Page 14 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

I give him another jab. This time, an “oomph” passes his lips.

He looks at me under a furrowed brow. “What?”

I frown. “We were Kinless once, too, you know.”

And while Lev doesn’t use the generic surname with vitriol or prejudice, others in town do. Verdanthia prides itself on every citizen contributing to its function, viewing orphans as a burden, often neglecting their needs out of indifference.

Citizens who would like to help those less fortunate often don’t have the resources. They have to prioritize their own families first. Ferria and I were blessed to have Juniper looking out for us. But for those who are truly alone, life as a Kinless is a terrible, unfortunate existence.

“Shit.” Shame colors Lev’s cheeks as I suspect he remembers the cruel words our peers hurled at me and my sister during our childhood. He looks over my head. “I’m sorry, Ferria.”

She mutters, “Shut up, Lev,” seconds before Anton reaches us.

The handsome young man takes in our tense faces but sits without a word. Ferria hands him a clean cloth from her pocket. His gaze lingers on her after she turns away. He wipes his face.

Lev dips his head, and his breath brushes my ear. “I swear I didn’t mean anything by it, Lara.”

I narrow my eyes at the use of my childhood nickname. “That’s not an excuse.”

He exhales. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Movement on the stage pulls everyone’s attention. The five Elders who run Verdanthia shuffle into view, their cloaks heavy, their faces heavier.

Their names are known by all, but I’ve only ever interacted with one—Elder Whitestone. He’s the man who gave Ferria and me the surname Stonebloom after we demonstrated our worth in our respective trades. He’s also hopelessly devoted to our adoptive mother.

The other Elders? I’ve never exchanged a single word with any of them. They keep themselves apart from most of the town, content to live in their private apartments located above this very hall.

Elder Whitestone halts beside the chair at the center of the stage, releasing a groan as he eases his body into it.

As their titles indicate, each of the Elders is old. So old, it’s unlikely all five men on stage will be around to serve Verdanthia within a year. Not that I know the details of their failing health.

Juniper may be retired, but she tends to the men on the stage, as she has since she moved to Verdanthia. She says it’s because they trust her, but it’s more likely my adoptive mother doesn’t want to risk them discovering my secret.

Once his companions are seated, Whitestone raises a polished wooden square and bangs it against his chair. “Attention. Attention, everyone.”

The already quieting crowd falls silent. The air thickens with anticipation.

“Before we address what you all fear, we must speak of the mines.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Heads tilt and brows knit as people trade uncertain glances.

Whitestone holds up a silencing hand, but it’s Elder Quarry, seated to his right, who speaks.

“The mines are unstable. We must shore them up to continue to meet our extraction quota.”

I curl my hands into fists. Ferria huffs beside me. Anton stiffens. Lev’s expression is unreadable.

“As such, we will be reassigning all woodworkers and lumberjacks to the mines until further notice,” Quarry continues.

The crowd erupts.

“What about the new homes on the west side?”

“We need firewood to survive the winter!”

“Surely you don’t need all of them.”

More protests rise through the room, each carrying as much weight as the last. The mines drain so many resources—soldiers, carts, fuel, laborers—and now the Elders demand more at a time when trade with neighboring towns dwindles by the week. The future before us darkens, and everyone senses it.