The Guest List

LYRA'S POV 

They move me at dawn. I overheard Ashford tell his man we would leave before moonrise, so he changed the plan, and I think he did it to remind me that he can.

The car is long and black and smells like leather and cedar. Nobody blindfolds me. That worries me more than a blindfold would, because it means he isn't afraid of what I'll remember. I watch the road and memorize the turns anyway, out of habit. It doesn't help. I don't know where I would run to.

I keep thinking about the video. I said those words to Kael's face, or to the camera that would carry them to him. I told him the bond was a mistake and that he should stop looking for me. Part of me hopes he believes it, because then he might stop and save his strength. The rest of me knows that if he believes it, I did that to him on purpose.

He told me he would put me somewhere I couldn't survive if I tried anything again. He hasn't. He has put me somewhere comfortable, which is worse in its own way.

The sun is fully up when the gates open. The house is made of pale stone, with a wide lawn and men standing at the corners who pretend not to look at me. This is Thornfield territory, or the part of it Ashford keeps for himself. Nothing about it looks like a place where people get hurt, and I think that is deliberate.

An older woman in a grey cardigan meets us at the door, with her hair pinned back so tightly it looks painful.

"This is Ines, the housekeeper," Ashford says, the way you would introduce a chair. "She'll bring you meals and anything you ask for."

Ines doesn't look at him. She nods to me once. The guards stare at me like I'm a problem they were handed. She doesn't, and I notice the difference.

My room is on the second floor. The window doesn't open, and the bathroom door has no lock. A garment bag hangs on the wardrobe door.

"For the gathering," Ashford says from the doorway. "You'll want to look like you belong."

"What gathering?"

"The one in our deal." He sounds almost fond. "You asked what I wanted for letting go of the claim. A week, and a public relinquishment. The old law requires it to be witnessed by allied packs, in person, in the open. So I've invited them." He checks his watch like we're discussing a dinner reservation. "Six days from now."

That is the ceremony that is supposed to stop the curse. If he really gives me up in front of witnesses, Kael stops dying. If he doesn't, Kael has nothing left to wait for. Ashford said days, maybe a week, back when he thought I couldn't hear him. He chose the far end of that on purpose, and I don't know if Kael can last it.

"Does Kael know about the gathering?" I ask.

"He opened your video eleven minutes after it was sent. Twice, I'm told." Ashford lets that sit. "He hasn't replied, which is wise. He hasn't stopped looking either, which is not. I do admire stubbornness, in small amounts."

I don't give him a reaction. The cold spot on my arm has spread past my wrist since yesterday, and I think the curse is getting stronger. I keep my sleeve down.

An hour later he takes me on a tour like I'm a guest who might leave a review.

The great hall is on the ground floor, a long room with a high ceiling and rows of chairs already set out, though nobody is here yet. At the front is a low platform with two high-backed chairs.

"Mine," he says, touching the left one. "And yours."

"Why do I have to sit next to you? You're giving up the claim. That's the deal."

"It is," he says. "I'll keep my word. You'll see."

That isn't an answer, and he knows it. He told me I would belong to him in every way that matters, even after he gives up the claim. I don't know what he plans to do in front of those packs, and I hate that he wants me beside him while he does it.

He offers his arm. I don't take it. He smiles as though I've done something sweet, and before I can step back he reaches over and straightens my collar, like a man fixing a crooked picture. My skin crawls where his fingers were. I make myself stand still, because I know what happens when I don't.

"The dress will help," he says.

A printed list lies on the table beside the platform, names in tidy columns, like a wedding seating chart. I tell myself not to look. I look. Redmoor. Ashgrove. Two pack names I half remember from my father's dinner parties. Then, at the head table, two seats from mine:

Hillman Vale, Ironvale.

Vale is my real name. Cole was the name I gave Kael in the cave, the one he smelled as a lie, and I never told him the true one. Ironvale is my father's pack, the one I ran from. His name is printed in clean black ink, next to the chair that will be mine.

"He accepted within the hour," Ashford says behind me. "He was very eager to attend."