Page 4 of Nocte

“I…” My voice breaks. Shakes. But it mustn’t. I must never reveal any hint of pain or fear. To do so is to sin. To wallow in wickedness. So, I swallow hard and say, “I am an unwanted creature, claimed by no clan?—”

Slicing pain cuts into the flesh along my spine. A sharp single line. The blade is polished—I know that much without turning around or looking back. Polished to shine and bestowed with ritual meaning. Every time I disobey, it cuts into my flesh.

Intentionally. Unintentionally.

In either case, atonement must be paid. Blood must be spilled. Scars must serve as lasting reminders.

“Enough,” the Lord Master replies, silencing me mid-recitation. They step back. “Make yourself decent.”

“Yes, Lord Master.” I raise my robe and redo the clasps. Then I turn to face them, my head lowered, my eyes downward. Shadows play across the wooden floor as they stow their ritual blade back in their robes, still coated in blood. Always coated in blood.

My back sears. Eyes burn. But I mustn’t ever show any pain.

“The commencement of the high council is nearly upon us,” the Lord Master says, their voice stern.

I flinch at the abrupt change in subject. Has my transgression been forgiven? No, I sense. There is another motive for why the Lord Master made their way all the way here, beyond the high ramparts of the upper Citadel. A motive other than to catch my sin and issue punishment. But what?

“Yes, Lord Master,” I intone in response.

“You understand what the ceremony entails, do you not?”

I nod and find myself wringing my fingers together, though I don’t know why. “Yes, Lord Master. It is the one day of the year when the members of the high council gather before the entire populace and recite the rules that guide and fulfill us.”

“Those of us who call themselves citizens,” the Master corrects. A reminder meant to clarify one point—I am not included within that descriptor. I am a shadow hovering on the outskirts. So why remind me of such?

Unless…

A sharp, electric sensation darts down my spine, and I struggle to classify it. Excitement?

“That day is the most hallowed among our kind, and this upcoming one marks the centennial. A hundred more years of unity under one covenant. A glorious day. One I thought I would never live to see.”

I nod again. As aged as the fae and vamryre are, it was only relatively recently that both races, along with the lunaria, finally made peace. Their covenant is fragile yet binding. A hundred years mark the first century of any real, lasting peace since the dawn of time. A testament to the wisdom of the elders that compose the council.

Or so the archives claim. Personally, I’ve read more than one account of the violence and bloodshed that raged before the peacetime.

“Do you understand me, child?”

I blink. “I?—”

“I know you haven’t witnessed such a ceremony, but I believe you still understand the significance?” The Lord Master is wary. How stupid am I? Do I even know the customs of the world in which I am shunned?

Of course, I do. Every detail and every custom I know well.

“Yes, Lord Master. Every year, a youth from one of the assembled races is offered to stand before the council in a reenactment of the original signing of the treaty,” I say.

Silence in response. My belly twists as the seconds scrape by, with only the crowing of birds high in the rafters to fill it. I’m uneasy. Sweat drips down my brow, and I watch a drop splash onto the wooden floor. A dark thought takes hold—that is my life in the grand scheme. A splash that will mar the world for but a second before fading into nothing.

A tiny, pathetic drop.

“You understand that for the centennial, certain exceptions can be made. Must be made. It is a special day, unlike any other. A day when even our flaws can be acknowledged.”

I frown, unsure.

The Lord Master continues, “A day when even those who may not be accepted upon regular circumstances may be asked to participate.”

My heart skips. Stutters. Stops. They couldn’t mean… I couldn’t…

I look up and meet their cold, lifeless stare with a hungry, questioning one. “Lord Master?”

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