough to take your place, and the men know that.” Wren pauses, biting his tongue to keep from babbling. Sometimes silence is more important than the words that you might say. Let the other person’s mind work the poison into its system while your mouth stays shut.

“Jackal is well liked among the men,” Wolf agrees, stalking over to the window where the first tents are visible. “But Lynx is the spy. You said so yourself.”

“She’s the only spy I’ve found, it’s true,” Wren agrees, cutting into his last venison strip to give his hands something to do.

“Of course, there could be others,” Wolf admits, shuffling on his feet in agitation. “That’s only smart planning in case one spy is caught. Another takes his or her place unnoticed.”

“Iris is a cunning threat,” Wren replies, the implication being that he believes Wolf’s reasoning is well-founded.

“But if anyone in this company would have reason to be a spy, surely it would be you,” Wolf accuses, cutting his eyes to focus on Wren once more. “After all, you have the most history with Iris and my brother.”

“I’m the obvious choice,” Wren hedges, forcing his mouth to keep chewing and not reveal how unnerved he truly feels by Wolf’s accusations. Patience, he reminds himself, forcing his throat to swallow his meal. You can talk your way around his fears. “Suspicion of me is natural. Surely your enemy would send you a less conspicuous threat.” Wren picks up his knife, inspecting the teeth of the blade. He imagines how terribly it would hurt to drag this blade across his skin, to feel those teeth biting deep into his flesh, grinding and chewing as they search for his bones. The hurt he fantasizes makes his broken words sound genuine as he laments, “Iris left me behind when she came to destroy our camp with her horrible Ddraigs, remember? She chose not to take me with her—clearly, that shows that she considers me to be an enemy. Just like you, I’m sorry to say.” Wren chances a glance at Wolf, hoping to find him convinced.

“Or she left you here to be her eyes and ears in my camp,” Wolf replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he thinks.

“She has reason to hate me,” Wren murmurs, taking a deep breath and hoping his next story will be enough to throw suspicion away from himself.