Chapter 12: Who Fed Him

Nobody spoke, and nineteen Alphas stayed bowed to me in the cold.

I hated it.

"Please stand up," I said, and my voice came out hoarse. "I didn't ask for that."

They stood, slowly, and looked at each other.

Edda let go of my wrist and walked into the ring.

She crossed the black stones in her flour-dusted apron and stopped over Torin.

"Your Majesty," she said, without turning. "May I speak to the Court?"

"Speak," said Ronan.

"I've drawn this woman's blood five times in five weeks."

Edda's voice was dry, and it carried perfectly.

"I checked it against every Luna in the Highmoor books for two hundred years."

"A Luna's blood runs low. That's in every book. It's why they tire easily, and why their wolves are sleepy."

"Wynne Ashcroft's blood runs like a she-wolf's in her prime."

She turned and pointed at Torin.

"And his runs like a man who's been starved for three years."

A rustle went along the benches.

"The Stonewater doctor came north with the delegation." Edda turned to the marshal. "Fetch him."

He was a thin, greying man.

He came into the ring between two of the King's guards, with his eyes on the ground.

"Tell the Court what is in the Brannigan healers' book," Edda said.

"I don't." He swallowed. "That's a private record."

"It was private," said Ronan, from the dais. "Now it is evidence. Answer her."

The doctor stared at his own shoes.

"It's an old note," he said, very low.

"From the first Brannigan healer, nine generations back."

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