Page 4 of Blackheart

“Elora!” she squealed, kicking my leg underneath the quilt. “Tell me immediately!”

“I saw him yesterday morning, as he waslooking for me.”

“Looking foryou?” Luna looked ready to strangle me if I didn’t spill faster. “Tell me you fucked him. If anybody gets him before me, it’s you.”

Grimacing, I straightened my posture and cleared my throat. “No, I did not fuck Lord Ansel. The furthest thing from it. Charles the Imp accused me of using my Nature.”

Her voice softened. “A Witchlord believed you?”

The question jolted me.

“I guess. He checked my hands and left.But then...”

“There’s more?”

I nodded. It had been bothering me nonstop, which was probably why I was awake odiously earlier than usual. “He was at the tavern last night, sitting in the same corner he sat in a few days ago. Didn’t speak to anyone, just watched and ordered one ale.”

An ale he never bothered to drink.

“He didn’t speak to anyone?”

I shook my head. “Just watched.”

Paying attention to him felt weird, but it was hard not to. He was a brooding eyesore, Witchlord cloak and all. Everyone else had been drunk and reeking of barley and grime. His presence was off-putting.

Luna hopped off the couch and paced the small kitchen. “Perhaps I’ll swing by the tavern this evening. It is my night off, anyway.”

It had been some time since my best friend had visited me at work. I wouldn’t mind some sane company. Plus, maybe she’d finally see for herself how intolerable Lord Ansel was. “You should,” I said, forcing myself up.

Dawn was near, and soon the streets would be crowded with Blackhearts, Stonesenders, Imps, Flamecastors, and Nightcastors. The economy was rough in the Waywards, andeveryonehad a job to do.

I pulled my boots on and braced myself for the morning chill. “Enjoy your sleep,” I called as Luna snuggled into the couch.

Once out of the grim apartment, I ventured onto the winding dirt and snow-speckled streets. Drakers were posted all about, their dark grey armor embellished with the Drakington falcon across their chests. Daunting black hoods and golden masks disguised their identities. I typically tried not to think too much about who might be under the masks. It was one of the many reasons I couldn’t work in the brothel.

Luna often discovered too much.

There were countless Drakers, but only seven Witchlords within the walls. They didn’t stroll the streets often, but they were undoubtedly lurking, checking for forbidden uses of magic and whatever other useless shit they did.

During daytime hours, I had been assigned tailoring duty. Tasked with sewing clothes for the Drakington forces without pay. Everyone worked in the Waywards as payment for living here and the supplies that were sent in. If we refused to do our assigned job, we might as well climb into the burn pile ourselves.

Besides our assignments, we still needed to make money, which was why I slung ale at night.

Thankfully, my day full of sewing went by fast enough, and I hoped for the same with my shift at the tavern.

Being a bar maiden was preferable to being a tailor, at least at night I was paid for my work. There were also no Drakers over my shoulder telling me I wasn’t working fast enough, especially when I was already pricking my fingers from sewing too quickly.

I hurried through the back door of Widow’s Way toward boisterous voices and clinking glasses. It would only get busier throughout the night.

I relieved the day shift barmaid and strolled behind the bar. The tavern was packed with not only various Dark Natured, but also a few unmasked Drakers and two Witchlords. We were one of the rare spots that welcomed anyone, no matter their Nature or status. It was an unspoken rule that what happened in the Waywards at night did not linger into sunrise.

Hours passed like minutes as I bustled up and down the bar, serving ale and collecting coin. Charles the Imp had been kicked out earlier and lay pitifully on the ground outside. He carried on wailing and singing sorrowful songs, each one more miserable than the last.

I had considered killing him, but every time I had a perfectly breakable bottle in hand, Drakers hovered nearby.

Luna sat at the bar, circling her finger around the rim of her drink, and swinging her feet. Her long-sleeved beige shirt had only a few thin spots and hardly any stains. It showcased thelittle bit of cleavage she had and complemented her dark brown eyes. She was on a mission.

I topped off a regular’s glass and made my way to her.