ONECalista
The Harvest is coming, and soon, eleven of us will be sacrificed.
The cold air seeps into my bones, settling beside the slither of unease in my stomach. I gaze out my window into the rich night that promises such wonder, yet I can’t settle my nerves.
No. We will not be chosen. We are the daughters of an elder.
Yet, as I tilt my head, gazing into the still silhouette of the forest behind our house, I cannot shake the dread threading through my every thought.
I kneel, hiking up the skirt of my navy blue dress, and glide my onyx dagger into its sheath, the blade never fully warming to my thigh.
“I hope you’re not planning on using that tonight.” My sister’s voice resonates, and I jolt, whipping my head around to watch as she crosses the threshold into my room, swaddled in a purple, velvet cloak.
I tug the fabric of my dress down until it lands around my ankles—the blade hidden behind layers of linen and woven wool. “I will act according to people’s behavior,” I say, and lower my gaze to her heavy, black dress. At least she took the advice to wear darker colors tonight. “You should bring a blade, too.”
Her gentle touch lands on the sides of my forearms, her lips stretched into a painted-peach smile. “I never thought I’d be the one calming you down.” Her tone softens, but the sharp edge of impatience is enunciated in each word. “Tonight is supposed to be a night of merriment. It’s unlikely anyone will hurt us.”
I nod, my lips forming a tight line. “There are a lot of visitors right now, many of whom don’t know who our father is.”
“I know,” she says, then turns to us, blocking the view of the wardrobe behind her. “Anyway, I have taken some precautions.” She plucks one of the purple flowers speckling her long, golden braid, and hands it to me. “Night Blossom,” she announces, as if I don’t know what the poisonous plant that flowers outside of our home looks like.
I take the bud between my pinched fingers, my expression souring as I examine it. The tear where it was recklessly pulled from its black vines will make the poison inside far less potent, but at least the silver veins threading through the five dark-purple petals are still vibrant enough to cause some damage. “I see,” I say. “It seems you’re wearing your weapon tonight.”
She grins, her cheeks balling, wrinkling her delicate features. “I learned from the best. I’m surprised you’re not bringing several vials of poison with you, too.”
I tap the fabric over my thigh, feeling the bulge of the dagger under my fingers. “The blade is laced with enough to kill ten men.”
“I’m joking,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s go before we miss all the festivities.”
“If only,” I mumble under my breath, but fortunately, my sister doesn’t hear me. I shouldn’t be so pessimistic. She’s been looking forward to this for weeks and experiencing some change will come as a relief. Every day here is the same: propagated speeches every three days at the church, the daily market of fresh bread, fish, and meat, and now that we have graduated from the academy, monthly dinners with potential suitors and their families.
I’d rather stab myself in the eye than sit through another one of those. But it is my future, my fate, and I can do nothing about it except make myself as unworthy a match as possible.
Ari’s eyes drop to the corset cinching around my waist. “When did you get that?”
“I wanted to try something different.”
Her blonde hair sweeps to one side when she tilts her head. “Is that blush on your cheeks?”
“What of it?”
Her lips curve into an amused grin. “I’m assuming Drake is going to be at the market.”
“Stop talking,” I warn, and she laughs.
“Okay, okay,” she says, waving her hand in the air.
I hug my cloak around me, covering my dress and corset. “Let us go before Mother hears us.”
“I’m so excited,” Ari whispers as we walk out the door, our steps quiet as we pull the hoods of our cloaks over our heads and take the servant’s entrance to the gardens.
The fresh, cold air brushes my face as we walk, keeping to the shadows of the tall plants and trees. We slide between two Night Blossom vines, the thorns snagging against the fabric of my cloak as I shuffle my way down the narrow path on the side of our house.
My stomach dips when we hit the bustling cobblestone streets, illuminated by the soft, blue glow of lanterns. While it is widely accepted that the six covens—each boasting thousands of families across the entire continent of Dahryst—live in harmony in large communities of witches, I know too well how easily fights can break out between the coven factions. I will not be caught off guard, especially when countless visitors have fallen into Ennismore, our usually sleepy town on the east edge of the country. But I promised Ari we would go. I am curious to see it myself. The Harvest, and the Night Market erected to celebrate it, only happens every ten years, and I was too young to experience the last one at thirteen years old.
As we reach the town square, a drizzle of rain descends like a curtain, obscuring everything in a mystical, silver mist. Through the glittering fog, laughter interspersed with conversation fills the air. Gradually, the mist dissipates, revealing a cavern of booths sparkling under the canopy of twinkling stars.
“It’s really here,” Ari whispers, her jaw slacking. “The Night Market.”
I white-knuckle my coin purse, then whisper, “Stay close to me.”
She nods, but anticipation threading her eyes is enhanced by the current of excitement charging into the air as the first night of festivities unfolds.
“You hear that?” I ask as we push our way through the bustling crowds.
At first, the music is faint, but as we near the center of the market, the melody grows louder. Blue light spills through the aisles as a quartet of musicians perform like songbirds, their harmonies echoing through the air. A man’s hand glides across a silver, enchanted harp, and two women in flowing black robes complement the harp’s melodic sound with their flutes.
My gaze snaps to a gangly man as he walks in front of us. He snips the ties of another man’s leather coin pouch into his nimble fingers, before disappearing seamlessly into the crowd.
“Don’t let your coin out of your sight,” I warn Ari.
The darkness whispers secrets wherever we walk, offering glimpses into the depravity hidden underneath the performances. Because no matter how they dress it up, this is a celebration of the upcoming slaughter of eleven people—one of whom may be my best friend. He, along with my sister and I, must volunteer for The Harvest. Our mother has assured us we will not be chosen, because our father is an elder. But, unlike us, Drake does not have anyone other than me to protect him.
Arabella catches hold of my hand as I push my way through crowds of witches, many of whom have traveled from the various provinces of Dahryst to our town.
