I know that tone. I know what that gathering means.
"They got a summons," I say. Not a question.
Yaern nods. "Came yesterday while you were in the forest. Dragon messenger delivered it just before sunset. Flew over the village low enough to block out the moonlight, then shifted and bellowed it out in the town square for the whole world to hear."
Every ten years like clockwork. Every ten years, the Beast King demands his price for protecting our village, and we pay it in the only currency he accepts.
Omegas.
My aunt was sent ten years ago when I was twelve. I remember watching her walk toward the Black Forest with thepriests. She looked back once, right before the trees swallowed her, and I saw the terror on her face.
Six weeks later, a dragon rider brought back her belongings. Her mother's ring. A lock of hair. A scrap of white fabric stained with blood.
"They're choosing today?" My voice sounds distant.
"Drawing lots among the omega families at noon." Yaern stands and starts gathering her things. "They wanted to wait until you got back. In case?—"
"In case I got myself killed during heat and they had one fewer omega to choose from. I'm sure they're hoping my lot comes up. Spares them a good deal of trouble, though I suppose the bandits would come back."
"Kess—"
"It's fine. I know what I am to them." I shoulder my pack. "Come on. If we hurry, we can make it back before they start."
-
The village square is already filling when we arrive, slipping in through the back streets. Everyone's here—farmers leaving their fields, craftspeople abandoning their work, families huddled together in tight knots of whispered anxiety.
The elders stand on the raised platform wearing their ceremonial robes. Elder Torim is at the center, tall and severe, holding a leather bag that contains five stones.
Five omega families in our village. Five stones. One marked.
Simple math. Deadly odds.
I spot Phern near the front with her mother. The girl's face is white as milk, eyes too big, cheeks wan and pale. She's clutching her mother's skirt with both hands, and she's trying so hard not to cry that I can see her whole body trembling.
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest.
Elder Torim raises his hands and the crowd quiets.
"We are gathered in accordance with the treaty between our village and the dragon lord Rhystan Vhal'kar, Beast King of the Northern Territories." His voice carries across the square. "The tribute is due. One omega will be selected by lot to fulfill our obligation and bring honor to our village."
Honor. That's a nice word for a deadly sacrifice no one would choose.
"The selection will be conducted by the drawing of lots, as is tradition. Five stones. One marked. The families will draw in order of seniority."
This is how they do it. Random chance. No one's fault if your daughter is chosen.
It's bullshit, but it lets everyone sleep at night.
The first family is called forward. The oldest daughter reaches into the bag with a shaking hand and pulls out a stone.
Unmarked.
The relief on her mother's face is almost obscene.
The second family. Another omega draws.
Unmarked.
