Counsellor (Acquisition 1)

In the center was a high platform that towered over the ballgoers. It was circular and done in brilliant gold. A fabricated oak tree shot up through the middle, the leaves sprouting artificially green and full almost up to the ceiling, which must have been forty feet overhead, if not more.

Vinemont swept me through the crowd, moving closer to the tree. I wanted to dig in my heels, to stop his resolute forward momentum. It was no use. The nearer we drew to the platform, the louder my instinct screamed for me to run. Something metallic along the trunk caught my eye and my knees almost gave way. Three sets of silver shackles hung from the tree, each attached to chains that ascended into the branches above.

“No.” I pushed back against Vinemont.

“Calm down.” He changed course and led me around the tree and further toward the orchestra.

Another platform was set up toward the back of the room near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Three men sat atop it, each with a table in front of them at knee level. Each was shirtless. Every bare piece of their muscular skin was covered in ink—naked women, skulls, tribal, even flowers. One in a goblin mask seemed to pick Vinemont and me from the crowd.

“He’s staring at us,” I said. “The goblin, up there.”

“Everyone’s staring at us.”

Vinemont led me toward the goblin. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to retreat and get any closer to the tree, either. We stopped midway between the two, far too close to the tree for my liking.

The orchestra suddenly quieted and then the hall fell utterly silent. All masks turned toward the platform where a man stood, his arms outstretched, a microphone in one hand. Someone worked up in the rafters of the hall, training a spotlight down on the apparent star of the show. His mask seemed to be an array of oak leaves, the same that decorated the tree behind him.

“Welcome to the twenty-fifth Acquisition Ball!” he shouted into his microphone.

A cheer went up from the crowd and then they all clapped as if they were at the opening of the Kentucky Derby.

After a ridiculous span of applause, the man held his hands out to quiet crowd.

“This year, we have an amazing slate of competitors.” He gazed around at the people beneath him, clearly a showman. “Though, of course, not as amazing as my Acquisition year. Cal Oakman for the win!”

Laughter sounded through the cavernous hall. Vinemont neither clapped nor laughed, just stood with me at his side. Tension was etched in his bearing just as fear must have been etched into mine.

“It has been an honor to be your Sovereign for the past decade, and I am pleased to say that any of the three firstborns chosen for this year’s Acquisition will make an excellent addition to the Sovereign legacy I leave behind. And now, without further ado, let’s introduce the Acquiring families!”

Another roar from the crowd.

The Acquiring firstborns were chosen? Vinemont hadn’t volunteered to ruin me, humiliate me? Of course he had. He was a cruel man who enjoyed hurting me. Wasn’t he? I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. And why were there three? I glanced around. Out of all these masked faces, only two could be my allies.

“First up. Robert Eagleton. Come on up, Bob, and show us what you brought with you!”

Someone moved through the crowd to our right. A middle-aged balding man in an eagle mask led a much larger man wearing a nearly identical mask. They took the stairs to the top of the platform and shared the spotlight with Oakman. The balding man puffed a bit, but the taller, younger man just stood and surveyed the crowd below.

“All right Bob, tell us who we have here.” Oakman should have hosted a game show. He held the microphone out for Bob.

“This is, well, this is Gavin. He’s my, um, Acquisition. And we will win this year.” Bob let out a sigh of relief, as if he’d gotten past the hardest part.

“Ready for the first reveal, everyone?”

Another bloodthirsty cheer. Or maybe the champagne bubbles playing in my mind just thought it was bloodthirsty.

Oakman removed the man’s mask. He looked to be in his early twenties, dark eyes, pale skin, short brown hair, handsome even from this distance. The crowd twittered and some wolf whistles rang out.

“Looks like we have a competition.” Oakman clapped Bob and Gavin off the stage along with the crowd.

“Up next, the Witheringtons. Red, you out there?”

More cheers.

Another man weaved through the crowd on the opposite side of the platform. He pulled a woman in a feather mask behind him, practically dragging her to the top of the platform.

The man, Red, took the microphone from Oakman. “This is Brianne, this year’s winning Acquisition.”

Red stripped her mask away, revealing a small, scared blonde. Her eyes were huge, and she visibly quaked under the spotlight.