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Seven

I scowled, took a sip, and leaned against the clean but chipped stone countertop. “Whose turn is it to go to the marketplace today?”

“Yours, thank the lovely goddess.”

“What’s up with you?” I looked at him over the lip of my mug as he went about kneading bread. He was the useful one in our family. He’d essentially

taken over for Mom, cooking and sewing and woodworking and doing all kinds of other handy stuff—he was the master of all trades. My abilities were limited to healing, hunting, fishing, gardening, and narrowly escaping the beast of the Forbidden Wood. It was partially why I needed to take all the risks. This family could not survive without Hannon. Not even for a little while.

He rolled his eyes and stopped his kneading for a moment. “Daphne.” I felt a grin creep up my tired face. “We all need admirers.”

“Yeah, well…” He shook his head and went back to his task. After a moment, he spilled his guts. “She knows I had my twenty-fifth birthday last month.”

My grin widened. “Prime mating age, yes. Go on.” “She has something she wants to ask me.”

“No…” I pushed forward gleefully. “Is she going to propose?”

“Women don’t propose, Finley. I think she wants to ask me to propose to her, though. She’s not been subtle about her…desires.”

I could feel my toothy grin. Hannon was not like most guys in our spit- wad of a village. He didn’t chase skirts and visit the pubs after dark to fornicate with succubi. He liked to get to know a lady before progressing to the next level. Because of that and his stout frame and gingerific good looks, he did seem to get to the next level (banging) every time he put the effort in. He just didn’t put the effort in very much.

And that drove the ladies wild.

“Women aren’t supposed to hunt, either. Or wear ill-fitting men’s trousers. Yet here I am…”

“You’re different.”

“You just think that because I’m your sister. Boys aren’t supposed to cook and look after their families, and yet you excel at that better than most women. Maybe she’s your true mate.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. True mates aren’t possible.”

“You know what I mean.” I recited it as if to a dunce. “Maybe she’d be your true mate if the curse hadn’t suppressed all our animals, and we could actually function like real shifters.”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t think true mates ever existed. I’ve read the histories, same as you, and none of them confirm they’re real.”

“First of all, our library is small and limited, and before the curse, people weren’t looking to learn about their shifter traits from books. They learned

about that from their peers. So it makes sense that we wouldn’t have many volumes on shifter functionality. I know that because I whined about it, and that’s what I was told. Second, those that are carried are histories focused on the nobles and kings and queens and important people. They marry for money and power. They don’t give a shit about love. Common people like us have a better chance at finding our true mate.”

I didn’t actually believe that, but I loved to play devil’s advocate. I knew for a fact that my brother did wish to meet his true mate. That he would honor his animal’s choice (should he ever meet his animal, locked inside of him), and mate her as nature intended.

I, myself, did not believe in destined anything. I wasn’t the type to allow anyone to push me around, even if it was my own primal side doing the pushing. Nor did I give a crap about love and mating. Not anymore. Not since I’d gotten my heart ripped out and stomped on two years ago. My ex had dumped me and then quickly gone on to mate a toothy girl dedicated to needlepoint and looking after him.

His reasoning for the breakup? He needed someone ready and able to run a house. He wanted a “proper” wife.

Apparently in his eyes, and in the eyes of most of the people in the village, a proper wife didn’t hunt better than her husband, or at all. She didn’t tan hides, play with knives, and wear trousers. Nor did she look after villagers ailing from the curse’s sickness more than she would tend to her husband’s less-than-dire needs. This was because she would’ve (apparently incorrectly) assumed her husband was an adult and didn’t need a nursemaid to wipe his mouth and assure him he was the master of the universe. Silly her. Clearly I would be single forever. It really wasn’t a huge loss, though, given the dickfaces in this village. It was just too bad about the dry spell for the last two years. That wasn’t so easily borne, especially with lust demons

wandering around.

“I think true mates are incredibly rare,” Hannon murmured.

“Well, yeah. There is one person in all of the magical world meant for us? And they have to be the same type of shifter, same overall power level, and same general age… Lots of ‘ands.’ But it is doable, or else we wouldn’t have a name for it. Besides, Daphne is very pretty and very willing. I know how you like them curves, too.”

I could see his cheek and ear turn bright crimson. He was very easy to embarrass. I made it my goal to do it at least once a day.

“I’m too young to marry,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, right. That’s not even remotely true, and you know it. Not since the curse. None of us have a long life expectancy anymore—we need to get life rolling. Hell, if that donkey hadn’t dumped me, I might be mated with a bun in the oven right now.”

“Still,” he muttered.

I ignored the pang in my broken heart and tapped the counter. “Do you have a list, or should I guess what we need?”

“We don’t have enough coin for you to guess.”

“This is true. I’m pretty hungry. I go crazy when I shop hungry. Hurry up with that bread.”

He glowered at me, the red in his cheeks just now starting to seep away. “Oh hey…” He pulled the slip of oddly shaped, overly thick, beige-

splotched handmade paper from the edge of the counter and held it out.

We didn’t have normal paper anymore. We couldn’t power the machines to make it. Instead, we either had to make it by hand from wood pulp, plants, and any paper left over from before the curse, or trade for it. Parchment could be made, as well, though that was more expensive and reserved for special situations.

In this house, we received it as a thanks for helping with the everlass or elixir. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.

“About Dash…” Hannon said.

I finished what was in the mug and set it beside the washbasin. I’d completely forgotten about Dash. I’d only managed a couple hours of sleep last night, and anything not relevant to everlass completely slipped my mind.

“Yes, what was that about?” I asked.

Seriousness stole over Hannon’s expression. “One of his friends knows the location of the field. I guess you’re not the only one who uses it occasionally. He took Dash and another friend. I guess the kid goes with his older brother to collect the leaves.”

The blood left my face. “Are they insane? Why would they risk a ten- year-old boy?”

“They go at high noon, I guess. The least dangerous time. They sacrifice the potency of the leaves in the elixir for the safety of the kids.”

I was having a hard time processing this. To risk the children at all. Children! They were all we had. They were the most important resource in this village. It was why Dash and Sable were pampered more than they

probably should be. Overprotected. Watched more than was probably healthy. We needed the kids to keep up our numbers, or we were in danger of fading away.

“We have to do a better job of watching him,” I said, mostly talking to myself. “He’s going to get the spanking of his life. I don’t care how old he is. I will put the fear of the Divine Goddess in him so that he never does that again.”

“You were fourteen…”

“Four years older than him, and I was Nana’s only hope. Not that it helped. Dash has no reason to be out there.”

“I know,” he said softly. “We do need to talk with him.”

I let out a breath. “Well. Now we know. And we have plenty of leaves to keep us going until spring. We’re good.”

ot long afterward, I walked down the sunny lane to the little village market in the square. It mostly held produce and trinkets, some furniture, and one or two hides or pelts. We used to have

much more, I remembered, back when I was a kid. Travelers would come to our market, bringing their special skills and wares, and the villagers created finer arts and crafts to sell to the outsiders. I used to love wandering by the various stalls, looking at the beautiful hand-blown glass, the fun designs on the needlework, and the art and sculptures. I would help my mother run our booth from time to time, offering some flowers I’d grown or pelts I’d helped Father cure. I’d say hello to the traveling people and watch their juggling on the grass in the square.

But our kingdom had disappeared from the hearts and minds of the magical world. No one could come here even if they wanted to. Worse, no one could leave. Many had tried over the years. Or so I’d heard. I had been too young to witness any of this firsthand.

Some had attempted escape through the communal forests to the east and south of the village. That land technically belonged to the royal family, but it had been allocated for the use of the village. As a result, it had not been directly cursed, like the Forbidden Wood, and no everlass grew there.

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