Chapter One
EVANTHE
Icame to Merrywood seeking work, and found myself apprenticing under Mistress Nina, a local seamstress. She is old and sharp-eyed, with agile fingers and a kindly disposition. I had already turned eighteen when I left my village, and was closing in on nineteen. With five other siblings and no young men of marriageable age in my village, it was time to move or be just another hungry mouth. My mama and papa begged me to stay, but they don’t have much, and I’m young and capable. Now, I send a little coin to them every month, along with a letter the local trader carries on his route.
Also, it feels a lot like embarking on an adventure. I’m meeting new people, for Merrywood is a town, thrice the size of my former community. It has a proper high street with businesses, and even a garrison that reports to the local lord.
Above the dressmaker’s, I have my own accommodation—a small bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a private stairway that leads outside or, through an internal door, down to Mistress Nina’s quarters and the shop. She used to rent theaccommodation, but it had been empty for some time before I arrived. When she took me on as an apprentice, she included somewhere to live as part of the arrangement. I love my little room and the view through the leaded window across the rooftops. It is the best of both worlds—offering independence and safety all at once.
Although I have no reason to think any harm might befall me in Merrywood, there are some in the town who seem determined to speak of mysterious happenings. It wasn’t long after I arrived that the tales began: people warning me, talking of guardians who exacted a price.
At first, I thought the stories fanciful. The kind of tales told to keep young lasses from wandering too far after dusk. Not that I ever would. I consider myself a sensible young woman. Even without the whispers about mysterious guardians, I would never venture beyond the town border after dark.
I have been living here for nearly four months now. Until this morning, I had all but forgotten the tale. Then Pippa, who serves at the bakery two doors down, mentioned a lass who was “taken” last year—she called it a wolf tithe, for protecting Merrywood.
Given I have never seen one of these elusive wolves, I fully believe it is naught but fanciful folklore applied to any event of mystery. Maybe the lass ran away with a boy she liked?
“Pippa was talking about the wolf tithe,” I say, casually. I am stitching a new silk gown, and the work is intricate and absorbing. Mistress Nina and I sit companionably in the sewing room out the back of her store, where we spend all day between appointments or when the ding of the bell on the door tells us of a customer has arrival. This is my favorite room. Once a parlor, it has tall windows, its walls crowded with racks holding bolts of cloth and spools stacked in neat trays. A narrow hearth shared with the next room casts a dull red glow through its iron grate, chasing away the chills of this bleak winter day. No fewer thanthree lamps are currently lit, despite it being midday, for it is gloomy outside.
Mistress Nina does not laugh at my statement as I thought she might.
“Is it real?” I ask, pausing my stitching. “The wolf tithe? And do they always take a lass?”
I cannot believe they would really take a lass. That is too preposterous to be real.
She glances up from her needlework.
“Well, it is whatever they might choose,” she says. “Sometimes it’s labor.” She gestures toward the dress she works on. “Sometimes food, or other supplies as are needed. And sometimes they take a mate.”
“Mate?” I echo, incredulous. I keep waiting for her to chuckle as I fall for her joke, but she does not. “They don’t marry the lass?” My question sounds a little ridiculous, even to me, for I know nothing about shifter vow ceremonies. Still, it sounds scandalous to be taken and claimed without even a token exchange of words. “And why have I never seen one?”
Her smile is rueful now, and it eases some of my tension.
“My dear, wolves are not ones for human customs. For all they have a human side, the wolves in these parts are wilder than most, more in tune with their animal.” Her expression turns almost wistful. “And although they can shift forms, they rarely do. But just because we don’t see them, it doesn’t mean they don’t notice us. The shifters take their pick when the urge strikes them. When they feel they are due. Don’t mind it, Evanthe. The wolves are fierce and half-beast, but they don’t harm their mates. At least, it is rare that they do.”
Her lips tighten at the last part. I fumble the needle I’m using. It drops to the wooden floor, and I quickly pick it up and thread it again—only it is not easy when my fingers are shaking.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her making the sign of the Goddess across her chest.
“Lord Godfrey takes what he wants from those beneath him,” she continues. “Wolves aren’t so different. Sometimes, a few must make a sacrifice so the rest might yet flourish.”
Her words sit heavy between us—the carriage clock over the mantel ticks. A log pops behind the grate.
I jump.
Her expression softens.
“Now, don’t get caught up in Pippa’s nonsense. The lass has naught but air between her ears, besides a tendency toward drama. But she is also sweet and means no harm. Do we seem like a community that lives in fear of monsters and their wicked cravings?”
“No,” I admit, smiling. “It is lovely here. And everyone is very friendly. But?—”
The shop door chimes.
Mistress Nina rises and sets her needlework aside. “Worry not, my dear. Put the kettle on, would you? Happen when I have served the customer, we can take a break.
When she returns, we have a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake, and I put the matter aside.
That evening, after we finish supper in the homely kitchen beyond her sewing parlor, Mistress Nina presses a small charm into my hand.
