It was the first time Queen Raisa had left her rooms since the day she was poisoned. Magret Gray and Titus Gryphon had carried her in on a litter and set her down in a chair. She was wrapped in upland furs, covered in clan-made blankets, her pale face wearing a fierce expression that said, Still a wolf.
Participants could be distinguished from witnesses by their degree of nervousness. Hadley was as fearless as anyone Ash knew, but she stood, hands clenched, mumbling words under her breath, practicing. Speaker Jemson and Captain Byrne stood to either side of a small table bearing the regalia, which included a stone basin, a knife, a crystal bottle, and a silver goblet.
Ash shivered. Lately, it seemed that his life was one blood ritual after another.
“Welcome,” Speaker Jemson said, hauling Ash back to the present. “I apologize for the hour, but it was important that we do this without alerting any enemies of the Line. Tonight, we will celebrate not one but two milestones. Hopefully that will make it worth disturbing your sleep.” He paused, but nobody laughed; so he went on.
“We will begin with the binding ritual, a ceremony that is at least a thousand years old. It has occurred on a battlefield, at a roadside inn, inside a prison, and aboard ship. Believe it or not, this is the largest group ever assembled for the purpose. The essentials are a willing soldier, the blood of the line, soil from the mountain home, and a speaker of the Old Church. Up to now, the ceremony has been held in secret—even from the royal family—and the willing soldier has always been a Byrne.”
Talbot licked her lips, as if worried that she might be declared unworthy at the last minute.
Jemson smiled at her. “But times change, secrets are revealed, and traditions deserve examination. Perilous times require a certain . . . flexibility of practice and an agility of mind and spirit. We began descending this slippery slope, as some would say, with Captain Amon Byrne, who was bound to the princess heir Raisa ana’Marianna before she was crowned queen, and before his father, Edon Byrne, had passed away. This was done because then-princess Raisa was in danger. We continued this practice with Princess Hanalea, when Simon Byrne was bound to her.”
Jemson looked to Captain Byrne, who said, “Now Hana is dead, and Simon is dead, the Line is in grave danger, and there is a need for a new guardian. This time, it seems that the best candidate to perform this service to the line is not a Byrne, but Corporal Sasha Talbot.”
Talbot’s cheeks pinked up, but she kept her eyes on the floor.
“We have brought you all together to serve as witnesses. Going forward, you will hold the memory of what we do here, and be ready to testify to it if need be.” He looked around the circle. “Are you willing to be the memory of the realm?”
“We are,” the chorus came back.
“Corporal Talbot,” Jemson said, “are you willing to be bound forever to the line of Gray Wolf queens that began with Hanalea?”
“Yes, sir,” Talbot said, bringing her fist to her heart.
“Bare your arm, Corporal,” Jemson said, picking up the knife.
Talbot did, scraping back her sleeve. Jemson ran the tip of the blade down her forearm so that the blood welled up and dripped into the stone basin.
Now the speaker held up the stoppered bottle. “Behold the blood of the line,” he said. He didn’t specify whose.
Do they keep Lyss’s blood on hand, just in case? Ash thought. Is it our mother’s blood? Or does it go all the way back to Hanalea? He couldn’t seem to shut down his scientist mind.
Jemson spoke more words over the bottle, pulled the stopper, and tipped a small amount into the bowl. Lifting it, he swirled the contents together.
As the ceremony continued, Ash thought of all the bound captains since Hanalea, all the secret ceremonies held with one purpose—to protect the Line and assure that it continued into the future.
I’m bound to the Line by blood, too, he thought. I will not see it end while I live and breathe.
Ash’s amulet warmed against his skin. More and more, he was hearing his father’s voice again, though he’d not yet achieved the kind of meeting his father’d had with Alger Waterlow, their ancestor. He hoped, with practice, he would be able to see his father again in Aediion—that meeting place between worlds. Again, he heard his father’s voice.
You don’t get what you don’t go after.
Jemson poured the contents of the bowl into the silver cup, then held the cup out to Talbot. Talbot wrapped both hands around it, knuckles white, as if afraid she might spill it on the way to her mouth.
“Sasha Talbot, we ask of you this thing, that you be bound to the Gray Wolf line of queens, and, specifically, to the blood and issue of Alyssa ana’Raisa, Princess Heir of the Fells. You will swear that her blood is your blood, that you will protect her and her line until death takes you. Will you?”
“I will,” Talbot said, her voice strong and forceful, despite her jitters.
“Then drink to signify.”
Tilting her head back, Talbot drained the cup, then staggered backward, all but toppling over. Captain Byrne seemed ready for that. He grabbed her arm to steady her, deftly plucking the cup from her grip before it fell. She put her hands over her ears, her eyes wide and panicked, an array of emotions tracking across her face.
“You’ll learn to shut it out,” Byrne said, “and filter it, so you only take in what’s useful.” He glanced around, as if self-conscious at having these long-held secrets exposed in front of an audience.
Gradually, Talbot seemed to find her footing, resuming her
