I gasp, snatching my hand back. But he’s already gone, leaving no footprints, no echo, only the ghost of his warmth quickly fading from my skin.
“My lady!” Marburianna appears behind me, as breathless as though she’s been searching for me for hours. “You must return to your room; it’s nearly dawn!”
“What…?” I glance up. The moon is gone, and sunrise stains the sky. I’ve lost hours—maybe the whole night.
I follow her, dazed, until I glance down at the rose in my hand. It’s black, shriveled, veined with dried crimson.
Chapter 12
The Art of Dancing
Iheard it’s for sure happening tonight!” The words pierce the fog of sleep still clinging to my skull like wet wool. I blink, slow and disoriented, as the scent of honeyed bread and citrus tea wafts past my nose.
“They say he chooses his favorite within minutes,” Vivian whispers, eyes wide, voice half-drowned in the clatter of silverware and nerves. “He’ll lavish you with jewels if he likes you and punish you with silence if he doesn’t.”
“And if he doesn’t,” Seraphina adds flatly, “you get fed to the dragon.”
The words slice through the chatter, and I nearly spill the tea I haven’t touched. I glance around the long table, where theother girls are draped in silk and hope, trying to smile like lambs pretending the butcher is only a myth.
The morning light filters through stained glass in slivers of gold and crimson. The brightness sears my eyes. I press my fingers to my temples. My head aches, and my limbs are heavy. I couldn’t wake from my dreams last night, dreams that granted me no rest.
Mariel nudges me gently with her elbow. “You look like death.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”
She squeezes my hand, then places a pastry into it.
By the time I drag myself down the corridor after breakfast, I can barely keep my eyes open. The weight of the day and the dreams and the dread clawing at my spine is too much; I just want to sleep. I just want one hour without the memory of fire blazing behind my eyelids.
“Fireling!” A blur of green light zips into view. Marb hovers in front of my face, hands on her tiny hips, wings beating so fast that I can feel their breeze.
“Hi, Marb,” I mumble. “What is it?”
She beams. “I heard you don’t know how to dance!”
I sigh. I guess the Noctryas really does have ears.
Before I can protest, she’s dragging me by my index finger. Well, tugging me, as if her pixie-sized strength could somehow overpower my exhaustion.If only she knew it wasn’t my feet that were heavy, but everything else.
We find an empty, sunlit room tucked behind a velvet-draped archway. In the corner, a dusty harp sits untouched. The marble floor is worn smooth from centuries of footsteps.
“Okay!” Marb pipes up. “Let’s start with a basic turn!”
I try and fail. Twice. Then trip over my own feet and nearly crush her with my elbow.
“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, wincing. “This isn’t going to work.”
Marb pouts. “You’re stiff. You’re thinking too hard. You’ve got to loosen up!”
“Marb…” I sigh, collapsing onto the nearest velvet-cushioned bench. “Thanks for trying, but I think I just need to rest.”
She hovers beside me for a beat, her tiny brow furrowed. “You have to know how to dance if you ever hope to impress the king.”
I look up. “I don’t want to impress the king.”
Marb gasps like I’ve just told her something unthinkable.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” I continue, “but I just need to rest.”
