Chapter 5
Fern
Marin led her down another flight of narrow stone stairs, the air growing colder with each step until the warmth of the upper halls and the wolfkin that had carried her were no more.
The sleeping quarters opened before them in a long, low chamber half-sunk beneath the castle earth. Narrow windows lined the uppermost stretch of one wall, little more than slits set so high they admitted only pale bands of daylight and gave no view of the world beyond.
Rows of iron cots filled the space, each fitted with a thin straw mattress and a folded gray blanket at its foot. At the far end, a broad stone hearth burned low, its heat struggling to reach the furthest beds.
Beyond that, the room held nothing. No rugs softened the floors. No tapestries broke up the blank sweep of stone walls. No personal touches lingered to suggest comfort or belonging.
It was a place where people were merely stored.
“This one’s available,” Marin said, tapping a bed far from the fireplace. How she could tell them apart was a mystery to Fern. “We wake before dawn to prepare breakfast and go to bed when the kitchens are clean, usually after midnight. Later if there’s been a feast.”
Fern’s eyes widened just a touch. Late nights were nothing new, but their tavern hours kept her family sleeping well past sunrise. Waking that early was going to be a challenge, and she was already preparing herself for the inevitable exhaustion.
“We eat meals together, before the Lurvekh. If you wish to bathe, you can do so back here.”
Marin pushed open the heavy wooden door at the other end of the sleeping quarters, and a rush of damp, chilled air met Fern’s skin.
At the center of the dimly-lit room lay a sunken pool fed by a narrow spring that burst from the rock face itself, pouring in a clear silver stream.
One glance told her it would be freezing.
“Buckets and soap there,” she added, gesturing to them in the corner. Then she turned around, snapping her fingers for Fern to follow.
She was shown where to get her clothes, where to leave them for the washing, and then was left back in the sleeping quarters.
“Be ready tomorrow,” Marin said, about to leave. “You’ll find little sympathy for Solvekh who can’t keep up.”
She was already halfway out the door when Fern yelled out, “Wait!”
Marin turned around impatiently.
“Is there… something I can do? In my free time? Perhaps a library or gardens or…”
“Free time?” she barked with a laugh. “We have no free time. Alpha Darion has already shown uncommon indulgence in granting you this day of rest. Do not expect such favors again.”
And then she shut the door, the echo hitting off the walls and ringing longer than she’d thought possible.
She looked around the room once more, taking stock of her new life.
Work from dawn ‘til after midnight. Bathe in cold water. No free time. Itchy uniforms and itchier blankets.
From now until death.
Fern sat down on a cot—she already couldn’t remember which one was hers—too shocked to even cry.
Why had the alpha even bothered to bring her here? Was the effort it took to go to Freywood, her village, and carry her back by foot really worth having another slave to serve drinks?
She would not refer to herself as a servant. Or Solvekh. This was slavery.
Fern took off her boots and lay down, trying and failing to sleep while she could, for knowing it would be her last bit of “indulgence” made it difficult to enjoy.
So instead, she watched the sliver of sky she could see through the small, high windows, noting the passing of time through the changing shadows and shafts of light that pierced the dark room.
A crackle had her remember the fireplace, and while she was supposed to be resting, she didn’t want to seem useless, and tending a fire was the least she could do.
She rose to throw a few more logs in when she caught sight of a blanket on the floor, folded up like the others but without a cot or mattress.
It seemed too intentional to have been simply dropped there by accident, and Fern chewed her lip as she vacillated between picking it up or leaving it be.
A chorus of voices grew louder from outside the room, and three women entered, their laughter petering out as they looked at Fern.
“You must be the one Alpha Darion brought back,” one of them said warmly, coming closer. “I’m Vedia, and this is Annik and Tegen.”
“Fern,” she replied, giving them a friendly nod. “Where, um…”
They gave her warm, patient smiles, and Fern sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what to ask or what to expect.”
“It’s alright,” Tegen said. “We’ve all been where you are. If it weren’t for these two, I would have lost my mind.”
She laughed like it was funny, but Fern’s eyes only grew larger.
“You can ask us anything you like.”
“Before we have to go back up,” Vedia chimed in.
Fern didn’t know how long that was, so she started with the question that first popped in her head.
“How long, um…”
“Have we been made?” Annik asked, finishing her sentence. “Don’t worry, that topic is far from taboo here. I was made five years ago by Alpha Karn.”
“Three years ago for me, also by Alpha Karn.”
“Head Alpha Alastair made me around six years ago,” Vedia said. She eyed Fern thoughtfully. “I don’t think Alpha Darion has made many she-wolves…”
“Aye. Strange, isn’t it?” Tegen said. “I thought he only marked and bound men to fill out the ranks.”
“Alpha Darion always needs grunts, you see,” Annik explained. “He’s in charge of the soldiers until the mating ceremony, then his father will cede the position of Head Alpha to him.”
Fern bobbed her head along, trying to absorb the new information, and then paused. “Wait, mating ceremony?”
Their eyes lit. “Haven’t you heard? Alpha Darion will take the daughter of the Head Alpha of the Ironcoat Clan as his mate. The whole courtship takes sixty days, if you can believe it.”
Her throat ran dry, and she coughed to cover it. Alpha Darion hadn’t mentioned anything about it.
But then again, why would he have? She was just a slave, after all. Bound to work in his castle until the day she died. Certainly not a confidant to share personal information with.
Annik groaned. “The festivities will be nonstop, and feast days are the worst.”
“But at least there will be new blood. Perhaps an Ironcoat Lurvekh will take a fancy to us.”
They giggled, and Fern began to perk up a bit.
Human women were expected to remain chaste until marriage, and at least until her parents had informed her of their plans to marry her to Oswyn, she had never imagined that expectation would apply to her.
Wolfkin, however, cared little for such conventions and were far more open about their desires.
Desires that still lingered and burned beneath her skin, despite her best efforts to suppress her wolfish instincts.
And so when those desires had become too difficult to ignore, she had occasionally sought out the company of men she trusted to be both willing and discreet.
From the way these women spoke, it sounded as though she might not need to be nearly so cautious here.
One thing to look forward to, she supposed.
“Are the Ironcoats particularly attractive?” Fern asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” Tegen replied with a shrug. “But new faces mean new chances.”
Annik tugged at Tegen’s sleeves. “Speaking of, we’d better hurry. We still need to wash before the feast tonight. It was a pleasure to meet you, Fern.”
“Likewise,” she replied, and then she looked down again at the blanket that had caught her attention earlier. “Oh, sorry, before you go—should I put this away?”
The women’s expressions changed so abruptly Fern took an involuntary step back.
Vedia crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and snatched Fern’s reach before she could pick it up.
“Don’t touch that.”
Fern blinked. “Why?”
The three women exchanged glances. “You truly don’t know?” Tegen asked.
Fern shook her head.
Annik exhaled sharply through her nose. “Gods, they really dropped you in blind.” She pulled her toward the bathing room. “Come on. Better you hear it from us before you embarrass yourself upstairs.”
Fern followed them inside, turning a bucket upside down for a seat. The others quickly undressed, shivering and bracing themselves as they dipped into the cold water.
“So what was wrong with the blanket?” Fern asked, eyeing their large marks. The alphas who had made them had left silvery, half-moon scars deep in the space between their necks and shoulders.
It seemed silly, but Fern stared at her own finger, wondering why Alpha Darion had chosen such a small, inconspicuous spot for her.
“It belongs to the Ashpaw,” Tegen explained, teeth chattering as she lathered what she could from the soap before passing it to Vedia.
“Who’s the Ashpaw?”
They shared a look before Annik said, “The Ashpaw is not a ‘who’ so much as a ‘what’—a failed wolf.”
She flinched at just the words, as though they too had nipped her somewhere. “Failed how?”
Annik scrubbed under her arms as she thought. “The strength and integrity of the clan is everything to wolfkin, and everyone is expected to contribute.”
“The alphas lead, the betas follow, and the Solvekh…”
“Do all the rest,” Vedia chimed in, and the women laughed. But Fern found no humor in it, her cheeks paling.
Maybe for these women, this kind of life was an improvement over what they’d had as humans. At the castle, a roof over their heads and food on their tables were already provided in exchange for their labor, with no worry about securing it themselves in hard times.
But at least on her own, Fern could make a schedule to include free time. Could indulge every once in a while without needing permission. Could speak her mind without fear of punishment.
Could decorate her own room.
Darion had told her that if she found her place, she’d be happy, but she couldn’t ignore the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that this was all awful.
“Are we not betas, too?” Fern asked, changing the subject.