Chapter 22: The Alliance Seat

Brogan had stood before the oath-stone as a witness a dozen times.

He had never wanted so badly to stand between it and another person.

Sorcha laid her palm on the black rock without being told.

"Ask," she said.

The Speaker lifted a gray hand.

"Sorcha Ashdown. Were you bound to Blackmere by force, or by threat, or by any trade?"

"No."

The stone stayed cold and dark, and the hall let out its breath.

"Did you claim Brogan Greaves to cure him?"

"No."

"Did you know that you could?"

"I knew," Sorcha said. "He refused to take it from me when I was not sure."

"He packed his horse and left rather than let me give it before I was ready."

There was a stir at the long table.

The eastern Alpha leaned forward with his red beard bristling.

"That is a pretty story," he said. "Ask her what she wants, Speaker. Not what she did."

"Ask her yourself," Sorcha said.

"What do you want?"

She looked at him a long time.

"I want to go where I'm asked," she said. "And I want to be able to say no. That's all."

"I would give every pack in this hall a season of my light if someone asked me politely. I'll give none to anyone who orders it."

The stone glowed a soft silver beneath her hand.

Brogan's throat tightened.

He had thought he knew the shape of her. Standing there in her black cloak, with her chin up, she was bigger than he had understood.

"The stone has answered her," the Speaker said. "She has told the truth in every word."

"Then it is my turn," Brogan said.

He walked to the table and put his own hand on the stone beside hers.

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