5 - Terrifying Honor

“It is a solution.”

The voice was low and pragmatic, belonging to Fendrel, the acting Alpha of the Reval pack. He stood before the hearth in the elder’s hall, a squat, windowless building that smelled of old wood and dried herbs.

His gaze was fixed on the crackling fire, avoiding the troubled eyes of the man sitting across from him.

Jorunn, the blacksmith, ran a thick, calloused hand over his weary face. “A solution? Fendrel, we are sending a girl to a potential death sentence. We’re serving her to him like a piece of meat.”

“She is a piece of meat that our pack chokes on,” Fendrel countered, his tone hardening. “You hear the whispers, Jorunn. You see the looks. After Samuel’s death.... it’s gotten worse. People are afraid. Griselda came to me this morning. She says the girl is uncontrollable, a danger. That she wants her gone.”

“Griselda wants her inheritance, and she is a cruel drunk,” Jorunn grumbled, slamming his empty flagon onto the rough-hewn table. “The girl is… lost. Frightened. Not evil.” He thought of her small, trembling form in the mud of the village square, the sheer terror in her eyes.

“Her two intended mates are in the ground,” Fendrel stated flatly, turning from the fire. His face was grim. “Accidents or not, it is a pattern. And she cannot shift. She contributes nothing. Her presence causes strife. Sending her as tribute... it is logical. It satisfies the Alpha King’s decree, it removes a source of fear and dissent from the pack, and it frees Griselda from a burden she has carried since her brother’s foolish mistake.”

“It is a cruel logic.”

“We live in a cruel world,” Fendrel shot back. “The Alpha King is not a sentimental being. He demands tribute. We send him the tribute we can most afford to lose. It is done, Jorunn. The council agrees. Winter Moon will ride with the King’s men at week’s end.”

Jorunn said nothing more. He stared into the dregs of his ale and saw the face of a terrified girl with hair like spun snow, being led to a monster. And he, like everyone else, was going to stand by and let it happen.

The week passed in a blur of dread for Winter. Griselda was almost cheerful, a terrifying change from her usual sourness. She treated Winter with a kind of detached efficiency, as if she were a pig being prepared for market.

A new, serviceable dress of dark grey wool was provided, along with a sturdy cloak and boots that didn’t have holes in them.

It was the most her aunt had ever given her, and each item felt like a final nail being hammered into her coffin. She didn’t have to do chores anymore.

Griselda brought in a neighbor’s daughter, paying her with coins that Winter knew had been her father’s. She was already being erased.

On the final morning, Winter stood in the predawn chill of the village square. Two other girls were there, June, the pretty, brown haired girl Marcus had been flirting with, and another named Eve.

Their families stood with them, offering tearful farewells, pressing charms and pouches of food into their hands.

They were scared, but underneath their fear, Winter could sense a sliver of nervous excitement. They were going to the Citadel, the heart of their world. They might even see the King.

For them, it was a terrifying honor. For Winter, it was just the terror.

No one stood with her. Griselda was not there.

Winter had only the small bundle containing her new clothes and a single, stale bread roll she had saved from the night before. She stood apart, a lonely ghost in the dim light.

The Alpha’s men arrived, their massive forms moving with a silent grace that was unnerving. They were the same two who had collected the tithes.

One had a long, jagged scar that cut through his left eyebrow. The other had cold, calculating eyes that seemed to miss nothing. They were leading three horses.

“The tributes from Reval?” the scarred one asked Fendrel, his voice a low growl.

“Yes,” Fendrel said, gesturing to the girls. “June, Eve, and Winter. May they serve the Alpha King well.”