Page 10 of In Her Own Rite

Seb has set the table, and as we enter, his mom, Isolde, comes from the kitchen holding a large pot of stew.

“I guess everyone’s here,” Maren says.

“No, we’re still waiting on Dagmar and Viggo,” says Em, taking a seat beside Isolde.

“Oh, they’ll be late. Finishing up some business at the common house.”

Seb looks up. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Isolde says. “There’s a new petition from some people on the southern isles, seeking asylum. We declined their last request, but they sent another plea.”

Saga takes the pot from her and serves herself, then passes it across the table to me.

“The southern isles?” Maren asks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Em stiffen. I serve myself a large helping of the stew, then pour some into Em’s bowl for her.

“Some unincorporated islands, about 200 miles south of here,” Isolde says, putting her napkin onto her lap.

“Oh. Are they like us?” Maren asks. “Shifters?”

“...Iija,” Saga says carefully.Yes.“But they’re notpakka.”

Maren looks confused, and I cut in.

“They’re shifters, but they’re not pack. They don’t belong with us.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Gabe says, glancing at Em. “We’re having rosemary venison stew with root vegetables for dinner, and I made rolls from scratch. Enjoy.”

The pot makes its way around the rest of the table, and I eye my own plate hungrily.

“So what are they, then, if they’re not Fakari?” asks Maren. “I’ve never even heard of the southern isles before.”

“They’re politically independent,” Seb says.

“They’re anon-entity,” Isolde corrects. “And culturally, they’re practically feral.”

“They don’t approve of any contact with the mainland,” Saga adds, her voice gentler than Isolde’s. “We were allies of sorts, until Seb’s father and your father, Maren, moved to open the Fakaris together in the eighties. Then they broke contact.”

Gabe clears his throat. That’s not the whole story.

“So how come they want to come here?” Maren asks. “If they don’t approve of us.”

Gabe shakes his head. “Can we not do this now? I worked hard on this dinner and I want us to enjoy it.”

“There’s no ‘them,’ Maren,” Isolde says, and I can practically feel the tension coming off of her. “They have no culture. They’re just a collection of feral packs on unincorporated territory.Someof them want to come here, and I’m suresomeof them want our heads on pikes. It’s not happening.”

“Isolde,kuunalle,” Saga says quietly.Calm yourself.

“It’s fine, really,” says Em.

“It’s notfine,” I say. “We don’t have to talk about this at dinner. We can also enjoy the meal Gabe spent two hours making. Come.Kututkuk.”

I lift my glass for the toast, signaling the start of the meal.

“Kututkuk,” they repeat.

I dig into my stew, andumph,it’s so fucking good. So good that the conversation completely leaves my mind, until—

“Can someone explain to me why you’re all being so weird about this?” Maren asks.

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