Chapter Seven The Witness Who Lies #2
“For refusing to memorize Davra’s lie? For standing at Red Creek? For breaking a man’s wrist when he tried to take Willa? For not pretending my mother struck me out of concern? Which offense is being forgiven?”
Kalen’s horse shifted.
Davra said, “Selka, your distress has been used.”
Selka smiled.
It was a terrible smile.
Willa liked it.
“Yes. Repeatedly. I am becoming educated.”
Riksa muttered, “Good.”
Davra’s voice thinned. “A completed mate bond cannot heal while its female is held among enemies.”
Selka flinched.
There.
The strike.
Not at Willa this time.
At the sour bond under Selka’s skin.
Willa felt Torren’s anger flare and recognized something of her own in it. Davra’s words were always hands. Clean hands. Careful hands. Reaching for the sore place.
Selka swayed once.
Anis caught her elbow.
Kalen’s voice sharpened. “Selka?”
Selka swallowed.
For one moment Willa thought she would retreat.
Then Selka spoke.
“My completed bond did not heal inside Frostmere.”
Silence.
The words did not roar.
They cut.
Selka’s voice steadied.
“My completed bond did not heal in Marr House. It did not sweeten because my mother approved it. It did not strengthen because Davra wrote the rite cleanly. If Marek Vale wishes to speak to me, he can do so in a witnessed room after Arlen Saff is breathing strongly enough to say who tried to make his blood into road policy.”
Willa heard Hessa inhale.
So did Davra, probably.
Good.
Kalen snapped, “You speak beyond yourself.”
Selka’s eyes flashed.
“I am beginning to.”
Oh.
Willa’s throat tightened.
The mark pulsed with something fierce and warm.
Torren’s pride? Hers? Hessa’s? Perhaps Pike Hollow itself had a scent now.
Davra changed tactics.
“Mistress Orla. If Red Creek refuses entry to peace witness, Frostmere will record that refusal.”
Orla replied, “Record your closed gate first.”
“Closed gate?”
“The lower pass. Twelve years ago. Frostmere closed a road and Pike Hollow families died. Today, Red Creek closes a gate and a Bluebank scout lives. Record with care.”
Red Creek’s yard went so silent even the horses beyond the gate seemed to stop moving.
Willa looked at Orla.
The old woman stood straight, hands folded, face calm and merciless.
Davra said nothing.
Not because she had no answer.
Because every possible answer had witnesses.
Then Kalen spoke.
“If Pike Hollow truly found the scout alive, let him be produced.”
Miri surged forward. “He is not a sack of grain.”
Kalen ignored her.
“Let him speak. Let him say whether Alpha Pike harmed him.”
Torren’s hand flexed.
Willa felt rage surge again, but this time it was cleaner.
Kalen wanted Torren angry.
Badly.
A bloodied alpha lunging at a shut gate while Frostmere asked for witness would do nicely.
Torren did not lunge.
He smiled instead.
Willa had seen that smile at enemies.
She would not recommend receiving it.
“Open the small gate,” he said to Orla.
Willa turned sharply.
“Torren.”
“Not for them.”
His eyes stayed on the wood.
“For the lie.”
Orla considered him.
Then gestured.
Two Red Creek wolves moved to a narrow side-hatch built into the larger gate, the sort used to pass messages, buckets, or possibly insults.
They opened it.
Not wide enough for a person.
Wide enough for sight.
Outside, Davra sat tall on a gray mare, white braid over one shoulder, Frostmere cloak immaculate despite spring mud. Kalen Marr sat beside her in red-brown riding leathers. Four Frostmere riders waited behind them.
Davra’s eyes found Willa’s mark immediately.
Even partly hidden by scarf, it seemed to draw her like blood drew wolves.
Then her gaze moved to Torren’s clean hands.
Willa saw the flicker.
Disappointment.
Good.
Torren stepped into view of the hatch.
No blood on his hands.
No snarl.
No grief naked enough for her to dress in her own language.
“You want a witness?” he asked.
Davra’s face smoothed.
“I want peace.”
“No.”
Red Creek wolves shifted at the flatness.
Torren continued, “You want first words near an injured man before his own breath returns. You want my hands bloodied. You want Frostmere standing in Red Creek’s hall so later you can say Red Creek agreed the story was uncertain.”
Davra’s expression did not move.
But Kalen’s did.
Just enough.
Willa saw it.
So did Selka.
“And,” Torren said, voice lowering, “you want to say Redjaw beside my father’s mark before I have seen enough to answer exactly.”
The last word moved through Willa’s mark like struck iron.
Exact.
Davra’s eyes narrowed by a hair.
“Then you admit the mark is there.”
“Yes.”
Willa’s breath caught.
Torren’s voice did not change.
“Redjaw. My father’s. Frostmere tally cuts beneath both. All recorded by Red Creek, Bluebank, and Pike Hollow. Arlen Saff found the first two before someone took him. We found the third before you arrived to preserve witness.”
Davra went still.
Not visibly shaken.
But still.
Kalen looked at her.
That was better than any gasp.
Willa wanted to kiss Torren then and there.
The mark warmed dangerously.
Torren’s eyes flicked to hers.
Not now, she thought.
His mouth almost moved.
Davra recovered.
“Frostmere tally cuts? An accusation added in mud and panic.”
Orla stepped into view.
“In stone. Under moss. Witnessed before you sounded your horn.”
“By Pike Hollow allies.”
“By Red Creek.”
“Red Creek shelters Pike Hollow’s account.”
Orla smiled.
“Today, yes. It is warmer inside than at the gate.”
Hessa laughed under her breath.
Willa decided she loved every old woman in the north who made powerful people stand outside.
Then the distant sound of hooves and poles came from the east trail.
The litter.
Miri turned.
All humor died.
Riksa moved first, already issuing orders.
“Clear the hall. No crowding. Miri, you stand where he can see you. Orla, if anyone tries to ask him questions before I say his lungs remember being lungs, hit them with something civic.”
“Gladly.”
Davra’s eyes sharpened beyond the hatch.