Chapter 11

Forty wolves held their breath. I looked at the moonstone in his palm. At the empty chair beside the head of the table. Carved obsidian. Silver inlay. A cushion someone else had warmed for seven years. Once, I would have crawled across broken glass for that chair. I took the moonstone from his hand. His breath caught. Hope flooded his face so fast it was painful to watch. I walked to the table and laid the stone on the empty seat. "Give it to someone who needs it," I said. Then I turned,...