Chapter 11: The Heartstone

The heartstone stood on a pillar of black marble at the foot of the dais.

It was a block of grey crystal as big as a man's head.

Candles ringed it, and a servant in white stood on each side.

Every lady of the court had put on her finest gown, and every lord had come to watch.

I stood at the edge of the floor beside Torin with my hand tucked into his arm.

His arm was solid as a tree.

"When your turn comes," he said under his breath, "you can walk out. I'll cut us a way."

"If we run, he'll know something."

"He already does."

"He knows something," I said. "He doesn't know what."

I forced my breathing slow.

All I had to do was keep the stone from waking.

The first lady stepped up and laid her palm on the crystal.

Nothing happened.

The second lady, the third, and the fourth.

The stone sat grey and dull while the court clapped politely, and the Regent watched from his throne with burning eyes.

"The Warden's bride," the herald called.

I took my hand from Torin's arm.

The floor between me and the stone seemed endless, and it took years to cross.

I put my right hand on the crystal.

It was cold and smooth.

I thought of a snowfield with no footprints.

I held my fire down with every scrap of will I had, the way I had held it for five years.

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