Elara's POV
The bucket of dirty mop water hits the marble floor with a splash that soaks my dress and ruins an hour of scrubbing.
Do it again, my stepmother Delphine says, dropping the empty bucket at my feet. And this time, do it properly, you useless girl.
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Fighting back only makes it worse. I've learned that lesson too many times.
Yes, stepmother, I whisper, grabbing the cleaning rag.
Delphine's laugh is sharp as broken glass. At least you're good for something. Though I can't imagine what.
She walks away, her expensive shoes clicking on the parts of the floor I've already cleaned twice. Through the window, I can see my stepsister Serafine in the garden, surrounded by admirers. She waves her hand and flowers burst into bloom. Another gesture and water from the fountain dances in the air like ribbons.
Everyone claps and cheers.
Magnificent! Someone shouts. The most talented mage in the whole region!
Serafine smiles like a queen accepting her crown.
I dip my rag in the bucket and start scrubbing again. My knees ache. My hands are raw. I've been cleaning since before sunrise, and it's not even noon yet.
In his study window, my father watches. Our eyes meet for just a second. I see the guilt on his face but he turns away. He always turns away.
I'm twenty-four years old, and I'm invisible in my own house.
Not because I'm quiet or shy. Not because I'm ugly or stupid.
Because I have no magic.
In a world where everyone in my family can make fire dance or flowers grow or water move with just a thought, I can't even light a candle. I was born wrong. Broken. Defective.
At least, that's what they tell me.
I'm scrubbing the same spot for the third time when the bells start ringing.
Not the normal bells that mark the hours. These are the emergency bells loud and frantic, echoing across the whole village.
My heart jumps into my throat.
I drop my rag and run to the window. Everyone in the garden is looking up at the sky, their faces frozen in fear and wonder.
A shadow passes overhead. Massive. Dark. Moving with impossible grace.
A dragon.
It's the Dragon King's messenger! Someone screams.
I run outside, my wet dress slapping against my legs. Half the village is already rushing toward the town square. I get swept up in the crowd, pushed and pulled by people much stronger than me.
By the time I reach the square, the dragon is landing.
It's the most terrifying and beautiful thing I've ever seen. Scales like polished obsidian. Wings that block out the sun. Eyes that glow like molten gold.
The crowd stumbles backward, giving it space.
Then the dragon begins to change.
Bones crack and reshape. Wings fold and shrink. Scales fade into skin mostly. In less than a minute, a man stands where the dragon was.
He's tall and broad-shouldered, wearing black armor. Scales still shimmer on his arms and neck. His eyes are still that glowing gold.
I am Theron, he announces. His voice is deep and carries across the entire square. General of the Dragon King's army. I bring a message from King Kaelen Drakonis, ruler of the Dragonlands and all the territories beyond.
Everyone drops into bows and curtsies. I do too, keeping my eyes on the ground.
The Dragon King requires his tribute, Theron continues. As has been tradition for a thousand years, one unmarried woman of magical bloodline will be selected. She will journey to the Citadel of Ash in three days.
Whispers explode through the crowd.
She'll become Dragon Queen!
Imagine the honor!
The power she'll have!
I risk a glance up. Theron's face is hard as stone, showing nothing.
But I've read the old books in my father's library. The ones hidden in the back, covered in dust. The ones that tell the real history, not the pretty stories.
Tributes don't become queens.
They die.
The Dragon King is cursed. Everyone close to him dies. That's why he demands tributes not for marriage, but for sacrifice. The tributes keep the curse satisfied for a while, keep it from spreading to the kingdoms beyond.
And everyone has agreed to this horror for a thousand years because they're too afraid to refuse.
Where is the Thornwood family? Theron asks.
My blood turns to ice.
Delphine pushes forward, dragging Serafine with her. My stepsister is practically glowing with excitement, her best dress shimmering with magical light.
Here, honored General, Delphine says with a deep curtsy. This is my daughter, Serafine. The most powerful mage in our region. Surely she's the one you seek.
Theron pulls out a crystal that looks like captured starlight. The selection is not mine to make. The Calling Crystal chooses based on the strength of magical bloodline.
He walks through the crowd of young women. The crystal flickers weakly near some, glows brighter near others.
When he reaches Serafine, the crystal blazes blue like the hottest part of a flame.
Serafine gasps in delight. The crowd cheers.
You have powerful magic, Theron says. What is your
I volunteer!
The words burst out of my mouth before I can stop them.
The entire square goes silent. Hundreds of faces turn to stare at me.
Delphine's face twists with rage. Elara! How dare you interrupt?
I volunteer to be the tribute, I say louder, my heart pounding so hard I think it might break through my ribs. I'm a Thornwood. My mother was from the ancient Moonwhisper bloodline. I have the magical heritage, even if I can't use it.
Serafine laughs, high and cruel. You? You're magic less! You're nothing!
The tribute only requires magical blood, I say, keeping my voice steady even though my whole body is shaking. Not magical ability. I have the right to volunteer.
Theron's golden eyes lock onto me. He walks over slowly, the crystal held up.
Everyone leans forward to watch.
For a long moment, nothing happens. The crystal stays dark and dead.
Delphine smirks. See? Even the crystal knows you're worthless
The crystal explodes with light.
Not blue like Serafine's. Not any color I've ever seen. Pure white light that's so bright everyone has to look away, shielding their eyes.
When I can see again, the crystal in Theron's hand has cracked straight down the middle. Pieces of it are falling to the ground like snow.
Theron stares at the broken crystal, then at me. For the first time, his stone face shows emotion.
Fear.
What are you? he whispers.
Before I can answer, the pieces of crystal on the ground begin to glow again. They rise into the air, circling around me like stars orbiting a sun.
Magic hums in my bones not someone else's magic, but something from inside me. Something I've never felt before.
Something that's been sleeping my whole life, just waiting to wake up.
Theron takes a step back. The crystal has chosen. Elara Thornwood, you will come with me to the Citadel of Ash in three days.
Serafine screams in fury. No! This is my destiny! She's stealing it!
But Theron isn't looking at Serafine anymore.
He's looking at me like I'm the most dangerous thing he's ever seen.
And somewhere deep inside me, something ancient and powerful whispers: Finally.