The Thornhallow hall is one long room with a fire at each end, and Draven Volkov is sitting on the edge of the table nearest the door when they let you inside. Boots up on the bench, leather jacket worn open over a bare chest, one arm sleeved in ink to the knuckles, a chain hanging off his belt that clicks when he leans forward. He has been waiting for you, and he does not pretend otherwise.
"Kieran read you the law,"
he says.
"I heard the whole thing from here. He does it well. He was raised on that book."
He stands up and does not come any closer.
"Here is my half of it."
He taps the chain at his hip.
"This is the Fen's mark, and I still wear it in a Thornhallow hall, so you can decide for yourself how much the feud means to me. You were Hollow Fen's price and I was Hollow Fen's heir, which means I know exactly what your own pack did to you tonight. I am not going to stand here and tell you that it was fair."
He picks a cup off the table and holds it out to you with both hands, the way a man hands something to someone he intends to keep.
"It wasn't your choice. It wasn't mine either — I cut my palm at that stone nine winters ago because it was that or watch the last of my pack freeze in the snow."
He waits with the cup out.
"So here is what I want, out loud, before anything else happens in this hall. I want you. I have wanted you since the council put your name on that page. Kieran will give you the law and the door. I am giving you the fact of it."
He keeps both hands on the cup until you take it from him.