Chapter 42: Moonrise

The moon cleared the courthouse roof at ten to seven, and we came up the lawn under it.

The whole valley was there.

The packs stood in rows on the grass, as they had in November, with their faces turned toward the steps.

Between the rows and the steps, in folding chairs set out in lines, sat the elders from the eleven homes.

There were sixty of them, in blankets and bathrobes, with gray steel bands on their wrists.

The north fork's mother sat in the front row in her wheelchair, with her hands in her lap.

Her son stood behind her, white to the lips.

Two dozen Registry wolves in steel collars ringed the chairs.

Opal Harkness stood alone at the top of the steps in her navy suit.

She looked sixty-five.

Her gloves were on, and her right hand shook a little against her skirt.

"Ms. Linwood," she said, in her cold, pleasant voice. "You are late."

Abel came up the lawn behind me with the gray box in both arms.

Ronan walked at my left, close enough that our sleeves touched.

He stood straight.

The Alphas of the Moot came after us in a line, and the whole valley went quiet.

"Good evening, Director," I said.

"Say the words."

She lifted one gloved finger.

The sixty elders slid down out of their chairs onto their knees in the grass, all at once.

Some of them cried out.

A woman in the second row put her hands over her face.

"They kneel to me," said Opal. "They will kneel until you speak, and if you do not, they will kneel until they fall."

"Let them up."

"Say it. Release the claim, and I will lift the finger."

"No."

"Then I will wait."

She smiled.

A wolf stepped out of the ring with a silver tray, and on the tray stood a white cup with steam coming off it.

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