Chapter 5: Hunters' Night

The old wolf stayed at my boots until Ronan said, "Enough, old one."

It did not move.

"He has not bowed to anyone in eleven years," Ronan said quietly. "Not me."

"Maybe he likes my boots."

"Maybe."

He did not smile, but his mouth twitched.

I was still looking at the old wolf when the horn blew from the north tower, one long note and then three short.

"Hunters," said a man on the wall.

Ronan's head snapped around.

"How many?"

"Twenty. Thirty. They're at the tree line, Warden. They've got nets."

"Nets," Ronan said, and then a word I will not write down.

The yard emptied in a breath.

Wolves ran for the wall, and mothers dragged children toward the hall.

Ronan caught my wrist.

"Go inside, MacNair."

"The lattice is still raw," I said. "If I'm not on the wall, it won't hold the north corner."

"If you're on the wall, you'll be shot."

"If I'm not, you'll lose the corner and thirty hunters will walk through it."

He looked at me for the length of one heartbeat.

"Stay at my left," he said. "Don't leave it."

We ran for the north wall together.

Torches were burning along the stone, and beyond them the black trees looked very close.

A volley of bolts went past my ear and chipped the parapet.

"Down," Ronan said, and shoved me flat.

I came up with a handful of silver thread from my belt.

The lattice was humming, a thin hard note I could feel in my teeth.

"They're pressing on the corner," I said. "Right there."

"Can you hold it?"

"Not for long. It's not finished."

"How long?"

"Ask me again in five minutes."

He stripped off his coat, his shirt and his boots in the time it took to say it.

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