Chapter 6
An Exceptionally Shitty Day in the Waywards
“The punishment for wielding Dark Nature must be nothing short of grand. For if mercy takes its place, rebellion is but a breath away.”
— Marker Dane, Lord of Lawship
With my hand wrapped and three holes actively burning through Lord Ansel’s floor, I ventured outside, fleeing Keeper’s Street as quick as a thief.
The Waywards had never been in such disarray. Blood, bodies, and smoked flesh coated the air, the stench stinging my nostrils and irritating my eyes. I rubbed my face with my sleeve, blinking harshly a few times before pushing on, keeping an eye out for Luna.
The Drakers worked their way through the destruction, evaluating and loudly reordering the defenses still left in place after the attack. With the possibility of remaining Sapphires within the walls, many threw paranoid glances over their shoulders while families boarded-up windows.
Bodies lay all along the wet ground, most unrecognizable beyond their attire.
Among the dead were Drakers, Sapphires, and far too many Dark Natured.
Not a single Witchlord had fallen, their Light Nature serving them well.
Lord Ansel’s had served him too well. That mattered little, though.
I had the living to worry about, not the dead.
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.