Chapter 16: Her Name Is Hers to Give

Imogen's POV

"Sit," my father said, and made room on the altar step.

I sat, a yard away, with the hound lying across both our boots.

"I know your face," he said, looking at the hollow in the stone. "I couldn't tell you from where."

He rubbed his beard.

"I keep waking at three in the morning with my hand on the wall, and I walk up here."

"What do you do when you get here?"

"Sit." His breath smoked. "Your name is on the edge of the altar. I read it every night."

"What do you think it means?"

"That I did something I can't forgive." He turned his head. "Is it true? That I've a daughter I put out of my head?"

"It's true."

"Then I'm sorry, whoever you are."

I could have told him everything.

I could have said *it's me, Dad, I'm yours.*

Instead I said, "Thank you," and I got up and walked down the hill.

If I stayed another minute I would have asked him to hold me.

He would have done it out of pity.

I didn't want to be held out of pity.

On Friday the full moon came up behind the pines, huge and orange.

I stood at the altar in my cream wool coat with the chip in my right hand.

Torin waited at the edge of the ring of stones, because I had asked him to.

The hound sat beside him, ears forward.

The Council elder stood far across the clearing with her stick.

She had said only one thing to me: "It is yours to ask."

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