After my bath, one girl uses a pumice stone to buff the soles of my feet while the other two work on my nails. "You have a lot of calluses," the youngest looking girl with blue hair says.
"Sword fighting. And blacksmithing. Neither are easy on the hands," I explain.
Her eyes grow wide, and she looks like she wants to ask more questions, but the taller girl with red hair glares at her, and she stays silent.
I wish they would ask more questions, or talk. This silence is unnerving. I try to elicit some communication from them, but they answer all questions in curt monosyllabic answers until I give up. I don't want to get them in trouble, and maybe they've been forbidden from speaking to me. I don't know.
My hair is brushed out until it dries and is braided into dozens of small braids that are then weaved together to form an elaborate design around my head, almost like a crown. Silver ribbon has been woven into the braids, and tiny crystals are added once the design is complete. It's striking against my black hair.
Rose oil is rubbed into my body before the girls dress me in a silver sleeveless gown dotted with tiny sapphires at the hem and neckline.
My make-up is classic: red lips and winged eyes. The younger girl adds final touches of silver dust to my face, chest and arms that makes me glitter under the right light. The tall girl slips my Blue Goldstone ring onto my finger and steps back.
"You are ready," all three say together, then they bow and leave the room.
That wasn't weird at all.
I sit on the edge of my bed, waiting. Presumably someone will be coming for me.
It feels like hours pass before the sun begins to set and there's a knock at my door. I stand, impatient for something to happen.
Asher smiles when I open the door, and appraises my appearance. "You look astonishing."
"I've looked astonishing for about three hours." I frown at him, fist on hip. "Why did I have to be ready so early? Do you know how hard it is to not mess up a dress or make-up this fancy? The struggle is real, dude."
"Indeed," he says dryly. "Are you ready to go?"
I nod and take his arm when it's offered.
He's dressed in a white suit and cape with blue and silver accents, and while he looks astonishingly handsome, I don't tell him so. The Prince of Pride doesn't need encouragement.
We walk across a bridge that links my bedroom to a huge tree, our outfits billowing in the strong wind. Within the center of the trunk is a winding staircase we take to reach land. Madrid, Durk and the king all wait below, everyone dressed in shades of white, silver and blue. Sky and air colors to represent their element.
A retinue of guards dressed in white formal uniforms escort our group across the floating island, between silver trees and homes carved into stone. Snow crunches beneath our feet. A bird sings from atop a tower. As we travel, Fae on the street begin to follow us, whispering amongst each other. Some even leave their homes to join the crowd. They come in groups of two or three, then five, then ten, until I can no longer count how many.
It's clear they were expecting this. They are all dressed formally in Air colors. Many carry white and silver feathers like bouquets. The path we walk sparkles in the moonlight, lit with candles and glowing orbs of light that float around us.
We finally arrive at our destination: a grand tree so tall it blocks the sky and so wide you could drive a car through it. It reminds me of the California Redwoods, except this tree is silver, the bark, the branches, even the leaves. Asher brings me to stand before the trunk, where a hollow is covered in tangled roots. In the middle is a handprint spiked with silver.
"It is time for the choosing," Madrid says in a loud voice so everyone can hear. "Blood alone will determine if Arianna is truly heir to Avakiri."
The crowds raise their hands and a breeze blows through the night, catching my dress and swirling it around my ankles.
Asher takes my hand and places it on the handprint. "You must give it blood," he says.
He steps back, and I look at my hand, pale against the silver of the tree, my ring the only splash of color with its deep blue stone full of sparkles.
The spikes are deep, and the pain flashes up my hand, wrist and arm as blood trickles into the tree.
Nothing happens.
A hush falls over the people watching. Waiting. The wind around me dies down.
Beads of sweat form on my forehead and under my arms. My skin feels hot, sticky. My body aches. I want to pull my hand off the spikes, but instead I push further into the pain, imbedding the silver thorns more deeply.
Everything is quiet. Too quiet. As if the whole world has disappeared and I am the only one left.
My hand burns. I try to pull it toward me, but it's stuck. My ring tightens. The stone grows larger. It's so heavy it tears at my finger.
Then my vision goes black, and I can no longer feel anything but weightlessness.
I float in a sea of stars.
There is no gravity. My dress drifts around me as if in water. I can't see anything but the bright points of light around me. I hear nothing. No.
There is something. The swishing of air. Movement.
The darkness takes shape. Small at first, then larger. It grows legs, claws, a tail, spikes. Wings sprout from its back, spanning into eternity. The darkness turns to me, its face reptilian in feature, but with a consciousness much deeper than any lizard. It stares at me with eyes like stars.
"You are mine," a voice whispers in the darkness. "You are the chosen." It is loud, all consuming, layered like a chorus. It is soft and hard at the same time. It is gentle and furious. Not female or male. Something else. It surrounds me. It embraces and engulfs me.