Page 3 of Blackheart

“Don’t tell me she has her eyes set on him…” Trista shot me an incredulous look. “You need to tell that girl what just happened!”

“I’ll try.”

Chapter 2

The Tallest Witchlord in all of Drakington

“It is necessary for the Dark Natured to remain bound to the Church of Fate. Without such divine guidance, we are certain to damn ourselves. Heresy, the blackest poison, cannot be forgiven, nor overlooked. To guard against such corruption, I deem it vital that the Dark Natured be led in prayer before each day’s labor.”

—Kolson Strange, Minister of Spirit

My eyesblinked open to the darkness of my stale apartment. There was no comfort in staying in bed. The makeshift mattress was hardly holding together these days. Once sewn with scrap fabrics and stuffed with dry leaves, now sinking in and popping along the seams.

I wrapped myself in a threadbare blanket and padded across the room to my pile of laundry. I hadn’t dared to wash my clothes these past few days, for fear they would freeze. An abhorrent mistake I would not make a third time.

Footsteps shuffled from upstairs. A baby cried in a nearby apartment. A couple argued somewhere below.

The sound of families used to be a bitter reminder of an old wound. My mother, troubled and undeniably lacking in maternal instincts, was the only one of my family I could remember. She’d told me once that I had two brothers, but my father ran off with them before I was born. My mother ran off eventually, too.

I’d become numb to the morning commotion, despite how crowded our building became.

There was so little space within the ‘Wards that most of us lived in compact cottages stacked on top of each other. Many people climbed the outer walls and slid into their apartments through tiny, carved-out windows because no builders would bother wasting materials on stairs above the third floor. Luckily for Luna and me, our place sat only three stories high, and I never went a day without being grateful for the luxury of stairs.

Luna shuffled in, rubbing her shoulders, and cursing at the door for getting stuck on the frame. I sank onto our only piece of proper furniture—a brown couch that one of Luna’scustomershad given her a while back.

A sympathetic smile slid across her face as she dropped her satchel onto the wooden countertop. “You’re up early again.”

With a blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders and knees curled up to my chest, I shrugged. “I can’t sleep. Too cold. And my head is killing me.”

I had worked well past midnight at Widow’s Way Tavern, drinking my way through the shift. I should have been used to the headaches by now, but the alcohol always took its toll.

“Well, I was quite warm last night,” Luna bragged, practically falling onto the opposite side of the couch.

“I’d imagine so.” I leaned forward, weighing my words. “If I had your job, it would be solely for body heat. Nothing more.”

Brothel work was understandably appealing. It paid well enough, and sometimes Luna seemed to enjoy being at work more than at home.

For me, it wasn’t the act that was intolerable. It was the expectation ofentertaining. I could count on one hand the number of people whose conversations didn’t feel like torture. Pretending to enjoy them would wear me down long before the true service.

She bounced her shoulders and grinned. “It’s the coin for me. While I suppose the warmth is nice, the brothel keeps me from looking like you. Hungover and freezing to death and stinking like ale all evening.”

I winced. While I wasn’t hungovereverymorning, she had a point. The winters were the worst. Maybe I would be better off serving my flesh instead of ale, but I wasn’t like Luna—alluring and hospitable. People weren’t drawn to me; they were deterred.

“I assume it was a good night then?” I rubbed my hands together between my thighs, eager to return to Trista’s. She always prioritized firewood in her budget. It wasn’t long before she’d open up shop, and I’d have plenty of time to warm up before my morning work.

Luna shrugged and sighed dramatically. “It would have been better if the new Witchlord had stopped by. Two weeks he’s been posted here, and he’s yet to come to Miss Soryl’s. Are you aware of how tall he is? It’s ridiculous.”

I hadn't had the chance to tell her about my encounter with him. Luna had stayed at work for the last two days, and I certainly would not be stopping by Miss Soryl’s to talk about a Witchlord. Especially when Luna had a dedicated paramour who might overhear.

“Pining after Lord Ansel when you have dear Riven warming your bed?” I asked, brow quirked.

Riven went against the rules by caring for Luna, and she loved it. As a Draker, he kept guard and ensured that we, the Dark Natured, behaved. She never admitted to actually caring for him, but too many times I had found the Draker sneaking into our apartment, his usual armor absent. Never leaving until the early hours of the morning.

I wasn't a fresh summerborn nor as dull as a soup spoon. She liked him.

Luna rolled her eyes. “Riven probably has plenty of others. Besides, if Lord Ansel came to the brothel, that would be work, and work doesn’t count.” She proudly tucked her mahogany shoulder-length hair behind her ear.

“Well. I guess you’re right.” I rested my elbows on my knees, innocently looking away. “I suppose you wouldn’t care to know where Lord Ansel was last night?”