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Dameon Slater, head Watcher of Tithe, had ambled his way onto a podium erected to the side of the tree. He was a towering man, white hair always kept from his face which revealed how unkind the years had been to him; lines creased his brow, and deep crow’s feet bracketed his eyes. Even when he smiled, like now, the emotion never seemed to reach his eyes.
It was not his appearance that could silence conversations and demand respect, but the knowledge that his family had been one of the first to flee Darkmourn. They’d stumbled across this very place, which years later had come to be what it was today. It was what gave him his title as Watcher. Just as his father had been, or his father’s father before that… Dameon Slater was believed to be in direct communication with the elves within their realm.
And as the people of Tithe desired nothing more than to worship those creatures in hopes their lives would change, they treated Dameon as though he was one of them.
Respect was earned, and in my eyes, he didn’t deserve a scrap of it.
“Another year has passed, and we are all still here. Safe from the poisoned world beyond without the need for fear or worry. A gift our guardians provide us…”
I forced his baritone waffle to the back of my mind and continued pushing my way through the crowd. It was harder now. Instead of slipping through a moving stream, everyone had stopped and gathered within the courtyard to listen and soon witness the elves’ arrival. It was like navigating around immovable rocks.
“Excuse me,” I muttered. “Sorry.”
“No fucking chance,” a woman growled, grey hair pulled across her shoulder in a messy, knotted braid. “If you wanted a better view, you should have got your place earlier. Shift it.”
I raised my hands in defeat, forcing a smile before disappearing off into the midst of sticky, sweat-damp bodies.
It was a warm day, not surprising for the turn of summer to autumn. With close to every occupant in Tithe filling the streets, it was as though a furnace of warmth had been lit around me.
“This year is special, for it is the first time in which our visitors are each from the same family. On a good year two, maybe three of you, would have a chance to have your lives changed and your families made for life. This year there will be five. Five luckily souls who will be swept from our dear Tithe and taken on an adventure alongside your mate.”
My skin crawled. Just hearing him speak the words aloud had my stomach twisted into knots.
“Let us hear your willingness for the Choosing. Share your excitement with your town and hope our guardians can hear you through our realm into theirs.”
The world exploded with cheering. I ducked as dried petals were thrown from balconies of those who watched from the safety of their homes. Arms were thrown skyward, feet stomping on the cobbled streets as the skies filled with cheers and shouts.
That was when I saw Tom. A line had formed, almost in a semi-circle around the base of the tree. Not a single person faced away from it. He, like the surrounding people, was garbed in finery. Clothes I could never have imagined a man like him would ever own.
And my initial thought sent lightning through my veins: He will be chosen today.
His jacket was crafted from a dark velvet, threaded with gold and silver. Naturally, he was tall, but the pads that filled his shoulders and the low cut of his tunic made him look as regal as the creatures he was wishing to impress.
Prick. It had taken until today to realise that he truly saw nothing in the future for us. Even after the evenings of his whispers and repeated promises, this was what he wanted.
He never wanted me. Why would he, compared to a life of riches and wealth? A life no one truly knew, for when the elves picked their humans, they left and never returned.
I should not harbour a possessive desire for Tom, but I did. Deep down, seeing him scream among those who stood with him conjured an envy I didn’t know I possessed over him. For his sake, I hoped he was chosen. It would save the wrath that would follow if he was not.
“Where is she?” I spat, reaching for his arm and pinching it with a steel grip. Tom was so focused on his ridiculous thrill he had not noticed as I had stepped up behind him.
The surprise on his face was genuine. If I was a painter, it would have been an image I would have desired to immortalise forever.
“You actually came.”
“Auriol, I need to find her.”
He rolled his eyes, a reaction I was all too familiar with. “Even now you cannot just give it a rest. Leave Auriol and let her enjoy the day.”
Tom shrugged free from my hand and turned his back on me with dismissal. I could see the disapproving looks from the two girls who flanked his sides before they too dismissed me.
“Tom,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you don’t answer me, I swear I’ll tell the elf that is stupid enough to choose you that your cock is limp and has the inability to create an orgasm that isn’t forced.”
I was certain even Dameon heard, for his speech dwindled. Everything had become terribly quiet as the crimson spread of embarrassment crept across Tom’s face.
Before he spat out his words, I heard her. My name was called out, soft like the flutter of a bird’s wing, except it was not a welcoming sound, more broken and breathless.
Auriol. She had stepped out from the line and faced me. My breath stuck in my throat as I caught sight of her. Even the thunderous swear from Tom faded into nothingness as I stared at her. It was as though Mother had called for me. Auriol looked beautiful, not tacky and forced like those around her, but truly remarkable. Natural. As though her very presence among the crowd was justified.
