Chapter 16: Dalton's POV

Dalton's POV

I woke to the smell of woodsmoke and her blood.

It was on my side, under a dressing of torn shirt.

It was in my mouth, bitter and tasting of copper, and I understood that she had put it there.

The ceiling above me was rough pine.

A stove ticked in the corner of a small room, and the window was white with snow blowing sideways.

Miriam sat on the floor beside the cot with her back against the wall.

Her left hand was bound in a strip of cloth.

She was asleep with her head tipped back and her mouth a little open, and there were dark smears under her eyes.

I lay still and looked at her for a long time.

Torren's voice came through the wall, low, and a door shut.

I eased myself up on one elbow, and the room tilted.

The wound pulled, but it didn't burn.

The black lines were gone from my skin.

Whatever the king's blood did to silver, it did it well.

She had cut her own hand open for me.

I had told her in front of a hundred people that her word was worth nothing.

I put my feet on the floor.

My legs held, which surprised me.

I found my trousers on the chair and a borrowed coat on the hook, and I opened the door as quietly as I could.

The wind hit me hard in the face.

Eight wolves were standing in the lee of the shed with their backs against the boards, and they turned when I came out.

The four who had held out were tied at the wrists against the woodpile.

Torren had gone, with the nurse, my daughter and half the guard, before the storm closed the road.

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