Chapter 7: The Vows

They came through Hartfell's gate on the second afternoon in a covered carriage with the Falk crest on the door.

Gudrun stepped out first, wrapped in grey fox fur, and held out both hands to me.

"Ylva, my darling," she said. "You look well. Fatter."

"Stepmother," I said.

I did not take her hands.

Behind her, Vigdis climbed down in white fur and white boots, with her pale hair braided down her back.

She looked at the keep, at the wolves in the courtyard, and at the man standing at the top of the steps.

Her whole face changed.

I had seen that look before, on the night of the feast, when she had looked at Brage.

Brage came last, in a green velvet coat, smiling his easy smile.

"Ylva," he said. "You're not at all what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Weeping, I suppose. A scar or two."

"Scars I'm told are fashionable here," I said.

Torin came down the steps slowly.

He wore a plain black coat, and his silver braid hung over one shoulder.

Vigdis made a small, soft sound, and I heard her breath catch from ten feet away.

"Alpha Torin," Gudrun said, sinking into a curtsey.

"How kind of you to receive us. We come only to bless the marriage and see our girl settled."

"The marriage has not been made," Torin said.

Gudrun's eyes sharpened.

"It will be this afternoon," he said.

"Envoys from three packs are already here for the Moot. They will stand witness. You are welcome to stay for it."

I turned my head and stared at him.

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