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.
“I’ll be expecting you.”
Between the heavy workloads of both jobs, the day flew by. I locked up Widow’s Way and travelled across town back to the Pearl.
Lord Ansel would not be interrupting my sleep, nor would he be putting me anywhere.
It was already past midnight when I knocked on the black door of the two-story building. When the Nightcastor had initially invited me to return that evening, he hadn’t specified a time, but I was sure he would answer.
“You’re late,” he noted, neither happy nor upset. His brown hair was slicked to the side, and his beard was neatly trimmed. Despite the hour, he was fully dressed down to his shoes.
He’d waited for me.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, of course not.”
I smiled. An easy win.
As I’d suspected, my late arrival meant he didn’t have the time to torture me through hours of small talk before inviting me to his bedroom.
The fuzzy light of dawn streamed in from the circular window as I lay awake.