Chapter 8: Her Request

Mavis's kitchen smelled of yeast and cinnamon, and she was already kneading when I came in.

"Sit," she said.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sit anyway.

"You've got the look of a girl who wants to ask a question and hit someone."

I sat at the scarred table, and she pushed a cup of coffee at me.

"Nolan told me to ask you what my mother asked of him," I said.

Mavis's hands stopped.

"Did he?"

"He said it in the barn, with his hands on my shoulders, looking like he'd rather be shot."

"Well," said Mavis, and she wiped her palms on her apron.

"That's the first brave thing he's done in two years."

She sat down across from me.

"Three months after you left, your mother wrote to the Northern Council.

"She addressed it to the Warden who sealed your break.

"She didn't write to the Council as a whole, mind you.

"She wrote to him."

"Why him?"

"Because she watched him seal it," said Mavis.

"She told me on the phone that he had the face of a man at his own funeral.

"She said he was the only one in that circle who looked ashamed."

I stared at her.

"She asked him two things," Mavis said.

"Jarek was already starving the east lane.

"The families who sided with you got the smallest shares of the winter stock.

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