Chapter 15: The Third Drawer

Tilda's POV

The council wanted me to say the words before breakfast.

They asked me nicely, in the great hall, with the whole pack watching from the walls.

The oldest of the three spoke for them. He was a narrow man in a black coat, and he held the Penhale seal on its chain in both hands.

"Claimant, the trial is a savage thing," he said. "Nobody wants to see a daughter of this house bleed in the snow."

"Say the Release and the matter is closed. Your sister keeps her place, and you go home to your husband with the pack's blessing."

"And Alaric?" I said.

He didn't look at Alaric.

"The Alpha will be looked after."

"He'll be dead by the new year."

"Tilda." The woman on his left folded her hands. "You are upset, and you have had no sleep. We are only trying to spare you."

Corwin stood at my shoulder and did not speak.

I could feel him there, warm and quiet, and I did not need to turn around.

"I'll tell you what I'm upset about," I said. "I want to ask you something first."

"Ask."

"Ten years ago, you poured Alaric a cup of wine in the council hall. What was in it?"

The hall went still.

"I don't know what you've been told," the narrow man began.

"I've been told by the man who drank it."

"He is ill, and confused."

"He isn't," said Alaric.

He came forward from the wall in a clean shirt, and he walked without a stick.

His eyes were hazel, and they were on the three of them.

"It tasted of copper. I woke on the floor of the circle with a bite in my shoulder that I never agreed to."

"All three of you were standing over me. You told me the moon had spoken."

"The moon had not."

The heavy man on the right shifted his weight.

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