Chapter 19: The Elder's Table

Torin's POV

"I'm on the road to my father's," I said into the phone.

"I'm not coming to you yet."

Ingrid was silent on the line for a moment, and I let her be, because I had meant to say the rest straight.

"I'll be at your door by midnight.

"Stay in the baker's house, lock the front, and open it to nobody but me."

"Why your father?" she said.

"Because I found the same photograph on the twins' pillow an hour ago."

I had gone back to the lodge for my coat.

I found the print lying on Hazel's pillow, squared to the edge.

On the back in my father's hand it said: Thursday. Come and sit.

Three sentries had stood at the gate when I left, and none of them had seen anyone go in.

I had sent all three of them home and put my own men on the door.

Then I had gotten in the car.

"Torin," Ingrid said.

"Yes."

"Make him say it in front of people."

"That's why I'm going," I said, and hung up before I could say anything worse.

My father's hall stands on the north ridge, a long timber building with the pack's carved door.

The Thursday table has stood in it for as long as I can remember.

It seats twelve.

The twelve have always been the pack's best, the elders and the old Betas and whichever captains my father trusted that year.

That night eleven chairs were full, and the twelfth was mine.

My father sat at the head.

He had a glass of wine in his hand and a plate of roast in front of him.

He saw me and put the glass down without hurry.

"You're late," Aldric said.

"I'm early."

I walked the length of the table with every eye following me.

I took the photograph out of my pocket and laid it on my father's plate, face up, on top of the meat.

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