Chapter 7: The Cup She Wouldn't Drink

Wynne did not throw the tea out.

She poured it back into the pot and handed the pot to Hester.

"Keep it in your basket," she said. "Don't let it out of your hand."

"What will you do?"

"Drink it with her. In front of the elders."

The pack held a supper on the fifth night, as it did on every night before a bond rite.

Twelve elders sat on either side of the long hall table, with the Alpha at the head.

Calla sat at Garrick's right hand, where the Luna should be.

Wynne came in late on her one crutch and took the chair at the far end.

The pot of tea sat in the middle of the table, where Hester had set it.

Calla's eyes went to it and stayed there a moment too long.

"Calla," Wynne said, loudly enough for the hall. "I owe you thanks."

Calla looked up with a quick, shy smile.

"For what?"

"For the tea you sent me this morning. It was kind."

"Oh, it was nothing. Chamomile is the only thing that settles me."

"Then you'll drink with me."

Wynne lifted the pot and filled two cups.

She set one in front of Calla and kept the other in her own hand.

"To the new moon," she said, "and an honest end."

She raised the cup.

Every elder at the table watched.

Calla looked at the cup in front of her.

Her smile stayed where it was.

"I really couldn't," she said. "My stomach has been so bad since the accident."

"One sip," Wynne said. "It's for your nerves."

"Wynne, please, I don't..."

"Is something wrong with the tea?" asked the oldest elder, a stooped man with a white beard.

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