Excited fluttering fills my stomach. This is definitely my mark.

I smile as I take the rose. “Yes, well, I have my ways of dealing with men who see beauty as an invitation.”

He smirks. “I’m sure you do. What’s your name, lovely?”

“Stellaria.”

“As in the Divine who hung the stars or the harbinger of darkness?”

I lean back and take a long sip of my drink. “Why not both?”

He looks pleased by that response. “A woman who has it all.”

Everyone in Lunameade knows this myth because it’s the story of how the Drained were made. The Seven Divine beings who made our world were never supposed to fall in love.

Stellaria, the Divine of Stars, fell for Asher, the Divine of Endings, and their marriage blended their two magics so they could use both. When her father, Polm, the Divine of Malice, kidnapped Asher, Stellaria stormed into the mortal realm and poured her darkness over the land and all her father’s worshippers. Her wrath was even greater than Polm’s. She made the whole world dark for days while she grieved for her missing husband.

Polm was so angry, he cursed the ground where Asher was imprisoned so that no one of life or death could set foot on it. So, Stellaria breathed her magic and Asher’s into a man so he was neither entirely of life nor entirely of death, and sent him into the cursed land to free her love.

The couple were happily reunited, but the man Stellaria had animated couldn’t fit in with the living, nor could he pass through the veil of death. He was cursed to live in the land of the living with an insatiable thirst for blood, and eventually he became the first Drained.

I look at my mark. “And what shall I call you?”

“I suppose I should say Asher.”

There’s an ease about him. A confidence and intensity I wasn’t expecting. He looks back to the bar, where his friend has returned. Asher raises a mug of ale in his companion’s direction, and the man rolls his eyes and slumps against the bar.

“You’ve abandoned your companion,” I say.

“He’ll be fine. He’s just upset that I won’t let him lose any more of his money to me tonight, but I’ve had enough cards for the evening. And I suspect you’re better company in a dimly lit room.” He places a hand on my knee.

The heat of the touch sinks through the fabric, and he looks at me expectantly. A flicker of doubt bursts to life in my mind. A mark has never looked for approval to touch me.

A buzzing warmth spreads over my hand. I swear I see a hint of an aura around his skin, but the candle on the table gutters and I’m sure it’s a trick of the light. I brush my thumb over what I can only assume is a wedding band.

He tracks the movement. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” I ask, playfully tracing a finger across the ivy vine etching.

“I’m not married. It’s just something I wear so the barmaids don’t get too touchy for tips.”

“Of course.” I make it clear I don’t believe him.

He tenses as if waiting for me to tell him off. Instead, I interlace my fingers with his, and his shoulders relax.

A barmaid appears, holding a bucket of ice with a bottle of sparkling wine. Both items are luxuries in a walled-off city. I try to hide my shock, but I can tell I’ve failed by the look of satisfaction on Asher’s face.

“I’ll admit I was trying to impress you, so I sprung for the expense of a chilled bottle.”

The Heartless Haven Pub has some wealthy clientele. It only takes a glance around the room to spot them, but I’m surprised they have the resources for ice and such expensive wine. Over the years, the selection of wines from beyond the mountains has dwindled drastically. If we didn’t have a full cellar of it at home, I would be more impressed.

I suppose this was why Asher’s wife wasn’t concerned about paying me so much. He’s quick to spend his money wining and dining other women.

He pours me a glass, and the foam rises to the lip, stopping just short of spilling over. I take a long pull, the bubbles sharp and sweet on my tongue. My lipstick leaves a red imprint on the glass. Asher looks from the glass to my mouth as he takes the world’s tiniest sip.

He’s going to make me work for this. The longer we spend sitting here, the more likely it is someone will recognize me. I suddenly regret not wearing a glamour, even though it makes me feel powerful to enact justice with my own face.

“So, were you and your friend out to celebrate something this evening?” I ask.

“Yes.” He casts a glance at the bar, but his friend has already made himself scarce. “We came out to celebrate his last night as a single man. Were he not already disgustingly in love, he’d probably be here trying to win you over as well.”

“Nothing wrong with a man who knows when he’s met his match.”

Asher takes a longer sip of his wine. “Maybe someday soon I’ll know the feeling. And what are you celebrating?”

I grin and lift my glass in a toast. “The slow, unwitting defeat of my enemies.”

He pauses with his glass halfway to his lips and laughs. “Well, that calls for a serious celebration. Perhaps we could find somewhere more private to speak? I have a room upstairs.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that he was so certain he’d succeed in finding someone to cheat on his wife with that he rented a room ahead of time. That makes things easier. No nosy barmaids or boarding hosts to get a glimpse of me.

Still, I prefer my marks a little drunker than he is. Booze makes them more handsy, but it also makes them clumsy and more malleable. However, the less time I spend in public with him, the better.

I trail my fingers down the neckline of my dress before letting my hand rest on his. “So eager?”

He leans forward, running his fingers up the inside of my forearm. “I’m really enjoying this conversation, but I’d love to take it somewhere more quiet.”

I smile demurely. “That sounds perfect.”

He presses a brass key into my palm discreetly. “Go up now and let yourself in. It’s the last door on the left by the other staircase. I’ll wait a few minutes before joining you so no one suspects anything, and I’ll bring the refreshments with me.”

Strange that he’s concerned about preserving my reputation. Normally, these men are groping me in the hallway before I ever make it upstairs. But I finish my glass and rise to my feet, letting him kiss my hand as if I’m leaving. Then, I turn and duck out of the bar. Instead of leaving, I turn left at the door and climb the staircase to the boarding floor.

The door creaks open and I step into a small, dimly lit room. The candles on the bedside table are nearly burned all the way down. Wax puddles in the candleholders, leaving the room smelling like burnt beeswax and smoke from the fire and a hint of something earthy and sweet. It’s the same smell that comes in off the north winds that blow down from the mountains. The scent stirs a memory of standing on the North Hold walls with Aidia as children and staring out at the snow-capped trees, wondering what it would be like to run into the forest.

I was so young and danger seemed a faraway thing. My parents’ caution felt excessive, smothering, and more violent than anything I’d seen from outside the walls. That is, until the night the blood mist came, when a horde of the Drained managed to break into Northeast Hold and drain two hundred Lunameade residents dry in mere hours. In a city of tens of thousands of people, that number was small, but it was the most casualties Lunameade had experienced at once since the wall was complete.

My parents brought us to see the dead—as if they could sense the restlessness inside of me and wanted to crush it. I stopped imagining leaving after that—the world narrowed to just Lunameade, and although the city had never felt safe to me, the forest felt far more dangerous. Better the violence you know than whatever lay beyond the tree line. I truly believed that until the first time I saw Aidia’s bruised face.