Chapter 17: The Register

They carried the register into the Lowell library, and the whole council sat down to read it.

Lucian brought Rosalind in his arms, wrapped in his coat, and set her in a deep chair by the fire. He did not let go of her hand.

The register was a tall book bound in black leather, with a silver clasp.

A clerk with ink on his fingers opened it on the reading table and turned the pages one by one.

The eldest leaned over it on her cane.

"Lowell," she said. "Three years ago in March."

The clerk's finger stopped.

"Here, Madam. Tristan Lowell, heir of that house, and Rosalind Ward. Sealed by blood on the fourth. Witnessed by Cornelius Lowell."

"And the next entry?"

"Eleven months later." The clerk swallowed. "Declared deceased by sire's attestation. Signed Cornelius Lowell."

"Where is the council seal?"

"There is none, Madam."

"Where is the witness of ash?"

"There is none."

"Where is the body?"

The clerk looked up, grey-faced.

"There is no body, Madam. The death was never sealed by this council."

A murmur went around the library.

Nobody had read the line, because nobody had thought to look. A sire's word was enough, when the sire was Lowell.

The eldest straightened.

"So she was never dead in law," she said. "Only dead in his father's mouth."

"Madam," said Cornelius, from his chair under guard, "a house is allowed its private griefs."

"A house is not allowed to hide a living mate."

She turned and looked at Tristan.

"Mr. Lowell, two years ago you announced your betrothal to Miss Ellison. Were you or were you not already mated?"

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