Chapter 5 #2
“No, Solvekh are still too human,” Vedia replied. “If you have wolfkin in your ancestry somewhere, a designation can appear during a shift—that happened to a Solvekh last year. He’d been just another field hand when, under the full moon, he became… more. Now he sits with the Lurvekh.”
The words were spoken matter of factually, but Fern noticed the slight change in Vedia’s expression. Something akin to resentment, maybe. Jealousy.
The niggling feeling strengthened.
“Unless you emerge as an alpha,” Annik added quickly. “Then instead of being welcomed at the table, you’ll be culled.”
“Culled?” Fern gasped.
Tegen nodded. “I’ve never seen it happen, but I’ve heard rumors. Apparently having a human-born alpha disrupts the hierarchy.”
Fern’s horrified reaction caused Tegen to laugh.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You are much, much too small to be an alpha, let alone have any wolfkin in you.”
She huffed. Why did everyone keep remarking on her size? These women were barely an inch or two taller than her.
“But to be the Ashpaw…” Vedia said slowly. “You can be Lurvekh or Solvekh. The current one is a beta she-wolf.”
Tegen hopped out of the bath first, her body shaking. Fern got up and grabbed three linen wraps for the women, handing the first to Tegen. She bowed her head in thanks and said, “A failed wolf is a failed wolf, regardless of station.”
“How did she fail?” Fern asked, passing another wrap to Vedia. “Did she not follow the alphas?”
Vedia shook her head, her eyes somber and voice quiet as she dried her skin. “She had three stillbirths.”
Fern swallowed nervously as Annik took the last wrap. “That is considered failure?”
Her own mother had had one, years before she’d adopted Fern from a farmer with too many mouths to feed.
Annik nodded. “Her mate rejected her, and her family wouldn’t take her back. Without a home, she was sent here, with us.”
Fern’s chest constricted at the injustice of it. “But it’s not her fault, she—”
“We know,” Vedia hissed, her voice a near whisper.
She looked around before getting closer.
““Of course she didn’t do anything wrong. But after the third stillbirth and her mate’s rejection, people started whispering.
They said her womb was poisoned. And once enough wolfkin believed it, no one wanted to be seen near her.
So if she’s the Ashpaw, then all you can do is leave her alone, lest the clan believe her poison has spread to you as well. ”
* * *
Fern eventually found her cot, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening thinking about her new life. The three Solvekh women seemed happy enough. They joked with each other. They looked well-fed, free from disease or injury.
Things could be worse, she reminded herself.
It wasn’t long before what she assumed must be the courtship feast began, as music, stomping feet, loud voices, and the smell of roasted food all curled in from under the door and through the cracks in the windows.
She was grateful she hadn’t been thrown into it all right away, but the wolf she’d spent the better part of ten years ignoring was becoming a more prominent fixture in her mind, and she could almost feel the way the beast paced, restless and lonely.
She tried to rest, but curiosity soon had her up and restlessly pacing the space herself.
There hadn’t been explicit instructions not to leave the room, and she figured that as long as she kept to the shadows and out of the way, surely they wouldn’t begrudge her taking a peek upstairs.
Could they?
Well, even if they could, she’d just chalk it up to education. Observation of the society she’d been plunged into so as to better understand her role and wolfkin culture, or some such nonsense that Darion might find plausible.
Slipping a servant’s dress over her shift, she put on her boots and tiptoed out of the room, even though the drums were more than loud enough to muffle the heaviest of footsteps.
Fern ascended the winding staircase, stopping once or twice when she felt dizzy and out of breath—the binding had really taken a lot out of her.
When she finally reached the top, she followed the sound to the main dining hall where the feast was taking place. Frenzied Solvekh rushed past her, too busy to notice the new face.
The kitchen entrance was partially obscured by a drawn curtain, and she stood to one side, daring to peek around the thick fabric as the scene unfolded in front of her.
But before she could even make sense of what she was seeing, the onslaught of wolfkin scents hit her like a stampeding bull, forcing her to take a step back and brace herself against the wall.
It was so much at once, and her body reacted strangely as individual notes stuck out more than others. Some were almost offensive, while others were more interesting. And a few were positively tantalizing.
Her fingers gripped the heavy curtain to keep her feet still, anchoring her in place as she let it all pass.
And then she finally cleared her head enough to watch.
Long tables covered in platters of whole roasted pigs and geese, fruit, pies, cheeses, and breads lined the room. At their benches sat over a hundred wolfkin or more, and the sight of so many together caused her breath to catch in her chest.
Jules had not been exaggerating—everyone, from the men to the women, was large-bodied with long, thick hair, woven into intricate braids. The clothing was made from fine, clean linens and wool, decorated with colorful embroidery and beads.
At one end of the room was a longer head table, where the alphas sat, and right in the middle were Darion and his mate-to-be, and Fern almost gasped.
She appeared blessed by moonlight herself, with pale skin and hair, her gown sparkling as though woven with silver.
Darion could not keep his eyes off her, and while this strangely sat heavy in her stomach, she could hardly blame him. She was enchanting.
Her attention left the couple as a Solvekh walked past her, carrying pitchers of ale, and she watched the other servants as they worked the room, taking note for when she’d be among them tomorrow.
She might not be able to carry quite as much, but she was fast, and her balance was impeccable.
A few of the servers stopped to talk with the wolfkin, and her cheeks heated as she saw the way hands wandered over skirts and bodices…
Then under skirts and bodices…
Some Solvekh were brought down hard upon laps, to be kissed or touched further.
Even the Lurvekh women were fond of reaching out for the Solvekh men, hands squeezing groins and buttocks while winking suggestively.
One Lurvekh even threw a Solvekh over his shoulder, and they both laughed as he took her down a dark hallway.
A harried-looking woman approached her, her face red with heat and exertion, the tray she carried loaded with far too many dirty bowls and plates.
She’d just rounded the table closest to the servants’ entrance when a passing Solvekh stuck out his leg and she tripped, landing hard on her knees.
The wooden dishes all rolled and scattered across the floor, leaving their food drippings behind them.
The Solvekh walked around her, and the Lurvekh continued as though there was nothing to see.
Fern had wanted to stay out of sight, but no one was stopping to help the poor woman. Were they simply too busy?
She took a deep breath and stepped out into the fray, grabbing the dishes closest to her and quickly piling them back on the tray. “Here, I’ll go with you to the kitchen to get a mop for the mess…”
The woman stared at her with wide, pleading eyes, and Fern noticed the conversation around her had quieted, now focusing on the interaction.
And then she felt it.
The alphas were watching.
Before she could look up to see the expression on Darion’s face—anything but anger, she prayed—a hand gripped her upper arm and dragged her up and out.
“What are you doing?” angrily whispered Vedia.
Fern’s relief at having found a familiar face melted back into shame. “No one was helping her, so I thought—”
“That’s the Ashpaw, you fool!” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “You are new, so you can only pray your ignorance will shield you from the consequences.”
“Consequences? For merely helping?”
“Aye!” she exclaimed. “You don’t understand, and I don’t know how to explain it, but the wolfkin need someone to be, to be…” Vedia looked up in thought, blowing a stray strand of her hair out of her face, when her eyes lit up and she snapped her fingers. “A dish rag!”
“A what?”
“Don’t you have a specific rag you use for all your dirtiest messes? Since you don’t want all your towels to be stained?”
Fern thought for a second, then dipped her chin in agreement.
“So you have one rag you reserve for the worst of it, thereby keeping the rest of your things clean.” Then she looked over her shoulder before coming closer.
“The Ashpaw is the clan’s dish rag. They need her to be the one absorbing their dirt so it doesn’t spread around to everyone else. Make sense?”
Fern chewed on her lip. “I suppose…”
Vedia nodded once. “Good. So get out of here now and hope everyone has already forgotten your face.”
Then she walked back into the dining hall, kicking another of the plates that had fallen further under a table.
The Ashpaw simply crawled under to grab it, without saying a word.
Fern’s heart ached for the woman, and then felt a heavy gaze on her once again.
She dared to look up, catching Darion’s eye. He shook his head once, slowly, and then turned back around.
Fern heeded the warning and left, feeling less prepared for tomorrow than she had before coming upstairs.