Chapter 12: Two Votes

Jude took the pistol by the grip.

He thumbed the magazine out, ejected the round in the chamber, and dropped it all on the quilt.

Then he set the empty pistol on the bedside table.

"I'm not ending anything," he said.

"Jude."

"You walked out of that quarry to come back to me."

"You carried that gun up my stairs because you thought I'd want you dead."

"I wanted to give you the choice."

"I made it in the cellar."

He crossed the room in three steps and pulled her into his chest.

She fought for a second, with her fists against his coat, and then her whole body gave way.

She sobbed into his neck, great ragged heaves.

He held her until the worst of it passed.

Then he tilted her head up and kissed her.

It was slower than the cellar, and deeper, and she melted into it with a broken sound.

His hand slid up into her hair.

Her fingers curled in his collar and pulled him closer.

"I'll make it right," she said against his mouth.

"You'll make it right standing next to me," he said.

"Not behind my back."

"Come on."

"Where?"

"To the Council."

They walked into Cairn Hall at noon with the tall rider and the young one at their backs.

The long room was full.

Thirteen seats, and half the sect packed in along the walls.

Fisk sat at the head of the table with his silver cane across his lap.

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