Chapter 14
Fern
The stone walls of Sabletail Castle were thick, but even they could no longer keep out the creeping heat.
Fern concentrated on the corners of the dining hall farthest from the fireplace while she worked, sweat still dripping uncomfortably down her back despite the distance.
The only bright side was the cold water of the bathing room, now closer to a luxury than an unappealing necessity.
It was during one such evening, when she’d lingered longer than usual in the pool, that Marin called for her.
Fern chastised herself for taking advantage of this small reprieve. She should have known better than to show enjoyment.
Her dress had been washed and was still much too wet to wear, so she wrapped her blanket around herself instead as she followed Marin through the sleeping quarters out into the hallway, where her reprimand wouldn’t waken the others.
She hoped it would only be verbal.
“Tomorrow is the solstice,” Marin stated, as though it was important.
A change of the seasons was good to know, she supposed, but the context for the information eluded her.
When she didn’t respond, Marin sighed. “It’s a significant holiday for wolfkin, one of the few we are allowed to participate in as Solvekh.”
Fern nodded along like she understood, but the meaning still eluded her.
“Including the Ashpaw.”
Her eyes widened, breath catching in her chest and fingers tightening around the blanket.
“You mean…”
“The rules will be suspended for one evening, as soon as the sun sets. You may dine and drink with us. You may speak and be spoken to.”
And be touched…
Her whole body vibrated at the thought of it, and her wolf whined in anticipation.
Marin handed her a new dress. “This is yours until the winter.”
The fragile spark of excitement guttered at once. Did Marin believe she would still be an Ashpaw by the winter?
Then again, what reason did anyone have to believe that Darion would ever forgive her the sin of failing?
“Thank you, Marin.”
The older woman looked at her, her jaw set tight, and then grunted. “Go to bed now, and be quiet about it.”
Fern clutched the new dress against the blanket. Then she tiptoed slowly back into the sleeping quarters and straight into the bathing room, where she’d left the old one.
Part of her would be glad to be rid of it, the blood stains painful, daily reminders of her station here.
But it was also all she had, and Fern always found new ways to breathe life into items others would discard without thought.
Taking a bone shard she’d found a few days ago out of her pocket, she sat on the damp floor and took the old dress into her lap, carefully tearing the dirty, worn-out linen into strips and squares.
With no needle or thread, she instead cut little fringes along the edges, tying pieces together to create seams.
The first thing she did was repair some of the holes in her blanket, and even managed to extend it, so it could cover her from her shoulders to her feet without needing to scrunch up.
Then, she made a simple pillow, stuffing unusable scraps inside for the filling. It was still quite flat, but it needed to be if she had to hide it under her skirts all day—she absolutely did not trust leaving anything out anymore. Not with Mauricia around, still trying to make her life miserable.
Finally, with the remaining scraps, she braided a few narrow bracelets—easy to unravel whenever she needed a strip of cloth. For tying ends of her hair, wrapping a cut or blister, or whatever other problem needed such materials that she’d had to go without for far too long.
She smiled to herself when it was done, allowing the small comfort to outweigh her instinctive suspicion of any sudden kindness. Then she gathered her things and headed back to her corner to sleep a few hours until the day began.
* * *
The excitement for the evening helped her feel less tired over the lack of rest. She’d slowly gotten accustomed to the three to four hours of sleep she had most nights, and by her best estimate she’d only had one after finishing her work.
Still, it couldn’t suppress the lightness in her step, or the smile she allowed whenever no one was looking.
Outside, the wolfkin were gathering wood for a great bonfire in the clearing where they met for the full moon shift. A few tables were taken out of the dining hall as well, carried easily by strong men who laughed and talked as they worked.
Someone even winked at her, causing her heart to flutter and her cheeks to flush.
Then Fern’s cheeks flushed again from embarrassment at how desperate she’d become for any attention. Truthfully, if one man even looked her way tonight, she wouldn’t even need the courage borrowed from ale to let him take her into the shadows and do whatever he wanted to her.
When the sky finally slipped from blue into vibrant shades of pink and orange, Fern took a few of the strips of linen she’d bound around her wrist out, sitting down to weave them into her hair, her fingers remembering the work of the twists, tucks, and ties to create a braided crown.
It was a hairstyle her mother had taught her, one she favored on hot summer nights in the tavern.
The work done, she stood up, catching the briefest glimpse of her reflection in the glass window.
She’d been here for only a month now, and had been the Ashpaw for half of it. But the work and fear had already taken a toll on her body. Her cheeks were hollower than she remembered, and dark circles looked like bruises under her eyes.
But the dress was clean, and her hair was still the same shade of honey.
She walked back towards the kitchen to hide her broom when a voice cut through the air like an ax through wood.
“Ashpaw!”
Fern couldn’t stop the small flinch from shaking her shoulders, but turned around dutifully, waiting to hear what she was supposed to do.
Her stomach dropped when she saw it was Mauricia.
“Lady Kyntha calls for you.”
Confusion and surprise stole her tongue for a moment, until she finally swallowed and replied. “Me? But why?”
Mauricia frowned, coming up to her and slapping her across the face. “Who are you to ask such a question? When you are summoned, you go.”
Her hand rested on her cheek to ease the sting, and she nodded wordlessly, following as Mauricia turned quickly on her heel and marched towards the other end of the castle, where the alphas resided.
When Mauricia finally stopped and pushed open a heavy oak door, warm perfumed air rushed over Fern’s skin.
The room beyond was almost as large as the entire sleeping quarters below.
An upholstered divan, piled with pillows, sat in front of a wide hearth carved with curling wolves and moon phases.
There were polished silver mirrors mounted along the walls, and thick rugs softened the stone floor, their woven patterns so intricate Fern hesitated at the threshold, afraid one muddy footprint might ruin them forever.
Tables overflowed with crystal bottles, ivory combs, jeweled pins, and powders, and before them sat Kyntha, her pale hair spilling down her even paler back in loose waves—winter wheat against fresh snow.
Two Solvekh attendants worked carefully through the silken strands, pinning tiny seed pearls and silver chains into an elaborate braid, while another knelt at her feet, fastening delicate slippers around slender ankles.
She really did look like the moon goddess herself.
One attendant stood behind Kyntha with a gown draped over her arms.
The dress was sheer in places, layers of white silk and lace embroidered with silver thread and thousands of tiny glass beads.
Kyntha glanced at Fern’s reflection and smiled, her blue eyes as hard and unforgiving as the sapphire stones in her earrings.
“Well,” she said, her voice smooth as cream. “There you are.”
Though the room remained heavy with heat left over from the day, Fern felt suddenly, unmistakably cold. She quickly lowered into a curtsy.
“You called for me, my Lady?”
“I did.”
Fern rose to a stand, her hands twisting nervously in front of her.
Kyntha stood and let the silk robe slip from her shoulders before dressing. Fern blinked, looking away for a heartbeat before her gaze drifted back despite herself.
It was no wonder Darion was so captivated by her. Kyntha’s figure was soft and full, a body made to be pleasing to both the eye and the hand.
When Kyntha caught her looking, the curve of her smile carried an unmistakable message. Fern was nothing by comparison—too thin from surviving on scraps, her figure lacked the give that invited affection.
Then, Kyntha’s gaze glided down towards the floor, and Fern’s followed, catching what looked like starlight spilled across stone.
Beads.
Thousands of them.
“My attendants simply do not have the time to clean this mess before the start of the feast, and I will not return to an unkempt room when it is over. I could slip, you see.”
Fern’s head nodded slowly, understanding, but not really.
Kyntha picked up her skirts and made her way towards the door, stopping just as their shoulders met.
“You may join us once every bead is picked up.”
Fern could not speak. She simply stared at the work in front of her, Mauricia snickering as the rest of the room emptied.
The door closed and locked behind her, and music floated in through the window.
Fern stood still for another moment.
And then she fell to her knees and wept.
* * *
Flutes, drums, and woodsmoke. Laughter and conversation. Roasted meats.
Each sound and smell came through unimpeded, a constant reminder of what she was missing.
Her nails were broken, her fingers raw and chafing from pinching and scraping against the floor to pick up beads so small and slippery they easily evaded her grasp.
One would think that at least she could be grateful to be off her feet for a night, but sitting offered no respite, for the beads embedded themselves in her knees, calves, and thighs no matter where or how she positioned herself, the pillow she’d made doing little to help.
For they had truly spread everywhere.