Chapter 7 Onyx #2
Memory slams into me. Rough hands. Darkness. A locked door. The smell of wine and a man I never asked to touch me. My father’s voice telling me to be polite, to do what was expected of me. A voice promising it would all be over soon if I just kept quiet. The sharp yank of fabric. The burn of shame.
“Wait—don’t—” I choke, stumbling back with crossed arms in a feeble attempt to shield what little remains of my modesty.
The fairy tugs again, oblivious.
Then a hand closes over mine, firm and grounding.
“You’re okay,” a soft, soothing voice says beside me.
She stands with half her shift already gone.
A line of scars trails down her shoulder like lightning.
Her dark brown hair gleams, soaked and clinging.
Her moss-green eyes soften, steady and kind.
Her skin is golden-tawny, glowing faintly like polished amber.
She’s taller than me, somehow willowy and solid at the same time, and her presence feels like the hush of a forest after rain.
She squeezes my hand once, anchoring me to the present. “Just breathe,” she says. “You’re safe.”
I nod, still breathless and shaky, but the trembling slows. Her voice is gentle and certain, the kind you trust without knowing why. Together, we wade into the nearest pool. The glowing water casts a soft shimmer across the ceiling.
“I’m Mariel,” she offers as we lower ourselves into the warm water before letting go. “From Eldrien. You’re from Solmere?”
I nod.
“That explains the sun in your skin, then,” she says with a half-smile.
We look at each other for a moment. Her face is open and gentle, but there’s something older behind her eyes. She huffs, almost a laugh.
“It’s always strange at first, isn’t it?” she says. “Being touched when you didn’t ask for it.”
I glance sideways. She’s not guessing; the constellation of scars across her body tells its own kind of story. I want to ask what happened, but I already know. She holds herself not with fear but with quiet vigilance. A survivor’s stance.
She’s been used before. Hurt. Yet here she stands, calm and whole and kind.
“I didn’t even know my name was drawn,” Mariel says softly, gliding her arms through the water. Its ripples catch the glow, casting halos over her tawny skin. “Not until they put the red mark on my door.”
“Is that how brides are chosen where you’re from?” I ask, steadier now. “Tagging random doors?”
She exhales. “Not exactly. It’s less fate, more convenience. Our leaders use the Bloodmoon as a way to rid themselves of the… undesirable.”
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 break you. 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, Seraphina and Elena, 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 they believe 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.
It takes hours of treatments, naps—which I refuse to take—and pampering before we’re finally led into a different chamber.
The room is bright and warm, its mirrored walls shimmering like moonlight on water.
Enchanted racks hover in the air, slowly rotating as they display a myriad of fine gowns as delicate as if they were woven from some sort of celestial thread.
The ceiling arches high, and glowing orbs float in each corner, casting soft light without shadow.
Fairies busily flit in and out of cupboards, fetching combs, ribbons, and pins.
“This way, darling,” Marb says, tugging my wrist. “I’ve already picked a gown out just for you.”
My dress is the color of emeralds and starlight—a vibrant green dappled with gold constellations. Marb combs and braids my fiery hair, weaving in tiny pearl pins and whispering spells to hold it all in place.
“You clean up nice,” she says proudly as she fastens the final pearl near my temple. “A little cursed, a little celestial. I love it.”
I glance down at the gown, then toward the mirrors lining the room. “What’s the point of dressing us up like this if the ball isn’t until tomorrow night?”
Marb blinks at me, then grins. “Oh! This is just a fitting,” she chirps. “Tomorrow night, we’ll make it perfect.”
Around me, the others have transformed.
Vivian preens herself, adorned in crimson silk threaded with gold, her lips painted to match.
Seraphina’s shadow-winged attendant hovers near her like a silent warden.
The rest of the fairies move between us, all pins and ribbons and quiet spells.
Marb floats at my elbow, still chattering away about her work.
Elena’s gown is sapphire with sharp silver embroidery, regal and cold down to every last detail. Her hair is twisted into a polished braid ringed with jeweled pins.
Mariel’s gown flows like water under moonlight, silver with a faint green sheen. A calm fairy is perched on her shoulder, sitting cross-legged and concentrating as she braids a tiny strand as if it’s a sacred ritual.
Cassy’s pale green is simpler than the rest, soft and delicate, like something that should be kept far away from fire.
Seraphina’s gown is of the purest obsidian, sleek, with massive slits exposing her long legs, making her look ethereal. A silver chain rests at her throat like a collar.