Page 20 of Blackheart

Sometimes, I wondered if I bothered people just to see if I was worth the burden.

She plopped two mugs onto the counter with athud.

“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 bedwasnice, 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 beingsurrounded 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. Aheart 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.”