Page 8 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Fern scoffed, taking off her apron and folding it over a chair. “And do what? I never learned any trades.”

Her parents looked at her, and her mouth ran dry.

“And do what?” she repeated, her heartbeat beginning to quicken.

Her mother gestured for her father to say something, and he rubbed his neck almost bashfully, taking a seat at the table and pointing at Fern to take the one next to him.

She did, if only because her obstinance would delay what he was about to say.

“Oswyn’s asked for your hand.”

Fern’s shoulders fell, and she looked to her mother for confirmation that this was true, but she would not face her.

Oswyn was… kind. Not the handsomest man in town, but neither was he the worst to look at.

It wasn’t marriage to him that had her conflicted, though. It was marriage to any man at all, because then the burden of locking her up would fall on him.

Her father already knew what worried her.

“We told him. Says he can overlook it, and he’s even got a space that would work for your fits.”

“You told him?” she almost yelled, her body shaking. “You had no right! This is my secret to bear, my curse to—”

“It’s our curse, too!” her mother spat, standing up and turning around. “Or is someone else chaining you in the closet every month?”

Her face aflame with shame, Fern’s attention fell to her lap, to her finger with the small scar. To the one night of youthful nescience that had sealed her fate.

And yet, as she closed her eyes, tears threatening to come forward, she knew that if she were given the choice again, she would still choose to save that young wolfkin.

Her mother’s anger left her, and she joined them at the table, defeat lining her face. “I don’t mean to make you feel like a burden. I would gladly spend the rest of my life keeping you safe from the beasts. To mark a child is…” She clicked her tongue in disgust and shook her head before continuing. “It’s just… we won’t be around forever. And Oswyn is a fine man, and a fine carpenter. He makes good money, so you’ll never have to worry about him putting food on the table.”

Fern nodded. She knew she could do worse, and her parents were right that they couldn’t help her forever. It wasn’t pleasant to think about, but one day they would be too old and too weak to contain her.

And if she ever accidentally hurt them, she’d never forgive herself.

“I… I see. Aye. Perhaps… perhaps that would be best.”

“This is the only way we can protect you,” her mother said. “Not only from shifting, but also from those awful wolfkin. They don’t chase after married women.”

Fern wondered if that was actually true or if married women were simply less likely to find themselves in the company of wolfkin, and then the kettle began to whistle. Her mother poured the water into three waiting mugs, placing one in front of her. Fern sipped it without thinking, burning her tongue.

“I take it you have already accepted his proposal?”

Her parents looked at each other again. “We said we would discuss it with you first, but…”

“But you mean to force my hand anyway.”

“Fern, surely you see—”

“I do,” she cut in softly. “It just… will take some time. For me to accept the idea. But you may tell him I agreed.”

She took her tea and stood, retreating to her room, the one place she’d ever felt safe.

* * *

Fern’s mind felt detached from the rest of her the next evening, still working over the marriage to Oswyn she had no good reason to object to.

Because her mother was right—a husband who accepted her condition and was willing to protect her from the curse was the best solution to all of their problems.