Chapter 23: The Mark

Ronan's POV

She stood in the torchlight in my coat, with blood drying down her arm.

I had never been so afraid for her in my life.

The pack was waiting for her to say it.

If she said death, they would cheer, and she would carry it forever.

If she said mercy, they would call her weak, and Lorna Sedge would walk out of the field with that smile.

"Iris," I said, very low.

"I know," she said without turning. "I've thought about it for three days."

She walked to the center of the grass.

Lorna stood there in her gray dress, with two guards at her elbows.

She looked at Iris and tried one last time to look kind.

"Lorna Sedge," Iris said. "You will not die tonight."

A groan went through the wolves.

"You taught seven-year-olds to take poison with their juice," Iris said.

"You put a dying man to sleep a little at a time, so he'd stop saying no."

"You sat in my kitchen for four years and called me your friend."

"I did love you," Lorna said.

"I know. That's the worst part."

Iris turned her head, and her voice carried to the farthest torch.

"You are stripped of your name in Blackwater and your rank as healer."

"Your scent is struck from our rolls. If you cross a Blackwater line, any wolf may turn you away."

She paused.

"Before that, you answer to the human court. Two deputies are waiting at the field gate with a warrant."

Lorna's face did not change.

I watched her eyes go to Ansel, and I saw the end of whatever they had been to each other.

"And you, Ansel Garrow," Iris said.

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