Sawtooth Spire i'm ephemera, see my 'use by' date

Watching Phaedra's expression churn through various emotions, none of them positive, fastened a thorny anchor to Wylla's slow-beating heart. She'd known this would happen. She'd known long before the season turned her brain to mush and drove her into Mahler's arms against her better judgment. She'd known the second he said he intended to father multiple litters in the name of duty that he would wind up being unable to split his time correctly. She'd told him, more or less, that he would be a lacklustre father to them all, and they would be the ones to suffer for it. He hadn't listened.

Now his young daughter, who adored him and held him in higher regard than even the stars overhead, knew heartbreak for the first time.

Wylla had no words to say. Phaedra's pain was echoed within the chambers of her own heart. She'd told Mahler she would not make excuses for his behaviour and she intended to stick by that. There was no excuse that would take Phaedra's hurt away. She'd asked the man how he intended to make things right and he had no satisfactory answer. Wylla would not supply it for him. All she could do was hold her daughter tight, fighting back tears herself at the spear he'd wedged so firmly into the hearts of his so-called loves, and commiserate.

I know, baby, she breathed over the creamy top of her daughter's heart. Mama's hurts, too. That should've been the end of it, really. There was nothing else to say, and she wanted to invite Phaedra to a game, but instead, her daughter began a stream of consciousness that turned Wylla's blood to ice and her bones to steel. He said what?

Wife is what a woman is to a man when they're mates, Wylla said, barely containing the rage that trembled behind her tone. And a smart man only has one wife. Being mates is a sacred thing between wolves who love each other. It should never involve many wives or husbands. Ever. She realized her tone was growing harsher than she meant, and sought to soften it. Her anger didn't need to involve Phaedra. But this explained a lot.

A contract, huh? A marriage contract, it seemed.

What is Siegew? she had to ask, pursing her lips, desperate for any distraction from the chilling knowledge that Mahler told his own daughter that having a harem would make him strong. At least, without context, that's how it sounded to Wylla.