Chapter 10: The Tonic

A grey wolf came down off the ridge.

He cleared the paddock fence in one leap and landed in the yard between my porch and four rifles.

Every gun swung toward him.

"Torquil," I said sharply. "No."

He stopped, stiff-legged, hackles up, teeth showing, with his amber eyes fixed on Maddock.

The riders' fingers were white on the triggers.

If one of them flinched, I would be treating the wounded for a month.

I walked down the steps and put my hand flat on his neck.

His fur was hot as a stove.

Under the rage, I felt something worse, a kind of shaking fear.

"Listen to me," I said, low enough that only he could hear.

"If you take me by force now, you're the murderer they say you are."

He growled.

"If you start this war in my yard, three hundred wolves die before the Moot hears a word. Not Josiah's. Mine."

He growled again, softer.

"I'll go quietly. Seven days to the Hunt Moon, Torquil."

"Bring them to the Stone and I'll tell the truth."

His head swung round and he pushed his forehead against my chest, hard, once.

Then he stepped back and sat, which was the most terrifying thing I have ever seen a wolf do.

"Smart," Maddock said from the porch, and sounded surprised.

"I'm not doing it for you."

I took my bag, because nobody tells a healer to leave her bag.

I climbed into the back of the Silvercrest truck beside a silent rider.

Bede stood in the yard with his harmonica in his fist.

He caught my eye over the heads of the riders.

"Do not be brave," he mouthed, and I nearly laughed.

The hall was quieter than it had been for supper.

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