Chapter 12: Moonstones

The stones burned white for as long as I held the locket up, and when I lowered my hand they dimmed to a faint glow and held there.

Nobody had spoken.

Then Ward Standish's voice cracked across the meadow.

"A trick of the light! A trinket with a lamp in it! Clear the ring."

Nobody obeyed him.

Dorian Falkner had walked right up to the nearest stone, and he was kneeling in the snow with one glove off, running his fingers across its face.

"This isn't carving," he said, to nobody. "This is script."

Rafe's hand was still tight around mine.

"Take me out of here," I said.

He did not ask where.

He walked me through the lines of silent wolves with his arm around my waist.

His coat was over my shoulders, and nobody stopped us.

The lodge was empty.

We went down the long corridor to the small door with the brass lock on it.

I took the key out of my pocket.

The lamp was still on.

Rafe stood in the doorway looking at the photographs on the wall.

"Your mother," he said.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Linnet. For everything. For the hall and the list and the lease."

"Say it again."

"I'm sorry."

"Say it to me properly."

He came into the room and shut the door behind him.

He went down on his knees on the plank floor in front of me.

He put his forehead against my stomach, and his hands came up around the backs of my thighs.

"I chose wrong in front of four hundred people," he said, into my sweater.

"I'll choose right in front of every one of them. Tell me what you want."

My fingers went into his hair.

"I want you to take your shirt off," I said.