Chapter 3
Eligible citizens of Xantera, please report to the Blood Moon Palace for the Choosing.”
The female voice repeats her message every few seconds, and I’m a whirl of movement in response.
Hair up. Shoes on. Cloak fastened. Badge pinned. Breath unleashed.
Malcolm, on the other hand, takes his time.
I know it would be rude of me to make the long walk to the northern lip of the city without him, but impatience makes my fingernails dig into my palms as he takes his time pulling on his shoes in the living room.
How is he so quick to leave for work every day, but so slow to report for the most important part of our lives?
A sliver of me wonders if he’s one of those citizens who dreads the Choosing, who doesn’t want to be picked.
I can’t fathom it. Sure, the Healing Center is my home, my safe space, but the Blood Moon Palace has…
“Alright,” Malcolm says finally, straightening as he fixes his collar. “You ready?”
I stare at him. Of course I’m ready.
He nods, as if he realizes the exact words that would be too impolite for me to say.
“Let’s—”
“—report to the Blood Moon Palace for the Choosing,” the female voice says, drowning out his.
Out in the street, we melt into the flow of thousands of bodies surging toward the ivory building in the distance.
I can practically hear the mixture of a thousand heartbeats and breaths as all the healthy, able-bodied citizens over the age of eighteen make their way to their potential future. But the other sound is louder.
The howling.
It’s always extra vicious on nights like these, when crimson slathers the full moon above our heads. As if the Monster can sense all its untouched prey moving like blood in an artery within the walls it cannot overcome.
I bask in the chills it sends down my body.
The Monster cannot reach us in here, so let it howl.
Let it rage. The Guardians will protect us as they always have, and tonight, twelve of us humans will sustain their strength so that they can keep on protecting.
They call it a sacrifice, but it’s not a sacrifice in the literal sense.
The Chosen Ones must let the Guardians drink from their necks, yes, but they don’t die.
In fact, they’re rewarded—with a lifetime of comfort and ease and a place in the Blood Moon Palace until the day they pass of old age.
As always when I near the giant courtyard before the palace, I find my gaze flitting up to all those balconies for proof.
The Choosing is the only other day the previous Chosen Ones come out besides Sanctuary Sunday. Now, a few dozen of them are leaning over the ivory railings, their cloaks and hair flowing in a slight breeze as they observe the crowd pooling below them. They look poised, regal, strong. A few wave.
I swallow a sudden lump of disappointment.
Turning around, I find that I’ve lost Malcolm in the flurry, but there’s no time to go looking for him. Sentries are stationed in a semi-circle around the courtyard, herding everyone into position until I’m standing exactly twelve inches from my neighbor in every direction.
The movement dies down. The jostling comes to a halt. Even the heartbeats and breaths seem to come to a standstill, silence settling over the night like a shroud.
Only the Monster howls on, and I can’t help my eyes from wandering to the Wall stationed behind the palace.
One hundred feet tall, its spiked top scrapes the silhouettes of midnight clouds in every direction. I can almost picture the Monster pacing back and forth on the other side, occasionally sitting on hideous haunches to fling its fury to the bloodstained moon.
The screech of ancient doors rips my attention downward again.
They’re coming out.
They’re here.
I sense rather than see them. I almost always sense rather than see them.
There was only one time, after I had just turned eighteen, when I got to observe one of them with my own two eyes: the Tenth Guardian, a beautiful black-haired female with red, red, red lips.
She’d passed me by without even glancing my way, but I’d felt the swish of her presence like a whisper grazing my skin.
Felt her otherworldly grace and strength that sang of her superiority.
These people are truly a gift from heaven. Our saviors. Our idols.
Now, I feel that kind of presence again, crisscrossing through the crowd. I see my neighbors go even more rigid. All around me, spines straighten and knees begin to shake. I keep my eyes forward, trained on the back of the person in front of me.
Pick me. Pick me. Please pick me.
Nobody ever admits they want to be the Chosen One, but here I am, admitting it.
I hold my breath tight in my lungs, waiting.
At first, I’m almost positive this will be just like almost every other time, where I don’t even get a glimpse of those pointed fangs, crimson eyes, or marble skin. The disappointment from earlier is sinking deeper and deeper into my gut until—there.
A flash of brightest white.
The people around me stir. Everyone seems to inhale as the beacon of light flows closer, and then I see one of them—him.
The Third Guardian.
I’d recognize him anywhere because his picture is everywhere.
Hung up on every wall, threaded into every flag, carved into every statue alongside his eleven brothers and sisters.
Wrapped in a rich, velvet cloak, he has wavy, golden hair, skin the color of bone, and eyes that flash the color of the moon above us.
And as he moves like silk closer and closer to me, I see them when his lips pinch up.
His fangs.
My breath burns in my chest, aching for me to release it, but I can’t.
The Third Guardian is moving so close that I can see his nostrils flaring as he smells each citizen that he passes, eyeing the badges pinned to their cloaks.
Silver, red, green, purple, gold. His gleaming fangs seem to reflect each of the colors, but it’s only when he approaches me that I hear the small, purring sound he makes as he passes each potential sacrifice.
“Hmmmm.”
The voice shocks me straight to my core.
Two crimson eyes flick to my badge, and I swear my heart sinks straight to my toes.
I can almost see the future five seconds from now.
His gaze will slide up to my face. He’ll tilt his head ever so slightly, golden locks falling to the side, and I’ll never move again, never breathe again as he’ll pin me to the spot with that single glance and realize I’m exactly who he’s looking for.
Even now I’m entranced. Enthralled. Elevated.
But the Third Guardian doesn’t lift his eyes to my face.
He simply shifts his gaze from my badge to the person behind me and moves on.
My breath whooshes out of me as if the moon pummeled me in the stomach.
What happened? Was I not good enough? Not worthy enough? Why didn’t he pick me?
Heat rushes back up my legs, urging me to turn around and track his progress. I don’t, of course, but I can hear him do that purring “hmmm” again from behind me, and my ears don’t even process the howling rage of the Monster in the distance as I hear another woman gasp.
“Yes, I think you’ll do nicely.”
The Third Guardian’s voice spins through the crowd, and then there’s a shift of movement as everyone stands aside.
My head whips around to see him place a hand on the small of another woman’s back.
Lifting her chin, she lets him lead her through the parting crowd, toward the front doors of the Blood Moon Palace.
I don’t see another Guardian all through the rest of the Choosing, but I can sense the stirring of the crowd as eleven other citizens are picked and led into the palace—and all my hope fleeing with them.
The Monster howls on.
“Diggory’s gone” is the first thing I hear from Gaia when I walk into the Healing Center locker room the next morning.
“What?”
The bags I can feel under my eyes are still weighing me down, but every healthy, able-bodied citizen over the age of eighteen is probably feeling the effects of the Choosing right about now.
The twenty-four-hour period afterward always feels off-kilter, as if someone cut into our routines and scooped out a hearty chunk of it. I’m used to this feeling.
So why am I blinking so long and hard at Gaia, unable to comprehend what she just said?
“What do you mean Diggory’s gone?” I ask finally. “He… those injuries shouldn’t have… he was fine!” I’m reeling, staggering toward the bench and slumping into a position where my hands can cradle my face. No one dies on my watch.
But some die when I’m not on shift. I just didn’t think the gold-badged gentleman with the perfect vitals would be one of them.
Gaia surprises me by scooting herself closer to me, passing a quick look at all the other healers either getting dressed or undressed on the other side of the room.
We’re not supposed to gossip, but I don’t stop her when she whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “He’s not dead.
He disappeared during the Choosing—just up and snuck away when everyone else was looking the other way. ”
“What?”
Again, that question falls out of my mouth. Again, I’m blinking rapidly at Gaia.
The only citizens exempt from the Choosing are sentries, children, and the sick or injured in the Healing Center…
plus a very few select caregivers and healers who stay with those left behind.
If there was ever a time to run off, it would be during that singular hour when most of Xantera is standing in formation before the Blood Moon Palace.
But I’ve never, ever heard of anyone doing such a thing. It’s ludicrous. Horrifying. Unspeakable.
Yet I find myself speaking anyway.
“Did staff report it?” I ask under my breath. This isn’t knowledge that should spread throughout the Healing Center. The fact that Gaia even knows about it is just a testament to her spectacular eavesdropping abilities.