Blackheart, p.5
Blackheart, page 5
I checked on Trista first.
She was inside her shop, physically fine, and tending to her unconscious niece. A few of her nephews had helped carry Arielle back home, unseen. Believed by others to be deceased.
Trista promised to handle her, and while I’d turn a blind eye for her sake, I wouldn’t shed a tear if someone slit Arielle’s throat in the night. Families had lost their homes and their lives. The Waywards weren’t large enough to hide in forever. Her punishment would come.
Satisfied at seeing Trista alive, I moved on to looking for Luna.
My poison had yet to settle. I was on edge, the possibility of exploding seeming more likely by the minute. Lord Ansel hadn’t killed me, but I would not be free from punishment. Not when there was a horrible aching in my limbs—the cusp of release I couldn’t reach.
Stepping around bodies and moving through the somber Waywards, I headed back to the debris of my apartment.
I wasn’t sure where to go for the night. If it weren’t so cold, I would sleep outside. Luna could at least stay at the brothel. Maybe I’d talk Mister Archwindle into letting me stay at Widow’s Way after my shifts. Or maybe I just wouldn’t sleep at all.
While I’d hoped Luna and Riven would be waiting for me nearby, they were nowhere to be found. An uncomfortable knot dug into my stomach as Drakers stacked unidentifiable bodies into a pile of rubble. Scavengers sorted through the ruin, stealing anything salvageable. If Luna were here, she’d surely be one of them. She was always fond of the principle of “finders keepers.”
Perhaps she was just ashamed to show her face so soon. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find her. After all, she had to be somewhere within the walls.
My pace quickened as I searched the soot-covered streets, gaze shifting from ruin to the surrounding solemn faces. As smoky air burned my throat, I coughed into my elbow. This was an exceptionally shitty day in the Waywards. After so many fatalities, they wouldn’t have to worry about us outgrowing the cage anytime soon. I winced as I passed the body of an old acquaintance, but pushed on.
I’d walk every street in the city to find Luna if I must.
And I did.
Every. Single. Street.
The sun had set by the time I circled back to where I’d started. My legs and injured shoulder ached, though my heart rivaled both. Once again, I hoped to find Luna sitting outside of what was left of our apartment, maybe waiting to apologize, but all I found was Riven, appearing as defeated as me.
He stood with his mask and hood off, his grey and gold armor coated in blood. Wet tendrils of chestnut hair clung to both sides of his tan face.
He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, grimacing at the dark clouds overhead. The worst-case scenario floated to the front of my mind, my stomach twisting with each silent second that passed.
“She’s gone,” he said at last.
My heart dropped, poison swirling inside of me. “What?”
“She left the ‘Wards.”
“What?” I repeated, snapping my head to the gate. It was once again shut and guarded.
“I confronted her in the woods myself. She wouldn’t come back. She’s gone.”
It was as though an arrow had struck me through the chest.
She was the closest thing to family I’d ever had. I didn’t think she’d truly leave.
She was a coward.
“She’ll be hunted out there,” I whispered, more to myself than him. The walls were too high to climb. Too difficult to break through. Many had tried.
Riven shook his head, jaw tensing. “I asked if she wanted to know whether or not you’d survived. She told me to fuck off. Let her face the fate she chose. It’s not for you to worry about now.”
My poison was on the edge of boiling. If Luna didn’t care about me, then no one did.
My heart cracked.
Two miserable days passed.
I lay curled up on the wood floor of Widow's Way, tucked behind the bar where there were no windows. Thieves were everywhere. If someone broke in, I wanted to see them first.
Mister Archwindle had agreed to let me stay in the tavern for a few nights, but it was no permanent solution. I didn’t need long anyway, just enough time to find a way outside of the walls.
Two dish towels were folded and pillowed under my head while I hugged myself for warmth. Thank Fate that the floors behind the bar weren’t soaked in ale, especially after an exceptionally busy shift. Everyone had needed a beverage to numb their mind after the Sapphire attack.
I forced my eyes shut, but my thoughts were unyielding.
Where was Luna sleeping? Was she alive? What about my mother or brothers? Were they all dead? Did they wonder if I was alive? Did anyone in the entire world care about me? Did I even care about myself?
“Stop,” I whispered, flinching.
The world wasn’t ending, not yet anyway. The midwinter celebration would be in two days, which meant I could at least look forward to watching the annual game of Orb Hazy.
Luna always loved watching, even when it got gory. I hadn't wanted to go last year, feeling insecure about my appearance. I recalled getting ready in my room, just an hour before the game would begin.
“You’re so pretty,” Luna said.
She gave compliments like gifts, wrapped in soothing tones and always right when you needed them. I sat in front of our cracked and rusted mirror. I never looked at my reflection, but that day, something had willed me to look, and I did, as if answering an order.
“Help me with my hair before Riven leaves and goes to the celebration by himself,” Luna joked.
I sat behind her on the floor, brushing through her pin-straight hair, bravely glancing up at the mirror every so often. Luna’s warm caramel skin practically glowed. Her hair fell just below her shoulders, making it quick work to braid.
While I appreciated her compliment, she was the pretty one. My skin was fair and lacked her radiance.
She had soft brown tresses, while mine was a devouring black. My face was longer and narrower. We both had brown eyes, but mine seemed like a void, while hers were inviting like chocolate. My cheekbones were more prominent, but her lips were fuller.
She always looked happy, while my face sat in a natural state of misery.
“Stop comparing yourself to me,” she snapped.
I met her gaze in the circular mirror. “I’m not,” I lied.
She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Blackheart women are beautiful. We are beautiful. Don’t trick yourself into believing anything less.” While her tone was sharp, there was something else behind it, too. She wasn’t only trying to convince me, but herself as well.
The squeak of the door startled me out of the memory.
Sitting up, I listened closely, perfectly hidden behind the bar. Only one set of footsteps entered, quiet but heavy. Reaching for a low shelf, I carefully grabbed the paring knife. The floorboards creaked near the bar as my heart pounded. I was vulnerable, but I wasn’t entirely helpless. I jumped to my feet with my weapon ready, knowing I’d aim with the pointy end and hope for the best.
Lord Ansel lifted a brow. My back hit the wall, knocking over a glass. It shattered across the floor.
I scowled. “What are you doing here?”
It was late into the night, yet he was polished. He hadn’t bothered to wear his cloak. Instead, he stood in a black tunic and matching pants, no weapons in sight. Not that he needed them. He silently assessed me and the mess he had caused. Unamused by the knife in my hand, he snatched the blade and tossed it down the bar.
“Blackheart, explain why you’re here.”
I grabbed a broom. “I’m trying to sleep.” It was bizarre speaking so familiarly with a Witchlord, but he did not act like the others.
“You prefer the floor over a perfectly fine bed?”
“It’s not perfectly fine,” I argued, shards clinking together on the ground.
He raised his chin. “Oh? It’s not? You never went into the room to know.”
“I don't need to see it to know it’s unacceptable. It’s in a Witchlord's home!”
I’d shouted, and loudly.
If he was angry, he didn’t show it. “Find somewhere hospitable to sleep by tomorrow night, or you’ll find yourself where I put you,” he warned.
“You can’t tell me where to sle—!”
A grey cloud surrounded him, then he was gone—like he’d evaporated.
I clenched my teeth, yanking the broom once more to finish sweeping up the glass.
After locking the door and placing a chair in front of it, I returned to the frigid floor.
His definition of hospitable and mine were entirely different. Anywhere I could lie down was hospitable enough—anywhere he was, was not.
I hummed, a trick that sometimes soothed me to sleep. I’d been doing it since I was a little girl. Other times, I gently scratched my arms, imagining it was someone else.
Since failing to lift the sword, I hadn’t dreamt of wielding or training anymore. In fact, I hadn’t dreamt at all. It was as if my own mind was disappointed and didn’t know what to say to me.
I was truly alone.
Chapter 7
A Posse of Imbeciles
“They must be punished. All of them!”
— Attributed to Queen Delaina Lyonaire, as overheard in the Council Chambers
I banged on Trista’s door well before opening, asking for forgiveness as I hurried in.
She gathered a pitcher of water. “If Arielle killed someone close to you, add yourself to the list. I can’t be bothered to hear about it anymore.”
I shook my head. Arielle wouldn’t be receiving a solstice gift from me, but killing her was the least of my worries. “I’ve witnessed enough death this winter. I need your help with something.”
Trista wrapped herself in a brown blanket, her hair a frizzy mess and bags drooping under her eyes. Dawn was hours away, and usually I’d wait for the shop to open. But uncertainty haunted me. Even being allowed in provided a semblance of relief.
Sometimes, I wondered if I bothered people just to see if I was worth the burden.
She plopped two mugs onto the counter with a thud.
“Help with what?” Her veins were a little darker than usual, protruding from her temples as she lifted the pitcher. I might not have been the only one forced to use my Nature. It would have been rude to inquire about such a thing, and unless I had a way to fix it, there was no use in pointing it out. She was probably well aware.
“I need to find a new place. A temporary one.”
I had only one night left to sleep in the tavern, and no intention of ending up in a brothel.
Trista filled our mugs, an audible sigh vibrating against her pursed lips. “Well, do you have any coin saved up?”
“Does anyone?”
She scratched her head and yawned again. “Nope.”
I didn’t think so.
She tapped her finger on the counter for a moment before letting out an excited gasp. “Just find one of those wealthy gentlemen who live in the Pearl and marry him! You’re not half bad, you know? You’re young enough, too. There would be a lovely bed to sleep in, and probably a fireplace, and—well, Moons of Glory, I hardly know what they have, but I’d bet it’s nice.”
I frowned. While the idea of an actual bed was nice, the thought of living on that end of the Waywards attached to a wealthy man was nauseating. I just wanted my apartment back… and my best friend.
“There are poor men with beds, too,” she offered.
I gulped my tea down. I would have to brainstorm more on my own.
I thanked Trista before venturing back out into the city. It had been some time since I’d visited the Pearl. There would likely be apartments available for rent there, but I rarely concerned myself with the unattainable. Perhaps being surrounded by the wealthy would attract some coin into my life. It wouldn’t hurt to look.
The moon guided me through the alleyways. The walk felt short enough at night when there weren't a million screaming beggars and petty arguments taking up half the muddy street.
The Pearl wasn’t much different from everywhere else in the Waywards, but it had slightly nicer homes and exclusive establishments.
The wealthy had tried buying their freedom three winters ago, but no amount was high enough. Despite it all, they still found ways to feel superior, elevating their status even within the walls. Several had fronted the cost of labor and materials to build better homes, then rented them out at a higher price to their fellow socialites.
Their buildings were still grim, but also polished with rare luxuries such as stairs, fireplaces, and even the occasional balcony.
The stars twinkled, but they could not steal my attention from the queen of the sky. The crescent moon shimmered. What must it be like for her to wait all day for her chance to shine, just for the world to be sleeping?
A hand grabbed me, shoving me down. I shrieked as my palms and knees slammed into the wet ground of the alleyway. Turning over, I shuffled backwards frantically until I sat pressed against the cool wall, with four men looming over me.
My eyes widened at the strangers. The looks I received in return were of nothing but hatred.
“She’s a Blackheart,” one said, gravelly and sure. My markings were under my clothes, but my traitorous eyes and veins were a dead giveaway.
Most Blackhearts could camouflage their veins with a mixture of practice and not using their Nature. I’d tried that for years, but it didn’t matter. My Nature demanded to be known. A heart as black as mine would know many things like animosity, shame, and fear, but I would never know what it meant to be looked at and not judged by my Nature before anything else.
I glared up at the four men. It was easy to hate them back as they stood together like a puddle of dicks awaiting their turns for a buttered sock.
My nostrils flared. A chuckle escaped from one of the men’s lips as he cracked his knuckles. While his hands were noticeably dainty, he was the largest of the group. Most certainly due to pie and a lack of training. The blond rodent’s nest on top of his head was almost as unruly as the wispy display of a beard on his face.
“Of course she’s a Blackheart. Look how filthy she is.”
Three of them laughed darkly, while the fourth observed with wild eyes and a continuous brow, sizing me up like prey.
I shot back a deadly glare and scrambled to my feet. “Save your giggling for when you make love to one another. I’m not bothering anyone. Leave me be.”
The blond kicked me in the abdomen. My body thudded against the ground, my involuntary groan fading into a low whimper.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “Your kind's bloody existence bothers me. You poison dreams, melt flesh, make men incapable of love, and have ruined countless lives. If it weren’t for vermin like you, I’d still be with my wife and children.”
The very Nature he hated so much brewed within me. “What do Blackhearts have to do with your wife and children?” I spat. I was sick of being blamed for everything, even by other Dark Natured. I had yet to see his palms, but I’d bet they were marked in stone.
He reached down, gripping my hair and yanking me to my feet. I yelped as he brought his mouth to my ear. “My wife is Natureless. My children, too, and now she’s likely remarried to afford them, all because I was forced into these damned walls,” he growled, his breath hot on my face. “I’ll never see the love of my life again, and it’s all because of a Blackheart like you.”
“Edmund? Let go of her,” an unfamiliar voice said.
He released his grip immediately, backing away as I caught myself against the wall.
I took slow, intentional breaths as a man with short brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard approached. He stopped a polite distance away, examining me.
“It’s bad business to attack a woman in the middle of the street, is it not?” he questioned, his gentle scold surely meant for children, not men.
“She’s a Blackheart,” the blond answered defensively, shifting his gaze and pointing at me. One quick glance at his palm was all it took to confirm my suspicion. The grey, rough texture couldn’t mean anything else. Perhaps if we were outside of the Waywards, he would have sent a rock soaring into my skull instead of a foot to my stomach.
The well-dressed man tightened his jaw, his lips falling into a flat line. “And I’m a Nightcastor. Go make yourself useful elsewhere before I decide to never pay you another copper.”
The posse of imbeciles scurried away.
I was alone in the alley with the brunette, both of us silent. His clothes weren’t thinning and falling apart like mine. They were a simple yet fresh set of garments. A Pearl dweller.
“I’m sorry. My security does too good of a job sometimes,” he laughed.
If he could afford security within the Waywards, he must have been incredibly wealthy prior to being forced into them.
“I’d like to go now.”
I didn’t care about an apology, and even less, a conversation.
The man was generically handsome, with a youthful face despite the evidence of aging around his kind eyes.
Hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “Of course. However, I’d love the opportunity to make up for this embarrassing inconvenience. That’s my building you’re leaning on. Perhaps you might consider returning this evening—if you’re available. I’m an excellent host.”
“Hm.” I was familiar enough with men and their intentions to recognize his tone and the true meaning of the invitation.
But…I did need somewhere “hospitable” to sleep. I hoped to be out of the Waywards after the midwinter celebration. Perhaps, I’d find my escape after Orb Hazy, when many Drakers would be drunk and partying late into the night. That was only a day away. The Pearl would be a perfectly acceptable temporary solution. Lord Ansel would be oh-so-pleased with this joyous turn of events.
“I’ll be available,” I decided, offering a rare smile.
