Chapter 7 — Ink
Vanessa Pierce placed her hand on the oath-stone as if she were accepting a dance.
She had dressed for grief — high collar, gray silk gone thin at the seams — and she had been crying just enough to shine. Five years of rehearsal stood on that dais with her, and Sierra, watching from the high seat, had to admire the craft. The pack below was ready to tear a Pierce apart. By the third sentence, Vanessa had some of them pitying her.
"I was nineteen," she told the red moon, voice trembling like a plucked string. "Our Alpha was dead. My father said the proof was certain. What was I supposed to believe?"
"Then let us speak of proof," Orin said. "The wolfsbane vials. Did you place them in Sierra Bennett's chamber?"
"The vials were found in her chamber." Her hand lay flat and
