Chapter 23: The Seat

We held the seating in Greyfell's hall that night, at the same long tables, under the same roof beams.

The seven envoys sat along the wall, rubbing their wrists, and the pack filled every bench.

Nobody was laughing at the head table now.

The senior envoy stood on the dais with the iron torc in both hands.

"Catriona MacNair," he said. "You were seated by blood at the Moot, and by the circle at dawn. Tonight the Concord seats you by name."

He stopped.

"Kneel."

"No," I said.

The hall went still.

"The Alpha of Greyfell kneels to no one," I said. "My father didn't. I'll take it standing."

A woman at the back began to laugh, and then to clap.

The envoy bowed his head.

He set the torc around my neck himself, and the iron was cold for a moment and then warm.

Greyfell's wolves rose from their benches.

They did not cheer.

Three hundred of them went down on one knee together.

Jory was first.

He came out from the foot of the tables and knelt at the dais step with his hands open.

"Alpha," he said. "I have been a Beta to a man who never read his own name. I would like to be one to someone who did."

"Get up, Jory."

"Not yet." His voice cracked. "I knew who the wolves answered. For ten years I knew, and I stood behind his chair."

"You warned me at noon," I said. "That is why I'm standing here."

He looked up, and his sandy beard was wet.

"Then I'll stand, Alpha."

I held out a hand and pulled him to his feet.

Rhona sat at the end of a bench in her grey dress, watching.

I walked down the hall to her and she tried to rise.

"Stay," I said. "Greyfell needs a healer. The old one is tired."

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