Chapter 26
Fern
In the Age of Second Light, it is written that wolfkin grew hungry and turned their strength upon Solas’s creations.
As punishment for the shedding of his kin’s blood, fertility among the clans waned, and the songs of new life grew faint.
Lurei, moved by sorrow, created a new aspect to soothe the fracturing hearts of her wolfkin children and restore balance to the broken cycle of birth.
Reinn had circled that passage, adding a little comment.
It’s talking about you, sunbeam.
She smiled. Her porridge was sweet, her hair was clean and combed, and her body was dressed in one of her new gowns.
There was a bathing room—well, glorified bathing closet—attached to her sleeping quarters, and she’d been able to wash and relieve herself without needing to leave.
Useful. Private.
And lonely.
Adela was kind, and would talk to Fern normally as she worked. It turned out they came from neighboring villages, and even knew some of the same farmers who worked the land between them.
“Don’t tell me Jessie is still alive…” she gasped. “That mule was old even when I was still fully human.”
“Alive and kicking. Literally.”
She chuckled, patting Fern on the shoulder as she left. “I’ll be back later with your lunch.”
It was her second day of her “agreed-to” isolation, and she knew she shouldn’t complain too much. It could have been—had been—much worse.
By all accounts, she should have been happy.
And yet nothing quite filled the growing hole in her chest, every breath catching halfway like her lungs no longer knew how to feel full.
Her skin was too sensitive, sometimes finding even the dresses both too much and not enough.
And at night, while the scent of Reinn comforted her, she’d often wake from nightmares she could not remember, only to find her pillows wet with tears, and her body reaching out for someone who didn’t want to be there.
Fern knew it would be easy to end this. All she needed to do was tell Adela to let Darion know she was ready to apologize to Kyntha, and it would all be over. She’d not only be let out of her room, but Darion would finally come to her. And maybe even stay this time.
But at the cost of her dignity? Her pride? Setting a precedent where Kyntha would be forgiven for attempted murder as long as she batted her eyelashes, but Fern was punished for failing to die?
She could be stubborn. As stubborn as Jessie the mule, if she put her mind to it. And she was sure Darion could meet her in that regard.
But while he had everything he wanted and had no reason to give in, Fern was the one losing.
Because Darion didn’t need her, while he was all she needed.
And the disparity would someday be the death of her.
* * *
It had been four days since her isolation began. And the only reason she knew was because every morning, Adela brought her a new rock from Reinn.
Today’s gift was some sort of mineral, snowy white cut with rivers of sparkling green, but Fern didn’t know what it was called. It sat next to others, each so different from the last that she wondered if Reinn was spending all of his free time looking for the next one.
Serich had returned to check her wounds, and he hummed happily to himself as he peeled off the bandages.
“These have healed quite nicely. The wolf blood helps, of course, but it would be a shame for an omega to be scarred.”
Fern snorted, unable to help herself. “I’m sure scarred omegas birth pups just as well as unblemished ones.”
Serich gasped, a little scandalized by her candor. “Goodness, no, I only meant… omegas are rare and precious. To have one injured by her own clan is a scar upon all of us.”
Very right, her wolf snorted. This healer is smart.
Smarter than our alpha?
Unfortunately it seems almost everyone is smarter than our alpha, she growled.
Fern watched Serich clean up his things.
Then why do you choose him?
Because he is ours. He just hasn’t realized it yet.
The door closed, and Fern spoke aloud, the sound of her own voice necessary to beat the silence back.
“Reinn seems a much better candidate,” she said, looking at the neat line of rocks lining the windowsill.
He is already ours. As is the brother. Darion needs us the most.
“All three?” she said, nearly choking on her own breath. “You mean you want three alphas?”
Her wolf thought. For now, she answered.
Fern slid off the bed, lowering the neckline of her dress as Serich had advised, and picked up the next book from Reinn, all about the Sabletail Clan. She needed to clear her mind from whatever nonsense her wolf was trying to fill it with, and went back to her bed to read.
Darion’s lineage went back hundreds of years, Fern was surprised to discover. Longer than the human king’s, whose family had taken over rule of the previous monarch only a few generations ago in a war she’d studied about in detail as a child and promptly forgotten once the exam was over.
The names and various battles on this side of the river bled together as her eyes grew heavier, and soon she fell asleep, the book a heavy comfort on her chest.
When she woke several hours later, the book was gone.
Not fallen off next to her on the bed or floor, but gone.
A small tray rested on her table, with only a hard chunk of cheese and a heel of stale bread.
She began to panic, wondering what else might have changed while she’d slept, but other than the book and scant meal, everything seemed to be in place.
Why hadn’t Adela woken her up?
And then she saw the folded up piece of parchment that had been slipped under her door, and she picked it up with trembling hands.
Apparently your alpha heard your needs are actually being met for once, and has put a stop to it. I’ll do what I can, sunbeam.
-R
She sat down on the floor before her shaking legs would make the decision for her.
Would it do her any good to cry? No.
And Fern thought she might, but a numbing sensation radiated from her chest towards her limbs instead, her tears protesting another appearance.
For if anything, she just felt foolish.
Of course Darion had realized she was too comfortable to submit. His “rare,” “precious” omega too looked after to want to apologize for defending herself.
He needed her desperate enough that she would finally admit her wrongdoing—refusing to obey.
And so he’d put her into semi-Ashpaw status once more. No one to speak to her, no one to touch her.
She stood apart. She did not join.
“I don’t think he wants us,” she said to her wolf, as she stood back up.
Her wolf did not reply.
She nibbled on the cheese and bread, finding the appetite she’d slowly gained back over the past few days had diminished once more, and then slunk back under the covers of her nest.
And as she burrowed into a particularly soft blanket, she reminded herself that it could always get worse, and quite often did.