Page 25 of Blackheart

The crowd went feral with excitement. People were already making plans with money they didn’t have yet and placing bets on exactly how much the prize would be.

My stomach rumbled. I, too, wondered what I would do with so much gold to spend. Probably buy food, warm clothes, and a blanket. If it were truly an extraordinary amount like they’d said, I’d get a new apartment.

It was time for the Witchlords to pick their teams. One at a time, each received a turn to choose a Dark Natured.

For the first round, two of the Witchlords picked Flamecastors, while another picked a Stonesender. None of their choices mattered to me.

Ansel’s did.

“Beckham Stroudwick. Nightcastor.”

An uncontainable gasp escaped me.

That nosy, slender Nightcastor was being sent into the arena to die. Beck stood with a group of other Nightcastors, showing no signs of excitement or nervousness. He simply handed off his ale to a friend and walked down with a shrug, ready to play.

“Oh, this is something I have to see,” one of his fellow Nightcastors giggled. That had to be a good sign. Maybe Beck would do well.

Lord Dronis chose an athletically built Blackheart for the second round, while Lords Dayire and Jaysel chose another Flamecastor and Stonesender. No surprise there.

When they were done making their picks, my eyes shot to Lord Ansel. I wasn’t sure if it was his ridiculous height or striking gaze as he scanned the crowd that made it so hard to look away. His eyes landed on my section.

Oh, don’t pick me.

“Charles Molde. Imp.” Lord Ansel’s voice was flat, as if annoyed with his own decision.

I burst into laughter as a very shocked Charles froze in place. He had been sneaking his way closer, almost touching me once more. There were tears in my eyes by the time he’d trudged his way onto the field. I said a silent prayer for Beck, but I was beyond delighted that my archnemesis would be participating in the game. I needed this.

Lord Ansel’s team had no chance of victory but every opportunity to provide entertainment. It was comical. The sight of Beck and Charles next to the Dreamsoul, while sizable Dark Natured tributes maintained their posture and anticipation behind the other Witchlords.

Lord Ansel’s status as the newest Witchlord was becoming painfully obvious, as Imps were never picked for the game. Especially not the drunk ones.

The process continued. Two more Stonesenders and a Nightcastor were picked before it was finally Lord Ansel’s last turn.

The ground rumbled as the Dark Natured drummed their feet on the ground and hands on their thighs, the beat building with every second.

Lord Ansel cleared his throat, and silence fell.

“Elora Amona. Blackheart.”

No.

No.

Lord Ansel hated me. This was my punishment.

Chapter 9

Food, Warm Clothes, Blanket

“Witchlords must be treated with the utmost reverence. The sacrifice they pay to keep the common lands safe is immeasurable. No wives. No children. How could there be? They are confined within the walls as are the vermin.”

—Marker Dane, Lord of Lawship

Stone faced,I stood on the field. Vibrations of chatter above numbed my mind. Beck and Charles were next to me, deadly silent.

It was supposed to be a reprieve to watch the game and have some drinks afterwards. Never did I imagine I would be participating. The deadliest Dark Natured I knew were on the opposing teams, murder in their eyes. They would kill for a chance to release their Nature, but they wouldslaughtereverything in their path for gold.

Beck was the only hope we had, realistically speaking. Maybe he could sneak his way to another team's base and take their orb? If he were able to hold his shadows for long enough, he would be near impossible to catch. Charles and I could stay and protect our orb, or at least attempt to.