Chapter 7

Noa’s POV

“Hey, Bread Girl,” said the she-wolf in the doorway. “Is there any left, or did you eat it all?”

I didn’t look up from the oven. “Good morning, Dana.”

“It’s noon.”

“Then good afternoon.”

I had been awake since four. The Ironwood kitchen was a low stone room with a great black wood oven older than the house, brass pots hanging from the beams, and a scarred table that could seat thirty. It smelled like heaven. It also made my shoulders ache, my knees wobble, and my eyes burn. Healing Asher had cost me. Every inch of poison I drew out of him had left a little cold ache inside me, and I felt about a hundred years old.

But the bread was rising. So I was fine.

Dana Marks leaned on the frame with her arms crossed. She was tall, tanned, and beautiful in the way of a person who’s never been told she isn’t. Two friends hovered behind her, whispering.

“I only ask,” said Dana, “because there’s a winter ball coming. And we’re a little worried they don’t make dresses in your size.”

The whispering turned into giggles.

I set down the loaf. I wiped my hands on my apron, slowly and very carefully. Then I turned around and smiled.

“Dana. Do you like bread?”

“What?”

“It’s a simple question.”

“I, sure.”

“Do you like it a lot?”

“I guess.”

“Then you should be very nice to me.” I smiled wider. “Because I’m the only baker in this house, and I hold the key to the pantry.”

Her mouth opened. Closed.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’m just saying, it would be a terrible shame if the bread went stale on the way to your table.”

One of her friends made a small choking sound. Dana’s cheeks went red.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m well fed.”

She flounced out. Her friends scurried after her. The moment they turned the corner, I sagged against the table and let out a shaky laugh.

“Wow,” said a small voice from under the table. “You’re really brave.”

I bent down.

Two little faces peered up at me from the shadows. A boy of about seven, with a gap in his teeth, and a girl a year younger, with two dark braids. They had flour on their noses and guilty looks.

“How long have you two been under there?”

“Since you started the loaves,” said the boy.

“Did you take any?”

“No,” said the girl, lying.

I reached under the table, pulled out a warm roll, and put it in her hand. “Try again.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m Yosef,” the boy offered. “That’s Lily. My knee hurts sometimes from when I fell out of a tree. But after the roll it stops. Is that magic?”

“It’s yeast.”

“I think it’s magic.”

“I think you might be right.”

They ran off giggling with a roll each, and I stood there smiling like an idiot.

~

Micah found me at one.

“He’s in with the council,” he said, sliding onto a stool. “He said to tell you it’s been quiet. Nobody’s noticed anything.”

“Good.”

“He also said thank you.”

“He can say it himself.”

“I think he’s afraid to.”

I passed him a thick slice of warm bread and butter. He ate it in three bites and shut his eyes.

“That,” he said, “is why I’d die for you.”

“Eat slower.”

“I can’t. I have a wolf.” He wiped his fingers. “About the doctor. Asher wants you to keep your distance. If Simon Vane sees you know, we lose the only advantage we have.”

“So we pretend.”

“So we pretend.”

“I’m a great pretender.”

“I noticed. Dana’s never going to bake again.”

The kitchen door opened.

A tall, gentle man in a gray suit stepped in with a tray in his hands. Sixty, with white hair, tired kind eyes, and a black doctor’s bag on his shoulder. He gave me a soft smile.

“Miss Bennett? Simon Vane. I’m the pack physician. I heard you’d arrived. I brought tea. I wanted to say welcome.”

Everything in me went cold.

The smell hit me before he’d taken two steps. It was faint. Almost nothing. A metallic ghost under the lavender soap and the leather and the mint on his breath. But I knew it. I had breathed it in the hallway at two in the morning with my hands on Asher’s ribs.

Silver.

“That’s kind,” I said. My voice came out warm and steady. I have no idea how. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Please, Simon.”

“Simon.” I took the tray. Our fingers didn’t touch. “It’s nice to meet a friendly face.”

“We are all friends here.” He glanced at Micah. “Aren’t we, Beta?”

“Absolutely,” said Micah, in a voice like a closed door.

Simon smiled and bowed slightly, and left.

The door swung shut. I set down the tray. My hands started to shake.

“That was him.”

“I know.”

“I could smell it on his sleeve, Micah.”

“I know. Don’t touch the tea.”

I laughed. It was a very small, very frightened laugh. Then I picked up the cup and poured it into the sink.

~

At three, Leah Vane came in with an armload of firewood.

“I thought you might need this,” she said, and set it beside the oven. She didn’t leave. She stood with her hands twisted together, looking at the floor. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For my family.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I said, “Sit down.”

She did. I gave her bread. She ate a piece slowly, like it was a very holy thing, and her shoulders fell.

“I want you to know,” she said, “that I’m not your enemy. I told Asher so on the roof. My father wants a wedding. I want a farm and forty goats. But my father is not a gentle man, and Uncle Simon does what he says. And now there’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been planning a scheme for a very long time.” She lifted her eyes. “I don’t know what. I only know he’s been waiting for a Hearth Wolf for years. He kept the Charter in a locked drawer.”

Before I could answer, the kitchen door swung open a third time.

Councilor Reuben Vane stood in the frame in his cardigan, mild-eyed and smiling, like a man about to hand out prizes.

“Miss Bennett,” he said. “What a delight. I hope you’re settling in.”

“Councilor.”

“Please. Reuben.” He glanced at his daughter. “Leah, dear, run along.”

Leah stood. Her face went blank as a plate. She squeezed my shoulder once and walked out without a word.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Vane said pleasantly. “Only to extend an invitation. The council would like to see a demonstration of your gift. Tomorrow, at moonrise. In the great hall. All the pack will attend.”

“A demonstration.”

“A modest one. There is an Elder in our house, Gideon Stone, the Alpha’s grandfather. He’s lain sick for many years. If you can help him, we’ll know you’re what the moon says you are.” His smile widened. “If you cannot, well. The Charter gives the council certain rights over false claims.”

“What rights?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, my dear. Simply a matter of housing.”

Housing. In a cell, he meant.

I looked at Micah. Micah looked at the ceiling.

“I accept,” I said.

“Wonderful.” Vane clasped his hands. “I’ll have Simon make the arrangements.”

He left. The door closed. The kitchen went so quiet, I could hear the oven ticking.

“Noa,” Micah said, low. “You don’t have to go along with this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’ll be walking into a trap.”

“I know.” I grabbed a shawl. “But if Asher’s grandfather is the only one who knows what this poison really is, I want to talk to him first.”

~

The Elder’s room was at the top of the north tower.

It was dark and hot and smelled of medicine. A bed like a ship, a candle on a table, an old man asleep among a mountain of pillows. Gideon Stone had once been a giant. I could see it in the width of his shoulders, the long bones of his hands. Now he was pale as paper and thin as a broom.

I sat beside him. I took his hand.

His eyelids fluttered.

“You’re late,” he whispered.

I jumped.

His eyes opened. They were gold, shockingly bright in that wasted face. They fixed on me with a fierce, clear light.

“I’ve been waiting for you three years, little Hearth.”

“Sir. I...”

“Listen.” His fingers closed on mine with a strength I didn’t expect. “They will ask you to heal me tomorrow. Before the pack. They’ll call it a test.”

“Yes.”

“Do not give me everything.”

“What?”

“Whatever they ask. Whatever they say.” His whisper cracked. His nails bit into my palm.

“Save some for my grandson. Because Reuben Vane doesn’t want me healed.”

The candle guttered.

“He wants you empty.”