Chapter 7 Onyx #3
“They say the king is ageless,” Vivian hums almost to herself, looking in the mirror. “Cursed, maybe, but beautiful.” She smiles alluringly. “I wouldn’t mind being the one to break his spell.”
Mariel snorts softly and catches my eye. “Do you think they’re all like that where she’s from?” she whispers with the tiniest smirk.
“I hope not,” I whisper back.
Seraphina glances our way. “She’s not wrong to hope,” she says matter-of-factly. “The king is said to be cursed, untouched by time. That kind of power leaves a mark.”
“I’d rather see a man’s soul than his face,” Mariel mutters.
Standing at the window, Cassy’s voice sounds far away.
She’s quiet, but when someone who speaks so rarely has something to say, we all listen.
“In Korran Vale, we’re told he only comes out once a year—to choose the final bride.
They say if you make eye contact with him, your fate is sealed—if the curse doesn’t take you first.”
“That’s just a superstition,” Elena says, smoothing her skirt. “He chooses his bride based on merit.”
“Merit?” I scoff. “What merit? We were thrown into a cursed lake.”
“Survival is a kind of merit,” Seraphina replies coolly.
As the room quiets, I turn toward the mirror—and stop in my tracks.
The girl staring back is not me. She’s taller somehow, fierce and sharpened like a knife. My rich red hair is gleaming like fire. And my eyes—gods, my eyes look hollow, not their usual vibrant green. Like someone else is wearing my skin.
“I don’t even recognize myself…” I only realize I said the words aloud when Mariel meets my gaze in the mirror.
“Maybe that’s the point,” she says quietly. “They want to dress us up so we forget who we are.”
I run a hand down the gown, and the starlit thread catches against my fingers like tiny teeth.
But I don’t forget. I’ll never forget. The mist, the dragon, the song, Awnya’s scream… They can wrap us in silk and gold, but underneath it, we’re still marked for death.
After we’re dressed, Mayverius glides in again, regal and unreadable. Her gaze sweeps over each of us in turn, and I stand up straighter. The weight of a stare like that could mean life or death.
“This way,” she finally says. “Your rooms await. Rest there for the night. We will bring you meals in the morning, and you will be summoned tomorrow evening to be presented to the king.”
We follow her down a long corridor, our fairies flitting excitedly ahead, guiding each girl with wingbeats like soft chimes, silken ribbons of light in their wake. Vivian disappears behind a silver-handled door, then Mariel, Cassy, Elena, and Seraphina, until finally, it’s my turn.
I step inside my room. On the opposite end, the balcony doors open, letting in a soft breeze. The fire pops, crackling away in an ornately tiled hearth. An enormous mirror catches the shimmer of my gown.
When the door closes behind me, I strip out of the gown, take down my hair, and rummage through the wardrobe until I find a simpler dress. I don’t care for dresses, and it’s no use having my hair pinned up just so when I’m exhausted enough to go right to sleep, anyway.
I lie down in a bed more comfortable than any I’ve ever known, but sleep does not come, not with my thoughts spiraling the way they are. Not with the dragon’s voice echoing deep in my bones. I wonder what Kat would’ve done here. I wonder if she would have even made it here.
Marb hovers nearby. For the first time since I met her, she’s quiet. She flits to the hearth, then to the edge of the bed, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in the coverlet over and over again.
“The ball begins at midnight tomorrow,” she says at last, almost reluctantly. “I’ll come for you just before then to help you get ready.”
“Midnight,” I repeat. “That sounds more like an ending than a beginning.”
Marb flashes me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “This is no ordinary court,” she says. “And he is no ordinary king. Get some rest while you can, Fireling.”
I still. “Fireling?”
She spins in the air, her wings shimmering like sunlit glass. “Yes. It’s what we call those who survive the fire.”
My stomach tightens. “What fire?”
“The dragon,” she says simply.
She studies me now—not with curiosity, but with something closer to reverence. A tingling ripples over my skin, as though she’s tracing the outline of my soul.
Marb blinks, her tiny face creasing in confusion. For a heartbeat, she looks… unsettled. Then she shakes it off, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite convince either of us.
“The dragon is very particular about who he allows to come here,” she continues. “In the early years, he barely brought anyone.”
The early years.
A quiet realization settles in my chest: Fairies don’t age the way humans do. I remember the stories my mother used to read me as a child—creatures who outlived empires, who watched centuries pass like seasons.
“How many usually survive?” I ask quietly.
Marb looks up at the ceiling, thinking. “The record is nineteen.”
Nineteen. Out of more than sixty.
“Sixty-two,” Marb corrects me.
I frown. “Did you just—”
She laughs lightly. “I can’t hear your thoughts. Not exactly. We read emotions. They’re colors to us.” Her gaze softens. “And the color you’re wearing right now is the same one all the girls wear when they start counting the odds.”
So she can read me. Noted.
“And the others?” I ask. “The girls who make it here—why are we called Firelings?”
Marb drifts closer, lowering her voice. “Because fire reveals,” she says, “but it also destroys. Some girls burn bright.” Her gaze sharpens. “Others… burn out.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy and deliberate.
“You were wise not to give them your name,” she adds suddenly.
I frown. “Why?”
Her wings still. Her tone lightens—but her eyes darken.
“Because words hold power here. Especially names. A name is a claim. A thread of the soul.” She tilts her head, studying me with unsettling intensity.
“Give it too freely—or to the wrong person—and anyone can pull on it until you unravel. And here at court,” she says softly, “claims become bargains. And bargains are weapons.”
My mind races, questions colliding. I wonder what color I look like to her now.
“Were you here during the first Bloodmoon?” I ask.
Marb’s smile flickers. Just once.
“Yes.”
“How did it start? What’s the curse?”
She exhales. “That isn’t my story to tell.” Then, gently but firmly, she nudges me toward the bed. “Sleep now, Fireling. You’ll need to be fully recovered tomorrow if you want to make a good impression on the king,” she says, patting my hand. Oh, and one last thing: Don’t leave your room.”
And then she’s gone, vanishing in a swirl of silver dust.