Chapter 11: The Crown Wolf

I cut Jorund out of the silver myself.

The captain gave me the key without being asked, crawling it across the stones on his palms.

I let it go through my hands and unlocked the collar first, then the wrists.

The chain fell into the river with a hiss.

Jorund swayed.

I caught him, and he sagged against me, burned white at the throat, breathing in short hard pulls.

"You didn't kneel," I said into his shoulder.

"I wanted to."

"You didn't."

"I held on to the chain.

"The silver hurt so much, it was something to hold on to."

He laughed, a cracked ugly sound, and I held him up with both arms.

Eira and the Host got the Redmoor dead out of the mud and laid them in a row.

The Chancellery guards stayed on their knees in the ford.

I had not told them they could stand.

I hadn't known how to.

"Get up," I said finally, in my own plain voice.

They rose, shaking, white-faced.

Not one of them reached for a weapon.

The captain stood in front of me with his head bowed.

"What did you call me?" I asked him.

"My queen, General.

"Forgive me."

"Why?"

"Because that's what you are."

He reached under his breastplate and drew out a folded paper sealed in black wax.

"The Chancellor gave me this three months ago.

"I was to carry it to the warden of Hollin if the border riders ever reported a voice."

I broke the seal.

The paper was thin and crackling, in the Chancellor's neat black hand.

"The Crown Wolf is alive.

"She is called Brenna Furnival, raised on the border under the name of a dead captain.

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