Chapter 4: The Only Witness

They held the Moon Court at noon, because my uncle wanted it done before Highcrest finished burying its dead.

The seven elders sat on the low stone bench at the center of the Moon Hall, in grey robes, with the eldest in the middle.

She was eighty years old and as small as a child, and she watched everything.

I stood on the pale floor in a borrowed shift with Alaric's blood still under my nails.

The fever had not let go, and I pressed my heels into the stone to stand.

"The facts are simple," Osric said.

He stood to one side, in black, with one hand over his heart.

"The Princess Elowen, in her grief and shame, begged a parley at the ford."

"She lured Prince Alaric to the water. His men saw their prince in the river with her and loosed the first bolt."

"Our guard returned it."

"The first bolt was Dunmarrow grey," I said.

Murmurs went around the benches.

"Highcrest has grey fletching," Osric said smoothly. "Half the armories in the north buy from the same fletcher."

"It came from the ridge behind our own guard."

"Your Highness is feverish."

"I held him while he died!" I said. "I watched Brogan Strachan lift his hand."

Every head turned to the man standing at attention against the wall.

Brogan had washed and shaved.

His crimson cloak had been brushed, and the crescent mark on his wrist was hidden under a leather cuff.

"Your Elders," he said, with a small, sad bow.

"I lifted my hand to tell the guard to hold position when I saw a shot from the far bank."

"If the Princess mistook it, I understand. She has suffered a great deal on my account, and I am sorry for it."

It was so reasonable, so gentle, that two of the elders actually nodded.

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