Page 160 of Blackheart

“We can’t afford for you to burn out,” I whispered.

A grin spread across his face, as if he were holding back a laugh.

“What’s funny?” I snapped.

He shook his head, eyes peeking open. “It’s humorous that you think six dreams would drain me.”

I turned away, hiding my blush.

Ansel did exactly what he said he would. He dreamt with all six of the other Witchlords’ blood, and felt confident only two could be swayed.

He updated our group in the morning as we dined in the planning room. Amzee and I had made a breakfast of eggs, toast, and jam.

We were in the kitchen when Riven had finally arrived back, bags under his eyes. Amzee had sent him to her room to sleep, and he’d only offered a nod before retiring.

Beck sauntered back into the room after pouring hot water for his tea. “Hmm… So when the time comes, it will be three against four Witchlords?”

“That’s if Ansel is able to convince the two to join us,” I reminded him.

Amzee popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “I can be very convincing,” she offered between bites, thick blonde hair spilling out of a bun on top of her head.

Ansel was entertained, but not bought in. “I will handle the Witchlords. Each of you have your own tasks. The ships arrive in one week. Every minute counts.”

Everyone except formehad a real job. I couldn’t tell if I was truly watching the house, or if it was watching me. I wouldn’t put it past Ansel to claim it’s a real job just to ensure my womb stays safe.

I spent the morning cleaning up, thinking about my Castivian history books, identifying the gaps in my head where I needed to reread in the evening.

Around noon, Riven woke, and while I wanted to request he lay me out on the planning table and tend to my princessly needs, I lingered in the bathroom until he was gone. I couldn’t be a distraction. Lives depended on us.

The sun set by the time Ansel and Beck returned, shadowing through the front door with sacks of weapons in tow: swords, daggers, and even mallets. My eyes widened as the heavy weight of them hit the floor in front of the fireplace.

Beck was winded, while Ansel flashed a devious smile. “Well, Blackheart, now you’ll be guarding the houseandthe weapons.”

I met his stare with a smile of my own. The plan was working.

Beck sank into the velvet couch, cracking his neck. “Amzee and I found groups that we’ll be able to distribute to the day before the ships arrive.”

Everything was coming together. There were people willing to fight within the Waywards, and we could put blades in their hands. I thought back to my days in the tailor house, where two Drakers would guard whiledozensof us worked.

Two Drakers could not have contained dozens of us.

It was all an illusion, one I had every intention of seeing fade when those gates opened.

To my surprise, Ansel privately pulled me aside. He sat with me for over an hour, going over his entire day and every interaction he’d had with the other Witchlords. One of them was secured, while the other needed more convincing.

I was quiet most of the conversation, taking it all in. He did not treat me like I was less than him, but as his partner. It was such a simple, but serious concept. I wasn’t quite able to grasp it.

Five days went by, each smoother than the next.

Amzee grew the rebellion numbers every day.

Beck had created a map, marking points with low security and weak spots in the walls.

Riven conspired among the Rogue Drakers, and while he did not talk much about it, he spent some of the longest hours out in the Waywards.

Ansel secured both of the Witchlords, promising high-paying positions in Whimcastor Hold upon our safe arrival to Castivian.

All while they worked tirelessly, I stayed inside. I studied and copied the map Beck had made. I cleaned, rested, meditated—well, I tried to, at least. Most of the time I lay in bed in silence until I eventually fell asleep.