CHAPTER 14:THE GARDEN

I climb the dark basement stairs with my hand clamped hard over the left side of my neck, right under the heavy collar of my black cloak. The skin stings and throbs with every beat of my pulse. A thin smear of red has transferred to my thumb, and I wipe it quietly away against the inner lining of the wool. Underneath the heavy cloak, the sheer white off-shoulder gown rests directly over my own thick black mini gown. The heavier fabric scratches roughly against my thighs as I move, a steady, grounding reminder that I am armored underneath.

The service corridors are unusually quiet. Maids flatten themselves flat against the grey stone walls as I pass, their eyes wide, their breaths held until I clear the hallway. Greta stands in the doorway of the linen room with her arms crossed over her chest, a smug, venomous grin twisting her lips as she watches me approach. She thinks the paper-thin white gown is about to expose me completely to the pack.

"She's actually walking in there," a maid hisses from behind a pillar.

"Let her," Greta murmurs low, her voice dripping with malicious satisfaction.

Let them think this is the walk of the condemned. My bare feet make no sound against the cold flagstones, and my hand stays firmly clamped to my throat as I count every step in my head to keep my breathing even.

I push open the heavy wrought-iron door leading out into the manor garden.

The morning air hits my face like a wall of ice. In the center of the gravel courtyard, the three senior elders of Shadow Glint sit behind a long, dark oak table draped in black wool. Elder Osric Vane sits in the middle, his stern, measured face carved from granite, his striking grey hair the only visible sign of his long decades. To his left, Elder Thessaly Marr wrinkles her sharp nose as if smelling something rotten, and to his right, Elder Garrick Dunn leans back lazily, heavy and visibly bored by the proceedings.

A few paces away stand Tristan and Victoria. Tristan wears a carefully crafted expression of grave, wounded dignity, though his eyes slide toward me with a sharp flicker of hidden triumph. Victoria presses a delicate hand flat against her chest, pretending to grieve, and dabs delicately beneath her eye with a dry, pristine handkerchief.

"Aurora Grey. Come forward," Osric commands.

I walk across the freezing gravel, barefoot and silent, keeping my black cloak pulled tightly shut at my throat.

"It has reached this council that you were seen with a rogue," Osric says, his deep voice carrying easily across the open courtyard. "Last night, no one could find you anywhere on pack grounds."

Garrick shifts his weight lazily against his chair. "A room was found torn apart, blood on the floor, and your scent on everything in it."

Victoria lowers her handkerchief slightly, her voice trembling with artificial sorrow. "We searched all night. I didn't want to believe it."

Tristan places a hand over his heart, his voice heavy. "I still don't."

Osric turns the full, crushing weight of his stare upon me. "You have heard the charge. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

I stand motionless, the gravel biting into the soles of my feet. I keep my jaw locked.

"No, Elder," I say, my voice steady in the cold air. "I have nothing to say in my defense."

Thessaly leans forward, her eyes narrowing. "Nothing?"

"You've already decided what you'll see," I reply quietly. "I won't beg for a different answer."

My fingernails dig deep into my palms beneath the folds of the cloak, and my knees tremble, but I keep my chin level. Victoria stops dabbing her eye altogether. Tristan's brow creases in sudden confusion, because this is not the broken girl who cries.

"Show us your neck," Osric orders coldly.

I reach up. My fingers do not shake as I unfasten the metal clasp at my throat.

The heavy black cloak slides off my shoulders and falls with a dull thud onto the cold gravel. The sheer white gown is as paper-thin as Victoria designed it to be, but beneath it, the thick black mini gown hugs my frame. Nothing is exposed to the freezing morning air except my bare shoulders, my collarbones, and my neck.

Victoria's triumphant smile dies instantly on her lips, her jaw going slack. Tristan’s eyes drop straight to my skin, and so do the elders'.

Absolute silence falls over the garden. Every single eye in the courtyard locks onto the left side of my neck.