Iwade through the crowded warehouse, slipping into the sea of people as I scout for the perfect spot. If I’m going to risk my neck to see this fight, then I may as well get a front-row seat. The air is thick with the stench of sweat, smoke, and terrible decisions. The bodies around me jeer loudly, shouting their bets and holding up bags of gold coins as the bookmakers circle the makeshift ring like vultures.
I’m greeted by a particularly drunk male who can’t seem to take the hint that my ass is not a free-for-all grab fest. I roll my eyes, disentangling our bodies, but he pulls me closer.
I give him a broad smile before shoving him with a force he clearly doesn’t expect. He stumbles backward into a group of males, spilling ale everywhere and sparking an uproar.
“Bastard,” I mutter under my breath as I saunter closer to the front of the ring, ignoring the burn in my arms from the strain on my muscles. I roll my shoulders subtly, ensuring Dina is too distracted with the commotion to catch the movement.
Despite the questionable company, I feel oddly at peace within the Market Ebon. At home, I am the daughter of Raziel, the Alpha of the High Quarter. It’s not like I’m in line to take over his reign, but there are certain things expected of me as a member of the Watchers. I am to act a certain way, to think a certain way.
To hide who I truly am.
For that very reason, I’ve always craved a reprieve. To be able to slip soundlessly into a world completely opposite my entire existence. And for the first time I feel as if I’m shedding my identity as the daughter of the Alpha. It only took risking my head to sneak into the one place that doesn’t care about Alpha hierarchy—the same place I’ve been forbidden to step foot in my entire life.
The ungoverned district.
“Evangeline,” Dina scolds as she sidesteps the heap of quarreling males. I have to stifle my laughter at the irony of her disapproval. We're in the ungoverned district, after all. Within the Market Ebon. If there was ever a place to act accordingly, it would be here.
“If we don’t want to raise suspicions, we have to try and fit in,” I respond dryly. I look at her pristine clothing, grittingmy teeth. She hadn’t looked so obvious on our way here, but now that we're within the crowded confines of the market, she sticks out like a perfect, shiny thumb. She’s dressed head to toe in pristine High Quarter fashion: a perfectly pressed pair of tweed trousers, not too tight, and a cream-colored, button-up blouse. It screams High Quarter money. And it's exactly the kind of thing that’s going to get us robbed or beaten in a place like this. Or both.
I’d chosen my disguise carefully before sneaking out tonight, pulling out the ripped black jeans and cropped grey tank top—paired with an oversized black hoodie to ensure no part of me looked even remotely reminiscent of the High Quarter. It had taken me weeks to acquire the outfit without catching my father’s notice.
I let out a frustrated sigh and shrug off the hoodie, my hair bounding over my shoulders. I nervously tuck the purple-grey tresses behind my ears out of habit. But within the ramshackle walls of the Market Ebon, my hair doesn’t stand out like it does at the Temple.
“Put this on,” I say quickly, handing her the hoodie before guiding her through another opening I spot in the crowd. Her carefully curated High Quarter aesthetic needs tarnishing, even if it’s just the smallest bit.
I let out a sigh of relief as we finally reach the barrier overlooking the fighting ring, leaning against it to aid my exhausted body. Details of tonight’s events have spread far and wide through the city of Requiesse, from thislawless territory all the way to the murmured gossip of the High Quarter. Which is exactly how I’d found out about the festivities. Supposedly, only high-profile fighters are allowed to enter tonight’s ranks. It would be a night of high violence, and even higher winnings.
I’m not a gambler by any means; I have no use for the money. But the swell of crowds provided the perfect cover to slip through the MidLand borders undetected. Something about the ungoverned district has always called to me. And now, after a month of gathering courage and venturing further and further out on my own, it felt like the perfect opportunity to find out why. It may seem like a huge risk to take, seeing as I’ve never ventured this far from home. But I am desperate for any insight, even the smallest grain of hopeful information to help me understand the truth about myself—and maybe even find others like me.
Dina does as I say and pulls the black hoodie on, fidgeting awkwardly with the zipper before giving up on it and folding the material over her chest. I lean against the barrier, smirking as I look her up and down. Much better. The ungoverned district isn't known to be particularly kind to anyone, but exceptionally not to our kind. And I can’t say that I blame them, after everything my father and the rest of the Watchers have done to keep division between us.
When it comes to politics, my father and I have drastically different views. He feels the need to honor what the gods have done for this realm, to fulfill whatever long-lost orderthey left behind. And he accomplishes this by outlawing the use of dark magic, oppressing anyone that exhibits signs of being touched by the Arcane. Which leaves the Arcane touched with two options: denounce their magic entirely and submit to a life of servitude to the gods, or live outside the city’s protection, in the ungoverned district.
I, on the other hand, believe such practices to be cruel. It doesn’t make sense to punish others for how they were born, or for the magic that is seemingly thrust upon them at any given time in their lives. The Arcane can infect the mortals at any point, in any way. It claims its victims with no discrimination. It can run through whole bloodlinesandinflict individuals at random.
Only a few are exempt, the spiritually chosen ruled by my father: The Watchers. According to our laws, the more devout one’s beliefs and pure their actions, the more protection will be afforded by the gods. Which is why my father insists on me spending so much time within the Temple walls. To save me from the Arcane’s affliction.
But I’ve grown less and less convinced my prayers are being heard, the Temple’s guidance feeling more like myth and legend—a way for the Watchers to ensure submission. No matter how much time I spend within the Temple, no matter what my father or the High Quarter believes, I know in my bones, in my blood, in my soul . . .
There’s no true way to avoid the Arcane. Not once it’s chosen you.
I sigh, inhaling deeply as my shoulders slump. The people around us cheer as one of the fighters circles the ring, riling them up. I can’t help a small laugh as he works the crowd, persuading the patrons to double down on their bets before the fight starts.
I turn, shaking my head as I watch Dina trying to look natural. I reach forward, pulling the hood over her blonde hair and unbuttoning the top two buttons of her blouse.
“Evangeline!” she shrieks. She looks around hastily to make sure no one has noticed us before swatting my hand away and fixing her blouse till not a shred of skin is showing on her chest. I shake my head again, laughing, and turn back to the fight just as the bell rings, signaling the beginning of the match.
“If someone recognizes us from the High Quarter, you know word will get back to my father.” I lower my gaze to her, raising an eyebrow. “And then where would we be?”
She watches me for a moment, gnawing on her bottom lip before adjusting the top two buttons on her blouse again. I smile back at her, pulling her in close and turning her towards the ring just as the crowd starts cheering for the first blow.
“This is supposed to be fun,” I whisper to her as we squish in together, motioning to the waves of people cheering around us. “Loosen up a little.”
She offers me a tight grin over her shoulder, one that tells me she’s not having an ounce of fun. Unfortunatelyfor her, where I go, she goes—thanks to my father’s orders. And unfortunately for both of us, she discovered my plans to sneak out and refused to let me go alone—even when I revealed my plan to finally sneak into the ungoverned district.
Dina may be under strict orders to not leave my side, but she's still the closest thing I have to a friend. Over the years of our youth, we’ve cultivated an odd sort of bond. No matter how annoyed I get at her thoroughness in her duties, I appreciate the companionship she affords me as a handmaiden. My world is a lonely one, and Dina is a small ray of sunlight I often find myself shuffling closer to, just for a chance to enjoy the warmth.
I flag down a vendor making his rounds through the crowd and buy a bottle of something sickly sweet that has the lights in the warehouse swirling by my third sip. I offer the bottle to Dina, knowing she’ll refuse.
