Chapter 14: The Betrothal Feast

The elders of the Iron Clan sat at the right hand of the king, six old wolves in dark wool, and every one of them watched Rowena eat.

I stood behind the wine table with a pitcher and watched them watch.

The one in the middle was a woman with white braids down to her waist and a face.

The others leaned toward her when they spoke.

Rowena sat at the king's left with the shawl high around her throat and Dane at her side in his dress coat.

He stood as rigid and grim as stone.

"My lord Ardent," the king said, and the hall went quiet. "Say the words."

Dane stood.

He turned to Rowena and took her hand, and I felt every muscle in him go rigid through the thread in my chest.

"I will stand beside you at the Moon Rite," he said, "and at the next full moon I will be your husband."

His voice didn't shake.

His heart did.

It slammed in my own ribs, and I put the pitcher down before my fingers could crack it.

Rowena lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles.

She looked straight across the hall at me while she did it.

"Wine, girl," she said.

I walked up the length of the hall, and the whole room turned to watch the seamstress cross it.

I poured for the king, and for Rowena.

I poured for Dane, and he didn't look at me, and I felt him not looking.

Then I went to the elders.

I did the white-braided woman last.

She watched my wrist as I tipped the pitcher.

My sleeve had ridden up, and under my nails the pale curve of a claw showed, new and silver.

Her nostrils flared once.

"Cardross," she said, so quietly the wine barely trembled.

"My mother sewed, my lady," I said. "That's all."

"Your mother sewed a great deal."

She lifted her cup.

"Kitchen yard, after the second bell. Come alone."

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