I glance at her sharply. “Undesirable?” There’s nothing about her that fits that word. Even with the scars etched across her back and arms—some faded, some fresh—Mariel is striking. Her posture is graceful, her features delicate. Arresting, even. My face must betray my shock, because she meets my gaze and offers a rueful smile before clearing her throat.
“I slept with the wrong woman’s husband,” she says plainly. “Not that I knew who he was—or that he was married to one of the most powerful women in Eldrien. To me, he was just another customer my master ordered into my room for the night.”
The word lands like a stone in my stomach.Master.
My throat tightens. I’d heard the rumors. Whispers that in the East, the old practices still lingered. That slavery wasn’t just tolerated but structured. Legal. Institutional. Still, hearing it said aloud—and so matter-of-factly, without shame or even bitterness—stirs something in me. Sorrow. And fury.
Mariel meets my gaze with a rueful smile. “Guild contracts don’t break; they breakyou. Getting rid of me was what it cost to keep her from shutting down my master’s business—well, former master now, I guess.”
A stone lands in my stomach. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
She studies me for a moment, then nods as if to say,Thank you for not asking more.
We settle back in the water, letting the silence cradle us close as we breathe it in, two strangers side by side, two girls marked by things we didn’t choose. And somehow, already, we are not entirely alone.
The pool glows brighter as our fairies flit overhead, dropping crushed blossoms and sparkling powders that tingle my skin. The ache in my ribs ebbs, and even the raw cut splitting my palm knits itself closed.
A bowl of golden soup appears beside me. I hesitate, but a hunger I hadn’t noticed before takes over, compelling me to try a sip. Warmth spreads through my chest like firelight.
“What is this?” Mariel asks, her fingers grazing the surface of her bowl.
“Magic,” Marb chirps, materializing with a grin. “Kitchen-brewed and fairy-blessed!”
Across the chamber, the others are settling in, too, mostly keeping to themselves. But as time passes, I listen and catch each of their names. The petite, shy girl who couldn’t be more than fifteen—Cassy—sits curled up on a stone ledge, her arms wrapped tight around her knees.Vivian flicks water from her wrist as if it offends her. The Northern girls,SeraphinaandElena, are lounging in a pool of their own, their hair piled in perfect coils like they’ve done this a hundred times.
“You’re both from Grathmoor?” Vivian asks, inching closer.
“Yes,” Seraphina says, lifting her chin with practiced poise. “We volunteered.”
“Seraphina and I have trained for this since we were children,” Elena says, leveling an even gaze at the other girl. “In Grathmoor, merit is measured,” she adds calmly. “If you can’t endure it, you don’t volunteer.”
Since they were children?That must mean… They’ve always known. About the dragon. About the Trials.
As if reading my thoughts, Seraphina’s sharp gaze finds mine. “Our culture is the closest to the ancient magics of Abrellia,” she says. “We revere the dragons of old. Only the worthiest pair are chosen.”
“Only two?” Mariel stutters out, stunned. “My land offers twenty-four women each Bloodmoon, minimum.”
“Us too,” Vivian says. “In Korran Vale, it’s more punishment than honor. We follow the wind, not decrees,” she adds, rolling a shoulder. “But taxes chase us even faster.”
Finally, Cassy speaks up, her voice barely audible, but we all pause to listen. “I… I didn’t even know what was happening, not really. Not until they threw me into the pit.” She pulls her knees in even tighter. “The next thing I knew, I was pinned under a pair of massive claws and lifted into the sky. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
A hush falls.
Then Vivian turns to me. “What about you? You said your name was—”
“I didn’t,” I snap, sharper than I intended. But something in me recoils at offering anything here. Names… names are power.
“But you’re from Solmere,” Vivian says, less question than claim. “I’ve heard Solmere offers twelve brides a year, and theybelieve their gods have chosen them. That they’ll go off to some blissful paradise and be married to the sons of the divine.” She scoffs. “Honestly—can you imagine anything more ridiculous?”
How does she know so much about my home?Like a quiet click in my brain, the thought comes to me:My first enemy.
“You wanted to come?” I ask Seraphina, redirecting the other girls’ attention.
The elegant girl shrugs. “It’s an honor where we’re from. A way to rewrite your fate. Not everyone is chosen.”
“Or survives,” Elena adds softly.
The way Mae said“the king”returns to me—not worship, but warning. The silence thickens, and for the first time, I understand. This is no celebration, nor a reward. It’s a test, and it’s only the first of many.
