Chapter 19: Calista Chooses

I didn't think.

I walked up the cold bright length of the hall, past the lords, past the Wardens in their cloaks, and stepped onto the dais.

Nobody stopped me.

I think they were all waiting to see what I would do.

I took his left hand off his knee and held it in both of mine.

The brand was burning.

Under my palms the call came up through the scar, one clean bright thread, and the Provost's voice was in it.

I didn't cut it.

If I cut the root, the whole mark would split, and he had told me what that cost.

I held it instead.

Steady and firm, for as long as I meant to.

The white light shrank, flickered, and went out.

Ansgar drew a breath.

"Linnea."

"Don't get up. I've got you."

"Don't let go."

"I won't."

The Provost looked down at our joined hands with admiration.

"How clever," she said. "He'll stand beside me tomorrow all the same, my dear. I'd hold on tight."

She would have gone on.

But two white-coated men had risen at the side table.

The older one, with the cold-milk voice, tapped his notebook on the wood.

"Provost, a point of law before the hall rises."

"By all means."

"The Convocation handfasts Miss Frewen to Mr Lorimer.

"The charter requires that the bride be examined in person the night before, by two Crown examiners."

"Miss Frewen is indisposed."

"Miss Frewen is dead," said the old lord with the white beard, loudly. "I had it from the chapel."

A murmur rose.

"Then the Crown would like to see her alive, Provost," the examiner said gently. "Tonight."

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