Chapter 7: The Scale

The square was a bowl of packed earth ringed with stone benches, and by the first bell every bench was full.

I stood in the middle of it holding Tuck's hand.

He wore his only clean shirt, and I'd braided my hair back tight so no one could say I looked wild.

Two nights of broth, one egg breakfast and a good sleep had put color in his cheeks.

It wasn't enough, and I knew it.

Darek stood three steps behind me, arms folded, and I could feel him there.

Brannoch sat on a carved chair on a dais at the far end.

Corra stood beside it with a big wooden scale on a tripod, the kind with a pan on one side and iron weights on the other.

"The honest weighing of the Marrow cub," Brannoch announced, to the crowd's delight. "Healer, if you please."

Corra gave me a smile as thin as a razor.

"Set him in the pan, Ila."

I lifted Tuck and set him down, and he sat very straight, his hands gripping the rim.

Corra slid weights onto the other side one by one.

The beam tipped, and swung, and settled.

"Twenty-two pounds," she said, in a carrying voice. "Not one ounce more than the last time."

A murmur ran around the benches.

Hesper, in the front row, said a rude word and was shushed.

I stared at the beam.

It was a simple balance.

I had weighed a thousand babies on a balance just like it.

And something was wrong with how it hung.

"Wait," I said. "May I check the scale?"

"You may not," said Brannoch.

"The law says an honest weighing." I smiled at him. "I want to see it be honest."

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