What will be

The front room was cold.

Only a handful of embers remained beneath the iron grate, their dull red glow barely reaching the soot-stained walls.

Martha sat in her usual chair, wrapped in two faded woollen shawls. Her head rested against the timber wall, her eyes closed. Every few seconds, a wheezing cough shook her thin frame.

Selene closed the oak door and dropped the wooden bar into place.

She removed her boots and left them on the rush mat by the entrance. Her stockings were damp around the heels, but she ignored the cold.

At the hearth, she knelt and blew gently on the dying embers. A small flame caught the birch shavings she had left that morning. She added two split logs and waited until the fire began to burn steadily.

"Selene?"

Martha's voice was faint.

Selene turned.

"I'm here, Auntie. Don't sit up too quickly."

She took Bram's paper packet from her bag, untied the string and poured some of the dried coltsfoot into an earthenware cup. Then she added hot water from the kettle resting beside the stove.

A grassy smell rose with the steam.

She carried the cup to Martha and knelt beside her chair.

"Drink it slowly. Bram got it from the herbalist this afternoon."

Martha accepted the cup with trembling hands. Her fingers were dry and rough against Selene's.

She took a small sip, then paused to cough.

"Bram spent money on this?"

"He wouldn't let me pay him back."

Martha shook her head.

"That boy is too proud."

"He said he'll collect when he needs something repaired."

"Still. He shouldn't have to keep spending on us."

Selene adjusted the shawl around her shoulders.

"Drink your tea, Auntie."

Martha managed another sip before settling against the chair.

Selene returned to the table beneath the shuttered window.

She reached beneath her collar and lifted the thin leather thong over her head. The tarnished silver vial dropped into her palm.

Beside the bread crock stood a small glass bottle containing the dark oil Martha had insisted she use for as long as Selene could remember.

She pulled out the cork.

The smell filled the room almost immediately. It was sharp and bitter, like crushed roots mixed with scorched resin. Even after years of using it, Selene had never grown accustomed to it.

She tipped a drop onto her finger and rubbed it into the hollow of her throat.

"Did anyone look at you today?"

Selene stopped.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Martha had put down her cup. Her eyes were fixed on the silver vial.

"I worked in the scullery and the gallery. Mrs. Hallowell checked my work. Gwen shared her bread with me. Nothing happened."

"Nobody spoke to you?"

Selene hesitated.

She remembered the Alpha standing beside her bucket that morning, his bare feet against the cold stone.

"He spoke to me briefly," she said.

Martha's fingers tightened around the edge of her shawl.

"Who?"

"The Alpha."

For a moment, Martha said nothing.

"What did he want?"

"Nothing. He corrected the way I was scrubbing the floor and told me to ask for different soap."

"Did he ask your name?"

Selene looked at her.

"How did you know?"

Martha's face changed.

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. He already knew it."

The older woman looked away.

Selene watched her carefully.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're asking questions, Auntie. Now I'm asking you."

Martha reached for her cup, but her hand shook too badly to lift it.

"The wolves have been restless," she murmured. "I could feel it even down here."

"A patrol brought back bodies from the border. That's probably why."

"And what else?"

"Lady Rebecca arrived from the Western territory. Gwen says her father is negotiating a grain agreement with the Alpha."

Martha's eyes narrowed.

"Rebecca?"

"Yes. Apparently, there's talk of a marriage."

The room fell quiet.

Only the fire crackled between them.

"If the Alpha takes a mate from the West," Martha said eventually, "she may bring her own guards, healers and trackers."

Selene returned the cork to the bottle.

"Why should that concern us?"

"Western wolves are known for their hunting skills. Some can follow a scent through snow long after the trail should have disappeared."

"That sounds like something people say to frighten children."

"Don't be foolish, Selene."

Martha's voice was sharper than before.

"Not everything in this world is meant to be understood by humans."

Selene turned fully towards her.

"Then help me understand. Why must I wear this vial every day? Why must I rub that awful oil into my skin? You've never explained what's inside it or why taking it off frightens you."

Martha lowered her eyes.

For several seconds, she appeared to be searching for an answer.

"Some things are safer when nobody knows they exist."

"That doesn't explain anything."

"It is all I can tell you for now."

Selene looked at the vial in her palm.

She had worn it for nineteen years. She had slept with it against her chest, bathed with it hanging from her neck and carried it through every season.

She knew its weight better than she knew the shape of her own mother's face.

"Promise me something," Martha said.

Selene looked up.

"Never forget the oil. Not in the morning, not at night. If the bottle runs low, tell me before it finishes. And never leave the Keep without that vial around your neck."

"Why?"

Martha's eyes filled with tears.

"Because I cannot protect you if they discover what you are."

Selene went still.

"What am I?"

Martha's lips parted, but no answer came.

Instead, she reached for her cup and took another sip.

Selene waited.

When Martha finally spoke, her voice had softened.

"Put another log on the fire, child. It's getting late."

It wasn't an answer, and they both knew it.

Selene placed the vial back around her neck. The cold metal settled against her collarbone, covering the place where she had rubbed in the bitter oil.

She watched Martha finish her tea before returning to the hearth.

The older woman leaned back in her chair, exhausted by the short conversation.

Selene added another piece of wood to the fire and blew out the tallow candle.

The room settled into flickering orange shadows.

Through a narrow gap in the shutters, she could see the High Keep standing above the rooftops of Lowfell. Its watchtowers glowed against the dark mountain.

She pressed her thumb against the silver vial.

That morning, the Alpha had looked at her as though something about her had caught his attention.

Now Martha was frightened of what he might discover.

Selene had spent nineteen years believing the vial was simply something her aunt wanted her to wear.

Tonight, for the first time, she wondered whether it was the only thing keeping her alive.