Chapter 17: The Challenge

The Ironbark Long Hall had been swept.

The long tables were gone, and the benches stood back against the walls in tiers.

In the middle of the floor, on the old oak boards, someone had chalked a wide circle.

It was not new.

The chalk sat over a groove worn into the wood by a hundred years of bare feet.

Every seat in the hall was full.

Eight Alphas sat in the carved arc, with the ninth chair, the black one with oak leaves cut into its back, standing empty at the center.

The old Alpha of the north had put a hand on its arm as I came in, and then taken it away again.

I walked in wearing my grandmother's green cloak and nothing under it but a plain grey shift.

Maeve had insisted.

*No sleeves,* she had said. *No cloth for him to grab.*

Bram walked at my shoulder.

He had cut the bandages from his hands that morning, and the new skin on his palms was shiny and tight.

"You don't have to stand with me," I said under my breath.

"The law gives you a second. I'm asking to be it."

"Asking."

"Asking. I'm learning."

I almost smiled.

Then the doors at the far end opened, and Emmett Crane walked in.

He wore his charcoal suit, and his hair was combed back, and the gold Alliance pin shone on his lapel.

Behind him came the dozen men with black visors.

At his side, a half step back, walked Fiona.

She had put her braid back in.

She wore a cream dress, and her face was pleasant and calm, and she did not look at me once.

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