EVANTHE
I go downstairs, where Mistress Nina has prepared a simple supper. I’m not one for wasting food, but I take only a small portion of stew and none of the bread. I force myself to eat what little I take. I’ve spent too much of my life hungry. In my childhood home, nothing was ever wasted.
“It’s to be expected,” she says.
I look up, catching her eyes on me, and quickly go back to eating. When I’m done, I gather the bowls, carry them to the sink, and busy myself washing and putting them away.
By the time I’m finished, she is in her rocking chair before the fire with a book in hand. The scene is cozy.
One can almost forget what happened a week ago.
Forget what the townsfolk said and did earlier today.
Forget that there is a wolf tithe upon my head, and a triad waiting to claim me.
“I need to write to my parents,” I say. “They’ll worry when I suddenly… disappear.” I trail off. “They’ll miss the coin.”
“A letter would be wise,” she agrees. Then, gently, “But, my dear, to mate a wolf is not to disappear.”
“What do you mean? Won’t they take me away?”
“That they will,” she says. “But when they’re ready, and the mating is complete, they’ll likely allow you to see your parents and siblings, if that is what you wish. For all they are stern, and as much as pack life can be challenging, a good shifter is attentive to his mate’s needs. Some lasses still visit their kin. Quietly, mind.” She huffs out a little breath. “As you have already seen, some of the townsfolk are not so congenial and are fearful of their own shadows. But the wolves are not true monsters, Evanthe. They have savagery, aye, but so do human men.”
Her words lift the somber. My belly flutters, full of jitters and anticipation.
“I sense they’ll come soon,” I whisper, shyly.
“Indeed, my dear,” she says, nodding. “They may.”
A strange, discordant clamor erupts from the direction of the shop front. Though the kitchen lies at the far back of the lodgings, opposite the sewing parlor, the noise is enough to reach us.
Mistress Nina snaps her book shut, drops it onto the table, and snatches her shawl from a hook.
“I sense foolishness,” she mutters. “Stay here, my dear. I shall deal with this.”
As she opens the door leading into the shop, the shouts grows louder and I see torchlight flickering around the closed blinds. She thrusts the door firmly shut.
Although she told me not to follow, I do, pushing the door open a crack and peering through. Mistress Nina stands in the shadow of the window and glances back, perhaps sensing me.
“Goddess weep,” she mutters, making the sign across her chest. “Every one of them is thick-headed.”
A thud hits the door. Jeers rise outside.
“Are they trying to break in?” I whisper. “Please, Mistress Nina, I can’t bring trouble to your door!”
She waves me back. “They’re all bluster. They’d not risk the wrath of the pack by driving you into the forest tonight…” She doesn’t finish.
Another thud. She pulls the heavy key from her pocket, turns it in the lock, slides the bolts, and throws open the door.
The crowd falls silent. Torches stutter and flicker in the damp air. A red stain marks the shopfront—blood, by the look of it. I move silently to stand beside her. Her swift glance says she wishes I had not, and she takes a step, trying to put herself between me and the rabble in the street.
“Go home,” she calls. “Before you bring their wrath upon us all.”
“She’s marked by the beasts!” someone yells. “Cast her out!”
A man hurls something at me. It bursts, smothering my dress and splattering my face with stickiness… a pig’s bladder filled with blood.
A beat of silence.
