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Or me.
“If that is what you wish,” Dameon eventually replied.
Returning my attention to the Watcher, I watched as he paraded towards the edge of the podium, then cleared his throat. Taking a gulping, noticeably shaking breath, he called out again, “As thanks for your continued protection against the evils that lurk beyond the wall, please, the people of Tithe would be honoured to be chosen.”
It was the red-haired elf who spoke next. “Ensuring the legacy of your kind prolongs the test of time. We gladly offer our powers up to secure your futures.”
He cast his hungry gaze across our line, not stopping on a single person long enough to give a hint who it was that caught his interest. There was something calculating about this one. His eyes were a burning red, as though fires twisted around his pupils in an eternal dance.
“May I, Myrinn?” he said to the elven woman, not once removing his eyes from the crowd.
She replied, gesturing elegantly towards the crowd with a sweep of her hand, “Choose wisely, Haldor.”
And choose he did.
His choice lasted only a moment.
Auriol groaned as my hand squeezed hers. I had to relax it, not knowing that I had hurt her without realising. I thought he was walking towards us for a moment, which sent a sharp stab of panic through me. Then someone caught his eye.
Haldor stepped towards the line with sure footing and a chin held high with pride that came from growing up around power. His jacket was fitted across his powerful frame, crafted from a golden velvet that gleamed with the dull light of day. It rippled as he walked, much like the tree that the elves had entered through. As he grew closer, I saw how similar his jacket was to that of a flame, shifting between shades of gold to darker, more warming reds and ambers.
“You,” he said, standing before a short, blonde-haired girl that I somewhat recognised. “Tell me your name.”
“Her…” Auriol scorned quietly, only enough for me to hear. However, I was certain the elf, Haldor, turned his head slightly as though he had picked her murmur out. “He surely can’t choose her.”
“Samantha,” the human girl replied, looking up at the significantly taller elf through pale lashes.
He stood there, contemplating her name as though it were the oddest thing he had heard. Then he turned towards Myrinn and nodded before returning his attention to the girl and raising a hand.
I was the only one to gasp. Unfamiliar, cold eyes fell upon me, but I couldn’t care to see who they belonged to. Never having witnessed a Choosing, I was confident that the elf was preparing to strike the girl, but he didn’t. He placed a hand on the girl’s head and the crowd erupted in cheers.
“It is done,” Dameon hollered. “The first tithe has been made.”
An older woman and man pushed their way through the crowd in a fit of tears and laughter. Haldor stepped back, allowing the girl to be swept into the arms of the couple. It must have been her parents, mother and father coming to say farewell to their child.
Samantha cried alongside her parents, not from sadness or fear, but from happiness. Anyone close enough to her shared congratulations in the forms of hugs and words of praise. Haldor simply stood and waited, his face stoic and expressionless; only the tapping of his boot upon the ground signified his desire for this display to hurry and end.
“That is enough,” he finally said, shattering the excitement as though he took it in his hands and crumpled it. “Come, Sam-an-tha. Join me.” He reached out a hand for her to take, not because he wished to, but because he had to. Haldor practically pried the girl from her family, and she happily obliged.
One down.
The thought doused the flames of my anxiety for only a moment before I counted the elves that were left. Four to go.
Next to choose was a shorter elf by the name of Frila. She, like Haldor, had pale skin with a bridge of freckles across her pointed nose. Her hair was a tumbling of white that gathered at her waist in braids. As she walked the line of humans, lips pursed in concentration, the bottom of her azure-toned gown slipped over the cobbles like the billowing of water. She chose a male of Auriol’s age. I recognised him well and from the exhale of frustration from Auriol at my side; she was not happy to see him picked.
Like Haldor to Samantha, Frila raised a hand and placed it upon the young man’s head. She had to raise up on tiptoes to do it. Even I found the action sweet, perhaps sickly sweet, in fact.
His name was James, and he promptly placed his arm into the crook of Frila’s elbow before they swept off to stand beside Haldor and his chosen mate.
“Another down,” I recounted aloud to Auriol’s displeasure. That relief I felt was growing ever so slightly, but enough to notice, as though a weight was being lifted from my shoulders.
Auriol straightened next to me, brightening her smile as she gazed towards the remaining elves. “I only need one chance and I see three. Odds are in my favour.”
Gildir was next to retrieve his claim. His skin was golden, his brown hair trimmed close to his scalp. As he drew closer, I could see that each strand of hair was a tight curl upon his head. A feathering of a beard spread across the lower side of his face, which he brushed a thumb and forefinger over as he surveyed the crowd.
“I promise to leave you the best pick, brother,” Gildir called back towards Myrinn and Faenir. Faenir’s upper lip curled over his teeth, urged by the giggling of Frila, who held delicate fingers over her red-painted lips. It was an odd encounter.
“Gildir,” Myrinn scolded through a tight-lipped smile. “Not now.”
