Chapter 13: The Dead King

The king lay on a stone bier in the middle of the Hall of Hollin, with a hundred candles around him.

He looked small.

Last time I had seen this room, four hundred wolves had filled it.

Now they stood in silence along the walls, and the Chancellor stood at the head of the bier in a regent's gold chain.

I walked the length of the marble with Jorund on my left and Caelan on my right.

Eira was a step behind me, and my captain, a grey-haired woman who had served my adoptive father, was a step behind her.

We had ridden all night on fresh horses, and I still wore the dust.

"General Furnival," the Chancellor said.

"You come late to a funeral."

"I come when the Moon Court sends for me, Chancellor."

"The Moon Court sends for the Crown Wolf."

"Yes."

He smiled, thin and pleased.

"Then you have come to the wrong hall."

He lifted a paper from the bier.

"The king died at midnight, in my arms, and named me regent until a rightful heir is found."

"With his own hand?" Caelan asked, pleasantly.

"With mine, at his dictation."

"How convenient."

"Alpha Gournay, you are a guest in this city."

"I'm a guest in a good many places," Caelan said.

"Usually they're less crowded with knives."

He was right.

Along the gallery above us, Chancellery archers stood with their bows drawn halfway.

I felt the old rope tighten in my chest.

Jorund's shoulder was against mine, hot and steady.

He did not look at me, and he did not need to.

"Regent," I said, "who commands the Ninth Host while the throne is empty?"

"The Chancellery."

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