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I had always thought it was a stag.
Near the end of the memorandum, one paragraph had been underlined twice in pencil.
It must be understood that a Wildheart bonded to the Elders of several Kindred would render those Houses answerable to it, and not to this Council. The risk to the Council's authority is intolerable.
I read it again.
Not dangerous.
Intolerable.
They hadn't erased Wildhearts because they feared what we might become.
They had erased us because we threatened their authority.
A page of bond law was clipped behind the memorandum. I almost passed over it, until one line stopped me.
A rejection ends a bond only where it is meant in the heart. A rejection spoken falsely binds nothing, and the bond endures, however long, until it is either Claimed or truly severed.
My eyes caught on four words.
Meant in the heart.
The courtyard came back all at once.
His eyes fixed above my head. The glance toward the east windows before he spoke. His hand moving toward me even as he rejected me.
The roses with every thorn left on.
The handkerchief.
The phone snapped in half.
His face in the rear-view mirror, his hands locked around the steering wheel hard enough to split the leather.
And his voice.
I rejected you to keep you alive.
Three months, and the bond had never broken.
Now I knew why. He hadn't meant it.
I covered my mouth, but there was no time to sit with that. Ronan's brand was still burning.
I turned the page.
The third box held a single sheet.
The Hollowing, carried by the Council of Iron, eight votes to one.
At the bottom, in the same small, spiky handwriting as the letter that had summoned me to Ironmoor:
Dissenting: O. Brannock, Flight.
Oda.
She had been the only one.
