Chapter 10: The Penalty

I woke in the afternoon with a smell of burning in my nose.

"Don't get up," Hamish said from the stove.

"What are you doing?"

"Soup."

"It smells like the soup is losing."

He looked at the pot with deep suspicion.

"It was onions and barley an hour ago," he said. "It's changed."

I sat up carefully, with a quilt around my shoulders.

The wound under my ribs was a pink line the length of my finger, tender and almost gone.

My left shoulder carried a small silver crescent that had not been there before.

I touched it, and a warm shiver ran down my arm.

"What is it?" I asked.

Hamish set the spoon down.

"It's a mate-mark," he said. "Ashfall wolves carry them. It rises when a wolf names someone."

"Which wolf named whom?"

"Yours named me," he said. "Mine answered. This morning, when the knife went in, she said it out loud."

My face went hot.

"I didn't say anything."

"You said my name twice in the road."

"I was stabbed."

"Both times were very clear."

I laughed, and it hurt, and I put my hand on my ribs.

He crossed the room and was beside the bed in three strides.

He stopped and did not touch me.

"You carried me three miles," I said.

"Yes."

"I counted. Three miles, with your arms around me, and you never once asked."

"There wasn't time."

"You broke the first rule."

"I did."

"I told you I'd throw it back at you," I said. "I'm throwing it."

"Consider it thrown." His mouth tilted. "What's the penalty?"

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