Chapter 21: Black at the Edges

The healer took the cup from my hands.

She sniffed it once, and her whole face tightened.

"Aconite," she said. "It's strong. Whoever mixed this wanted it fast."

Nobody on the ridge moved.

"This is chamomile," Ingrid said. Her voice cracked on the first word. "I made it for her myself. She's twisting it."

"Then you won't mind," said the heavy elder with the white mustache, "if the Council smells it."

He took the cup from the healer.

He breathed in, and he went grey.

He passed it to the elder on Gunnar's left, a thin woman in a wool hat, who smelled it and shut her eyes.

She passed it to the third, who didn't need to smell it.

"I know that one," he said quietly. "My dog died of it when I was a boy."

The heavy elder turned to Gunnar.

"You told us she was a danger to the Luna," he said. "I'd like to know which of these two girls is the danger."

"This is theatre," Gunnar said.

He still sounded gentle, but his knuckles had gone white around the jar.

"Torin," Anders said. "Give me the book."

Torin took the black ledger from inside his coat and handed it to his brother.

Anders held it up to the moon.

"Gunnar Hauge keeps his household accounts in this," he said. "My brother found it in his bottom drawer, locked."

He opened it.

"I'll read the entry for October, two winters ago."

"That's a forgery," Gunnar said.

"Then it's a good one, because it's in your handwriting."

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