Chapter 7: The Guest Wing

The Alpha house had a guest wing at the north end, with its own stair, its own stove, and a door that locked from the inside.

I locked it the first night and slept.

The second night, I was invited to dinner.

The long table in the great room was set for twelve.

Three elders, two of Anders's cousins, Torben, Hallvard at the far end, and Anders at the head with an empty chair at his left.

That was the Luna's chair.

I had sat in it every night for twenty years, and I had never once had the right to the one on his right.

That seat belonged to Linnea.

She was already in it.

She sat small and straight in a cream sweater with her hands folded, and when I came in, she looked up.

"Marit," she said. "I hope you don't mind. Anders always has me here when I'm well enough, and I didn't want to make a fuss about moving."

The table went quiet.

I looked at Anders.

He had a spoon halfway to his mouth, and he stopped, and I saw it hit him.

Rule five.

"Linnea," he said, carefully. "Would you sit by Marit tonight? She's new to the table."

Linnea blinked.

"Of course," she said sweetly. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking."

She gathered her napkin and her little silver cup and moved around to the chair beside mine.

She did it gracefully, without a sigh, and nobody at the table could have faulted a single movement.

She patted my hand under the cloth.

"I'm glad it's you," she whispered. "I'd never have forgiven myself if it were someone cold."

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