Chapter 12: The Trunk

"No," I said.

Bran got to his feet.

"Anwen."

"There are a hundred Falkirks in Eldmark. It's a common name."

"It is," Bran said gently. "It is a very common name."

He didn't believe it either.

"I'm going back," I said.

"I'll come."

"No. You stay with the wolves. If I'm wrong, I'll be back by noon."

If I was wrong, I'd be able to breathe again.

I ran the whole way, with Moth bouncing in my hood.

The Watch tower was empty.

The morning muster was in the yard, and I could hear Kieran's voice across the stones, dry and level, calling names.

I climbed the stairs two at a time.

His door was unlocked.

The bed was made.

My note lay on the pillow where I'd left it.

He had folded it once and tucked it under the candle.

I almost turned around then.

But the iron-banded trunk stood against the wall, and I had looked at it three times in two nights and never asked what was inside.

I knelt in front of it.

It wasn't locked either.

Who would dare steal from the Commander of the Watch?

The lid was heavy.

Under it lay a folded black coat, an old one, too small, with a recruit's plain collar.

Under the coat lay a ledger bound in grey cloth.

I opened it to the first page.

The ink was ten years old, but the hand was careful and neat.

*Cellar Six, under the Arena. The woman Eira Ashdown, a Tamer, held by order of Lord A. Thornwick.*

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