Page 22 of Blackheart

A soft snore rumbled behind me in symphony with the crackling fireplace across the room. It was otherwise quiet, including the streets outside. Perhaps this side of town didn’t bother or need to wake early, or perhaps it was because of the midwinter holiday. Many of us were excused from work for the occasion, a gift we were expected to be grateful for. We’d also be expected to work twice as fast upon our return.

I sat up. The room wasn’t bad, especially for the Waywards. In fact, it was nicer than anything I’d lived in outside of the walls, though that wasn’t saying much.

My mother always moved us around to wherever was cheaper, or wherever a man would let us stay if she warmed his bed. They were never noble nor kind for longer than it would take to lure her in. As soon as she felt safe and settled, they’d change, and always for the worse. I’d learned as a young girl that a man’s pants’ button would open long before his heart would.

It was ironic to think of, as I too lay beside a nameless stranger simply to survive.

The tidy room had high ceilings, a few paintings on black walls, a dark wooden bed frame, and a custom fireplace withmarkings of the moon and black wisps like shadows along the mantle. Not too far away from the bed was a rug.

I hadn’t seen a rug since before the ‘Wards.

I stroked the heavy grey blanket covering my bare chest, appreciating its value.

The Nightcastor snored peacefully. How wealthy was he before the Waywards, and how much of his wealth had dwindled since being forced to live here? Had it dwindled at all?

Just because he was within the walls didn’t mean his business had to be. How many Drakers were smuggling coppers in and out? King Clarke couldn’t be paying them well enough for loyalty to matter.

The calm room was only interesting to stare at for so long. My stomach grumbled as boredom settled in.

“I’m leaving,” I announced plainly. The warmth emitting from the fireplace was difficult to give up, but it was time to go. While I was free of tailor house duty for the day, there were other things to do before the celebratory game at sunset.

The Nightcastor inhaled a startled breath, rolled over and mumbled, “Very well then.”

A brief, awkward moment passed as we both dressed and he escorted me out of the attractive apartment.

As the morning chill prickled my neck, I almost regretted my departure. He was no prize in bed. No, thebedwasthe prize. Comfortable, warm, with real pillows and clean-enough linens. I thought about doubling back.

The night was over, though, and he would fade into yet another indistinct memory.

Thankfully, one part of my daily routine felt normal. I pushed through the creaking door of my favorite establishment, and the sight of Trista behind the counter, water already steaming, filled me with comfort.

“Well! It’s nearly an appropriate hour to be awake. Where have you been this morning?” she beamed.

“I had a further walk today…” I began, a grin sliding across my face, “And I may have boffed a Pearl dweller.”

Trista perked up, ravenous for any gossip, per usual. Especially mine. “How was it?”

I propped my elbows on the counter. “The man? Okay. The bed? Amazing. The best few hours of sleep I’ve had in a while. How can they afford to live in such luxury even after being stuck here?”

She idled on my question for a moment. “Old money lasts, and these lousy Drakers work for whoever pays the most. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were doing business with people on the outside, but who knows? Why do you care?”

I shrugged. “I want a bed like that.”

“Wed one of those Pearl boys and I’m telling you, you’ll have it.”

“Ah, of course,” I joked. As if they would marry a Blackheart to begin with, much less me. While there was nothing I’d love more than to be rich, have babies, and drink tea, I was self-aware. It was not in the cards, nor would I want to bring children into the Waywards.

I helped Trista ready her shop for the holiday crowd late into the afternoon. We prepared treats and adorned the windows with strings of dried flower petals, a reminder of all that had died since spring.

Aside from Luna’s absence, the Waywards felt slightly less grim than it had since the Sapphire attack, with an array of homemade decorations and children tossing bean-filled socks inthe streets. Customers happily filled the seats of Trista’s shop, and no one dared mention Arielle.

The midwinter holiday wasn’t the time for grievances and disputes.

I waited all day for the sun to set, anticipating the game of Orb Hazy. Luna’s betrayal stung now more than ever as I went alone. Despite her absence, I’d never miss the one night a year we were allowed to watch a group of Dark Natured intentionally use their Nature.

The Drakers on duty throughout the Waywards were more relaxed than usual—almost casual. Some mucked about in groups, laughing with one another and already making bets on which team would rise, and who would fall.

I’d yet to see any Witchlords on my walk. No black cloaks or auras of light magic. Just the community in a buzz.