Page 156 of Blackheart

Riven had set off on his own path hours prior. We could only hope to find him within the Waywards.

The closer we got, the worse my anxiety became. At nightfall, we stopped only for a few hours to sleep in the woods. We had nothing to use for comfort, and didn’t bother risking a fire. Iattempted to sleep with my head pillowed on my arm, but failed miserably and volunteered to keep watch instead.

After the brief rest, we continued on until the ever dreadful walls peeked through the woodline.

“Ah, Amzee, love. Remember when you asked how tall the walls are?” Beck asked.

“Yep.”

“That tall,” he said, pointing ahead.

For the first time, Amzee looked nervous, her face losing its usual glow. I tried giving her a reassuring glance, but we both knew there were good reasons to be afraid.

Ansel however, spared no time for fear. Instead, he pulled rope out of his satchel and winked at me. “Ready, prisoners?”

He was shockingly good at tying knots, having the three of us bound within minutes. The sky darkened, and the last opportunity to return to the ship had passed. We were nearing the gate, and had surely already been noticed by Drakers.

I kept my head low as we arrived, my palms shaking.

A Draker stood guard, face hidden by his mask and hood.

“You’re early, Lord Zaren. We weren’t expecting you for a few more weeks,” he said, sounding too jolly for the Waywards. “You’ve brought prisoners with you as well?”

I swallowed. We hadn’t planned for Ansel to impersonate another Witchlord.

Ansel, legitimately annoyed and exhausted, rolled his eyes. “I’ve had a long day. Get these animals processed and get me the keys to my house.”

The enthusiastically foolish Draker moved promptly to open the gate. “Of course, of course, Lord Zaren. Welcome home.”

I held back a smile as the gates dragged open. Ansel was unsurprisingly good at improvising.

He walked freely through, while Amzee, Beck, and I were herded to a crumbling grey building off to the side.

Processing had been degrading the first time I’d done it, and the second time was no different. They stripped us bare, checking for weapons and contraband on or inside of us. I kept my head forward, face resting naturally in a glare.

The Drakers examined Amzee and me beyond necessity.

As one of their gloved hands grabbed the curve of my hip, my nostrils flared.

“Angry one, isn’t she?”

Another laughed, turning his attention to Amzee. “Hey, Flamecastor. You’re a big one. Soft belly, lumpy hips. You’d make a decent wage at the brothel down the street. I’ll make sure I come visit you.”

Amzee didn’t cower, nor did her face flush. She smiled, eyeing his crotch and biting her lip. “I wonder if it would… melt off in the heat of the moment.”

He drew back a step, disgusted. “Send them out. Enjoy the shithole,inkweeds.”

They kicked our piles of clothes out the door, not even allowing us to dress in privacy. Amzee cackled as we grabbed them and ran behind the building to get dressed. Beck immediately shadowed us, allowing us some modesty.

“What a bunch of masked freaks,” Amzee said.

I nodded in agreement.

Once we were dressed, Beck took the lead on finding Keeper’s Street.

It was nostalgic, yet horrifying to walk through the Waywards.

Bars, shops, brothels—all marking which Natures were allowed. Children, frail with dark circles under their eyes, scanning the meandering pavements for things to collect or sell. Dark, gloomy, deteriorating buildings stacked on top of one another lining the overcrowded streets.