Chapter 7: Worthless

The healer said I wasn't going anywhere near that bridge.

I said I was.

"He'll tell them I was too ashamed to show my face," I said. "He'll tell them Ironpine is hiding me in a cellar."

"Let him."

"I've let him say things for two years."

At eleven-thirty the next morning, Wyatt carried me to his truck.

I told him I could walk.

He said, "Not today," and that was the end of it.

He set me in the passenger seat with a pillow behind my back and the healer's wool blanket over my knees.

The duffel bag stayed locked in his office.

When we came out of the trees at the Ironpine end of the bridge, the whole riverbank was full of wolves.

Ironpine's side was quiet.

Fifty or sixty of them stood in the grass along the bank, some in their skins, some in their furs. Nobody spoke.

Across the water, the Redmoor bank was louder.

Trucks were parked along the river road with their doors open.

I saw the gray pickup, its front bumper dented.

I saw my father's black truck.

I saw a white SUV I knew too well, with someone small and blonde in the passenger seat.

Wyatt parked at the end of the bridge.

He got out and came around and opened my door.

"You stay in the truck," he said.

I got out of the truck.

He sighed through his nose and gave me his arm.

We walked out onto the bridge together, as far as the white line.

On the other side of it, Garrett was waiting.

He stood in the middle of the bridge in a clean black coat with my father at his shoulder and six warriors behind them.

He had shaved.

He looked rested.

"There she is," he said. "Walking fine, I see. So much for bleeding."

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