Chapter 12
Fern
“Breakfast in ten!”
She felt the blood crusted on her face as she woke the next morning, one eye nearly swollen shut.
Breathing hurt. Moving hurt.
Thinking hurt.
But she doubted Marin would allow her a day off to rest and recover. If anything, asking might cause her to be assigned some truly horrible task, because she, as Darion had declared, stood apart.
She wasn’t clan.
And therefore, couldn’t even hope for the protection, care, and kindness being a part of the clan would afford.
Not that there had been all that much before, but at least it was something to depend on.
Now she really had nothing.
Her fingers reached out to grab onto something, and fresh grief washed over her when she realized her treasures were gone. All she had was the dress she wore, now covered in dirt, sweat, and blood.
She waited as long as possible before someone would have to kick and rouse her, then rose slowly, limping towards the bathing room, her breath rasping.
Tegen’s eyes widened as she passed her, her mouth turning downwards almost imperceptibly in an expression that might be mistaken for pity if such an emotion was allowed for the Ashpaw.
And then her hand brushed past hers.
It wasn’t a slap, or a pinch.
Just the briefest moment of skin skating across hers, a comfort, and she held back a sob, keeping herself from flinging into the woman’s arms and begging for more.
Instead she closed her eyes, inhaled as deeply as her chest would allow, and moved onward.
She edged to the lip of the small pool, and peeled off the dress, hoping tonight she would get a chance to at least rid it of the smell it had started to accumulate, and then lowered herself in, hissing at the sharp sting of the cold but welcoming the numb that followed.
The bruises ached as she ran her hands over them, especially on her face, and her tangled hair was probably a lost cause for finger combing. But she made quick work before pulling herself back up, shaking and trying to get the filthy dress back on over wet skin.
Getting upstairs took a while, and by the time she entered the kitchen, even the crusty bits of stale bread and burned porridge were gone.
Just as well.
She found her broom, sent a silent prayer to the gods that that hadn’t been taken, too, and shuffled into the dining hall to resume the day’s work of disappearing.
People came and went in a loud, noisy blur, her nose unable to detect much scent aside from the blood that still clung to her nostrils, and she watched the sunlight move across the floor, counting down the seconds until the final meal was over and she would be alone.
Would they allow her to sleep up here, she wondered. She often stayed well beyond the last Solvekh left, the sound of her broom sweeping on the floor mingling with the scurrying of rats along the wall.
Sometime between breakfast and lunch, she’d stopped for a moment, wincing when she’d accidentally twisted her torso too far to the left, and heard an almost equally pained gasp behind her.
“Fern… what happened to you?”
Jules had done his best to be a silent presence since her failed shift, letting her know through glances alone that he hadn’t forgotten about her, but the sound of his voice was enough to send her stomach into knots.
Comfort, familiarity…
Fear.
“You shouldn’t…”
He reached out to grab her arm, and when she hissed in pain through gritted teeth, his touch softened. But still, he turned her around, his eyes cataloging each and every mark upon her skin.
At least the ones he could see.
He was silent for a moment, swallowing and breathing heavy.
“This isn’t right… they’re not supposed to…” He paused, closing his eyes to collect his thoughts. “This is beyond what’s intended. Has Alpha Darion seen you?”
She wasn’t sure, and so shook her head.
“I will speak to him.”
She shook her head again, more quickly this time, even though a movement as simple as that was still excruciating.
“You can’t, please. It’ll only make this worse.”
His hand cupped her cheek, warmth spreading like a drop of blood in the water, and she released a small breath, leaning into the touch.
She’d always been a little more tactile than others, holding her mother’s hand well past the age most girls had outgrown such childish behavior.
But the need driving through her now was like nothing she’d ever felt before. As though the feel of another could stand shoulder to shoulder with food, water, and air.
The Ashpaw is not touched.
She took a step back, her heart already screaming in protest.
“You’ll draw attention to me.”
“If I withdraw it now, the only wolfkin watching you will be those who mean to hurt you.”
She sniffed, looking at the floor. “I’m not sure there’s a difference.”
“Solas’s Hells,” he spat, reaching for her again. “This isn’t what you should be learning. It’s… it’s not our ways.”
When she looked up, and he saw the expression on her face that begged the question, ‘Isn’t it, though?’ he grew even more distraught.
“I mean it. I will bring a formal grievance to Head Alpha Alastair. He is a fair wolf. He’ll see to reason.”
Before she could beg him again to just let it be, he left, his boots heavy on the floor.
She looked around. Every other eye in the room had found somewhere else to be.
* * *
The sound of tables scraping against stone brought her out of sleep she had not realized she’d fallen into while leaning against the wall.
Wolfkin were rearranging the layout of the dining hall, opening the space in the middle.
A Solvekh stood by watching, hand on her hips, and Fern almost went up to ask her what was happening—some new courtship rite, most likely.
At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if a bed was brought in so Darion and Kyntha could demonstrate their commitment towards breeding heirs in front of the whole clan.
She snorted to herself, about to move the broom again to look busy, but then noticed the general atmosphere of the room wasn’t jovial like it had been every time a new rite or feast was about to start.
There was excitement, but it felt… different.
Her grip on the broom handle tightened, and before long, the wolfkin filed in, Lurvekh sitting at the tables while the Solvekh stood along the walls.
This was new.
This couldn’t be good.
Fern found some relief that no one seemed to be paying her any mind, but that relief was short lived when she saw Jules walk in by himself, stopping just short of the head table.
He stood tall, chin out and hands held tightly behind his back.
And then alphas entered and took their seats.
Darion and Kyntha normally sat in the middle since they were still being honored for the courtship. But tonight, Head Alpha Alastair took that position. Darion was on his right, while Darion’s two uncles were on his left.
Eidan, of course, was gone.
Kyntha and her attendants took seats nearby, their hair neatly combed and braided into intricate patterns and shapes.
Their dresses clean.
Their pale cheeks free from blemishes or dirt.
Alastair held a large chunk of obsidian in his hand, the edges reflecting the firelight as he tapped it on the table, quieting the murmurs from the crowd.
The silence made her rasped breathing even more pronounced, and she did her best to hold it.
Alastair struck the obsidian once more.
“No wolf, true or made, stands beyond the order of the clan,” he began, eyes gliding over the wolfkin. They rested on her for just a moment before continuing. “We are bound by more than blood and instinct. We are bound by law, and where grievance threatens that bond, it must be heard.”
He did not yell, but his voice carried easily through the large room, loud enough that even Fern could hear him all the way in the back.
“Tonight, a grievance has been filed regarding the Ashpaw’s treatment. Beta Jules, you may speak.”
Jules bowed his head. “Thank you, Head Alpha Alastair. Your strength, wisdom, and integrity have led our clan into prosperity, our cups and cradles full. May the Moon Goddess bless your reign with—”
“Out with it, please,” Norden sighed. “You’ll garner no favor through meaningless platitudes.”
“Meaningless to you since they’re about me,” Alastair replied, almost smiling at his brother. “I, however, would not mind to hear more. Please, continue to sing my many praises. I particularly like to be told how I’ve led our clan through countless victories against our enemies.”
Wolfkin chuckled, and even Fern exhaled a little more sharply as she watched, though her body remained tense, muscles coiled and ready to run if necessary.
Though she had nowhere to go.
“As you have, Head Alpha, which is why I come to you today to seek an end to the cruel treatment of the Ashpaw, Fern. A Solvekh of our own, and not an adversary on the battlefield that wishes us harm.”
“She cannot shift,” Darion cut in, giving a half shrug. “She has been openly insolent. I see not a wolf, but a poison that must be drawn before she can be cured.”
“And if the cure kills her?” Jules asked.
Darion paused, but he did not even bother to look past the beta toward the back where Fern stood, the matters concerning her proceeding as though she were not there.
“Then we have only strengthened the clan by removing weakness.”
Many in the crowd nodded their agreement, and her knees buckled, eyes blurring.
Gods, if he wanted her dead, why could he not just do it quickly and save her this misery?
Why… why even bind her to begin with?
“Alpha Darion, please,” Jules continued. “We cannot enjoy the fruit of the vine if we do not offer it a trellis to grow on.”
Darion was clearly already done with the conversation by the way he tried to rise from his chair. “If you wish to bear fruits, beta, take your pick of vines already shaped,” he snapped, pointing towards the Solvekh women who stood against the walls.
Some of them shifted uncomfortably on their feet, while others threw their shoulders back to display their readiness.