I wipe the tear from my cheek as I feed my father the colourless soup. It is probably his last meal. He knows it too. He just parts his lips enough for me to put the spoon through.
He looks like a corpse.
I drop the spoon and the loud clang startles us both. "You do not have to go."
He raises his eyes from the untiled ground and amber eyes--much like mine--lacking fire meet mine. He starts to speak, and my throat starts to hurt when no words come.
He is unable to speak. Not since the illness took him. His face contorts as he tries to make words, and my heart breaks when he fails. Silver lines his eyes and I know what he wants to say. That he must leave us to protect us. Me. I lunge forward, taking his weathered hands in mine and I kiss his knuckles. "No. I won't lose you too, father."
His hands leave mine gently and they tremble as they rise to my cheek. His thumb smears the tear on my cheek and my heart aches too much to bear. I jerk out of his reach and flee from his presence, sobbing.
I run into mother and her eyes are swollen and red as well. I don't say word to her either, because I know the haunted look in her eyes. She has begun grieving.
I can't accept any of this. It's too much. I won't lose father. I head for the abandoned cellar in the house, an idea forming in my head.
********
Cutting my hair was the easiest of the things I had to do. I hated it anyway. It has the rarest hue of gold, radiant and blush tinged. It almost looks red. It stands out, even in the dark, calling attention to me even when I don't want it.
If I'm hoping to pass off as a male, it is the first thing I must lose.
I cut it low, until it reaches my neck. It'll grow just as fast. Werewolves never run out of hair.
The bleach is next. The foul stench of black henbane as I rub it into my roots has me gagging, but I continue, massaging it into my cropped hair until there is not a single golden strand left.
I drop my hands and look at the mirror, growling low in my throat. It doesn't matter what I do. My features are too delicate to resemble a man's. My eyes of the richest, brightest amber have a softness to them that should not belong in the eyes of a man. The bulge of my breasts can be fixed, but the slimness of my waist and flare of my hips cannot be hidden.
I do not have a choice. The thought of burying my father has me throwing his trunk open and rummaging through it for whatever I can find to help me.
I find his chainmail, plate armour, helmet, the shield with the glaring family crest of House Ironfang, gauntlets, greaves, bracers, his lance and a sheathed sword.
All too heavy for me to carry. I grab most of what I can, pulling them on after wrapping my breasts tightly with wraps until it is flat as a board.
And when all is done, I take the sword, breaths leaving my lungs fast and hard enough, and I mar my skin with the ashen tip, sobbing and snarling as it cuts in deep. It heals just as quickly as the cut forms, but the ash in the sword leaves behind a faint scar on my cheekbone.
There goes my future. No man will take me with the scar.
But it is the only way I can join the army without question. Because in Silvermoor, women do not have scars.
I toss a look back at the altar as I walk through the gates, pulling father's best horse with me. I don't bother with the prayers to the Moon Goddess.
She didn't save my brothers from the war. She didn't take pity on my mother, even if she prayed every day. She watched us mourn and bury our dead every year. She watched us die with them.
I lost faith in her long ago. The only one who can save me now is me.
And there is no chance I am coming back alive.
***********
Thane
Family meetings.
I hate them. I try to avoid them the best I can because they never end well for me. Or my siblings.
But mother has summoned me.
Who is my mother, you might ask. The Moon Goddess is. I am her first child, and the most hated of us ten. A Guardian stripped of his powers and condemned to loneliness for all eternity.
A vengeful spirit, they call me, but they do not know me. I am worse than that.
Her call piqued my interest. It means she wishes to reconsider my sentence and reinstate me as a Spirit Guardian to one of her prized mortal children. The why of it eludes me. None of the wolves I have been assigned to ever survives the battle. Mighty and great, they all fall. It makes me the most terrible Guardian ever, but I have never been one to care about reputation.
"Thane. How lovely it is to see you again, brother," my sister, Marlowe greets, grinning nastily from ear to ear.
I don't reply, ignoring her completely like I have ignored the rest and their snide comments, as well as prodding questions.
Cool air rushes in, and blinding light flows through the chambers, causing me to shield my eyes from it. A hush falls over us as She takes her seat on the throne at the centre, leaning back as she observes each of us with intense scrutiny. "Children."
"Goddess," we say at once, lowering our heads.
I feel her eyes slide to me. When the Moon Goddess sets her sights on you, you feel it deep in your bones. Your entire being is aware of the entity who watches you, and you melt from within. "Thane," she calls in a voice that is both young and ancient, wise and vast. It comes from everywhere and nowhere, pressing down on me from every direction until I turn to her, eyes on the ground.
Her essence is too vast to meet her gaze. Should I attempt it, I will lose my sight.
"Mother," I reply dryly.
Silence. Only I, Thane the Vile, can speak to the Goddess this way. She cannot punish me any further. She has grown tired of doing so.
"Valka Ironfang is in need of a Guardian. What say you of taking on this position?"
"A woman? That is unacceptable. Women do not fight in wars," Isolde whispers, anger and jealousy evident in her voice. "Surely, you cannot let this happen, Mother. When I lived among the mortals, I was nothing but a breeding mare for the male I was forced to wed. That is all we are meant for."
The Moon Goddess raises a finger, silencing her. "I see the lines in Valka Ironfang's future. Never has it been so clear that the war cannot be won without her." Those piercing eyes slide to me again. "With Thane's help."
I scoff. "You must have seen wrong. I have no interest whatsoever in being a Guardian, and not to a woman. She is young and stupid. She will die in battle, like her brothers. Perhaps, much earlier even. She will not survive the training grounds."
The temperature drops tangibly, indicating Mother's anger. "She will survive, and you will see her through."
My jaw clenches. "She is a lost cause. Death awaits her in that camp."
"I shall grant you whatever you desire if she survives."
My head snaps up at that, and the whispers of my siblings fill the chamber. "Send me, Mother," my siblings yell. "He is no good. I will perform the task better." "All have perished under him. I will do a better job than him."
But the Moon Goddess watches me keenly, waiting for my response, because she knows that is something I cannot decline. I've only ever wanted one thing. To reunite with my mate and children in the After.
If there is even a single chance...
"Give me your word, and I will do as you wish," I say to her.
She flicks her hand, and the back of my palm burns a little. I turn my hand to find her promise mark on it. "There. My word. Do not fail me, Thane. Or you will never see them again."
I stare at the mark--a little black wolf. And I keep staring at it, disbelief numbing my senses. I have waited for centuries, and if helping this Valka woman is what I must do to reunite with them, I will.
I raise my head from my hand, peering at the bright ground on which the Goddess's foot rests, and I promise, "I won't fail you, Mother."