Page 5 of Blackheart

“Where’s Riven?”

She gave me a warning look, overly worried about people finding out she was sleeping with the Draker. Some rumoured that Riven was the king’s favorite. Oftentimes, if there was a message needing to be sent to the capital, he was the one who rode to Lyonscliff.

I scoffed. “No one is listening to us.”

“You never know.”

There was a reason Drakers were disliked. They were Natureless people who did not care when we were sent into the Waywards. Beneath the masks were our old neighbors, business partners, and even lovers. It was a money-making opportunity for them.

When Luna was twelve, a lord’s family bought her out of the capital orphanage to keep the house clean. She had three adopted brothers and was impossible to console the day she found out one of them was under a Draker mask himself. She wouldn’t have ever known if he hadn’t bought her time at Miss Soryl’s.

She never hated Riven for being a Draker, though. She had him over to the apartment so often that he was the only one I recognized easily when maskless.

While Riven was quiet and likeable enough, he was not to be trusted. He was here to keep the Dark Natured in line and to maintain the peace. Any hint of an uprising and they burned everyone involved. The punishment was always swift. They’d slice the perpetrators' guts open and push them into the flaming pile of flesh.

My throat tightened.

“Did you hear about Arielle?” I whispered to Luna.

My discreet efforts were for nothing as the most prying Nightcastor I knew turned his attention to us.

“WhereisArielle?” Beck purred, slyly scooting his stool closer to Luna.

She smacked his arm and huffed. “Beck, you nosy bastard.”

While the tall, bronze Nightcastor didn’t frequent the brothels, he was a regular at most taverns. The low light caught glints of caramel in his soft curls. He tugged his full lips into a mischievous smile, the softness in his hazel eyes contrasting the sharp angles of his jaw and nose.

A regular or not, it was none of his business. “I’ll tell you later,Luna.”

“You two are the worst gossips I’ve been around in ages.” He laughed and flicked me a coin for another round. Most Nightcastors loved gossip. They also all shared the same birthmark, a crescent behind their left ear. Some rumored the mark was actually a thief's hook for stealing secrets.

Every Natured person was born with some kind of indicator, making it impossible to conceal oneself. Mine was a dark design on my left hip. Some described the Blackheart mark as a flower entangled in sharp vines. Others described it as death overcoming its victims. Every Blackheart’s marking was unique, but the hip placement was a telltale sign.

I refilled Beck’s glass. “How about we trade? You tell me something, and I’ll tell you something,” I offered.

His inquisitive features relaxed into a saccharine smile.

“Deal.”

I set his glass down as the three of us leaned in, our voices hushed within the blaring tavern.

“Go on,” I nudged.

Beck’s mouth twitched.

“The king is ill. He will not make it to summer.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed. “A lying little loser is what you are. Go away,” she ordered, shooing him with sweeping hands.

I crossed my arms. The king was healthy enough, and only ten winters older than I.

“Tell me about Arielle,” he pleaded, any trace of playfulness disappearing.

I’d never seen Beck in any sort of desperation.

I sighed. “She’s dead.”

Luna spat her ale out. Beck did not react beyond the slightest flare of his nostrils.