Chapter 8: The Lion Will Not Kneel

The Lion strode into Ember Hall at midday with forty riders behind him and a roar already in his throat.

Marek Dorne was thirty-three, broad as a door, and the gold of his hair fell past his shoulders.

He wore a coat of gold brocade that cost more than Linnea's whole ferry, and he did not bow.

"So this is her," he said to the Hall at large. "The ferry girl who tore up a regent's paper."

Linnea sat on the throne with Espen at her right hand and Kaelen at her left.

Bracken's chair sat on the floor below.

The Chancellor was in it, watching Marek with an almost happy face.

"Lord Dorne," said Linnea. "You're late."

"I came when I chose to. The Lion Clan doesn't answer summons, even the Stone's."

"The Stone lit your mark two days ago."

"And my mark can wait."

He lifted his hand, and the gold sun on his palm was dim and sullen.

"I came to look at you, ferry girl. I wanted to see what the Stone picked."

A rumble of laughter went through the galleries.

"Kneel," said Bracken pleasantly, from his chair. "The Crown is owed it."

"I kneel to no one," said Marek.

"Then stand where you are," said Linnea. "I'll come to you."

She got up and walked down the steps.

She heard Espen draw a sharp breath behind her, and Kaelen's boots on the stone, following.

She stopped in front of Marek.

He was a head taller than any man in the room, and he looked down his nose at her.

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