Chapter 13: The Men's Council

We ran for Kettle Hall.

Britta took the front road with her braid whipping behind her, and Garrick took me by the hand and the back path.

He moved fast for a man his size, and I had to jog to keep up.

The great doors of the Hall were chained from the inside.

Two of Rolf's men stood on the steps with their arms folded.

Garrick did not stop for them.

He took the servants' path around the kitchens, and I knew where it went.

The back stair was dark and narrow and smelled of cedar.

"Stay behind me," he said.

"I'm a witness, not a bodyguard. I'll stay where I'm put."

"Since when?"

"Since I want to watch Rolf lose."

The door at the top of the stair opened into the lords' room.

Four men sat at the long table.

Rolf Lund sat in the middle with his silver watch open in front of him, and he looked up with perfect calm.

"The king is late," he said.

"The king is in his own house," Garrick said. "Take your hand off my chair."

Rolf's hand had been resting on the high chair at the head of the table.

He lifted it, slowly.

Garrick sat.

He folded his enormous hands on the oak, and he looked at Rolf, and he did not say another word.

I took the place by the wall where witnesses stand.

"The motion is before the Council," Rolf said. "That the Count of the first frost be set aside."

"The woman Hartigan has lain with the king," Rolf said.

"A woman in the king's bed cannot refuse his chair freely, and cannot take it freely either."

"The stones are void. I call the vote."

The old lord with the bad hip lifted a finger.

"Rolf. The Hearth has the right to hear a motion that names the Hearth."

"The Hearth is locked out."

"Then the Council is breaking its own rule."

"I will unlock it when the vote is done."

"No," said the old lord, and he stood up, with a wince, and walked to the corridor door.

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