Page 18

Marigold

“You survived your first week,” Raven said, tugging me along Wyckhaven’s Main Street. “That deserves a celebration.”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to smooth down my skirt. I didn’t know how they’d convinced me to come, let alone dress up for this. After yesterday, I wasn’t sure I’d ever even want to wear a skirt again.

“Maybe I should study more,” I hedged, but the truth was, I wanted this. A normal night. A chance to feel like I belonged here—not just as the heir no one wanted, but as Marigold, a girl having fun with her friends.

“Which is exactly why you need this.” Lucas’s British accent made everything sound more reasonable than it was. “Everyone goes to The Cauldron after orientation week. It’s tradition.”

“Besides,” Raven added, waving her bangle-covered arm, “you haven’t even seen the town properly yet. There’s more to this place than just the college.”

I glanced around at the mountain town’s main drag.

At first glance, it looked like any other tourist trap—cutesy boutiques, a coffee shop with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves visible through the windows, and an antique store that probably charged a fortune for actual junk. But something felt… different.

“Is everyone here…” I lowered my voice. “Like us?”

Raven hushed me. “No, this is mostly just a regular human town. But there’s some bits that are extra special.” She pulled me down a side street, past a row of abandoned storefronts with boarded windows.

“What do they think about the college?” I asked, trying to keep up with her quick steps. “About us?”

“Most of them are charmed not to think about it too hard,” Lucas said with a laugh. “But we’re not supposed to do any magic in front of them just in case.”

“This way!” Raven led us onto another street, this one darker.

Most of the buildings looked like abandoned remnants of old mining operations. We stopped in front of one hulking brick building with faded letters spelling out “WYCK MINING CO.” across its facade.

“This is the famous magical nightclub?” My skepticism must have shown because Lucas laughed.

Raven pressed her palm to a section of brick wall where the mortar formed a subtle spiral pattern. Scout scampered down my arm to investigate, his tiny skeletal form clicking excitedly.

“Most people walk right past this place,” Raven said, tracing the spiral with her finger. Magic rippled through the air, making my teeth ache. The dead things stirred, but not with their usual eagerness–more like they were simply acknowledging another kind of power.

The wall melted away, revealing a doorway spilling out music and laughter. Two older students flanked the entrance, their hands glowing as they checked magical signatures.

“Fresh meat?” one asked, smirking at me. His eyes lingered on me. “There’s something unusual about this one.”

Raven stepped forward. “She’s with us. She’s the Shadow Heir.”

His smirk vanished. The glow around his hands intensified briefly, then he nodded. “Welcome to The Cauldron. Mind the wards—they bite.”

Inside, the space stretched impossibly large, industrial bones transformed by floating orbs of light. The music thumped with a familiar song, and I couldn’t help but smile, even as my eyes automatically sought out the other royals in the crowd.

“Freshmen to the left,” Lucas guided us toward the bar. “Upperclassmen get the good spots.”

I found them easily enough—they commanded attention without trying. Elio held court on floating cushions, his illusions creating a private aurora borealis overhead. A group of admirers hung on his every word.

When his gaze met mine across the room, something cold curled in my stomach. I swallowed hard. What game was he going to play tonight? And would I get out of it with anything intact?

The memory of that damn uniform still burned against my skin—tight fabric, too-short hem, their eyes like hands.

I forced myself to blink it away. This wasn’t then. This was just a party. Just noise. Just fun.

Couldn’t they leave me alone for one night?

Cyrus was by the massive fireplace, his fire wards pulsing with protective energy as flames danced higher. Even with the thump of the music, I could hear bits of the group around him discussing the upcoming trials.

“Everyone’s really serious about these trials, aren’t they?” I asked, anxiety creeping in as I watched older students practicing control exercises even while socializing.

“They test everything,” Lucas confirmed, his scholarly tone slipping through. “Magical theory, practical application, control under pressure. The Third Week Trials are meant to ensure everyone is challenged appropriately.”

“Which is exactly why we should be celebrating now,” Raven added quickly. “Because next week will be nothing but studying and practicing.”

A bartender with arms covered in snaking black tattoos that seemed to move separately from his skin was mixing something that changed colors. “Freshman? Try the Novice’s Blush. Goes down easy.”

Lucas paid despite my protest. The drink looked like liquid sunset and tasted like summer berries. Warmth spread through my chest as Scout explored the counter. “Alcohol?”

Raven grinned.

In full tour guide mode, Lucas explained, “The Cauldron is a student-run bar, and serves everyone regardless of age. The older students say it’s tradition, and as long as no one causes real trouble, the Wickem staff ignore it.”

I took another swallow. “It’s delicious.” We crossed to one of the tall tables with our drinks, away from the crush of the bar.

“Where’s Keane?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Over there.” Lucas pointed to a shadowy corner. “Though he shouldn’t be. He’s a freshman like us.”

Keane sat alone at a small table, but near Elio and Cyrus. There was a carved wooden box in front of him and he seemed to be studying it intently. Several of his portal windows were open showing pages of text, and Wisp drifted between them.

The corner of my lip lifted. I didn’t think he quite got the point of going out to a nightclub.

“He’s not like us,” Raven corrected Lucas. “He’s a royal…” She trailed off, glancing at me. “Of course you’re… one of us too, Mari.”

“Thanks,” I said with an awkward smile.

The distance between regular students and heirs was stark, woven into every look, every whisper.

The way people moved around them like planets caught in their orbit, careful, reverent.

And me? I was caught somewhere in between, neither truly part of them nor truly apart.

It left me feeling untethered, a misplaced puzzle piece forced into the wrong picture.

I hadn’t chosen this. I hadn’t asked to be an heir. And yet, despite their circles of admirers, I saw the loneliness in them, too. A gilded isolation, the price of power.

Maybe it was better to be on this side of the room. With people who saw me, rather than what I represented.

Climbing onto one of the bar stools, I let the thrum of the indie rock music settle into my bones and took a sip of my drink. The edge started to dull—just a little. Some of the tightness in my shoulders unraveled. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

The dead things were quiet here, buried beneath layers of magic. For once, they didn’t crowd my senses with whispers of forgotten secrets or tug at my awareness with unseen hands. I almost felt… comfortable.

Scout skittered across the bar top with Boris. Raven and Lucas were deep in debate over which professors would be judging the trials.

Then Elio’s voice sliced through the noise. “Well, well. Look who thinks she belongs here.”

My fingers tightened around my glass, the warmth from the drink instantly forgotten.

Elio appeared beside me. He looked as effortlessly poised as ever, but I knew the cruelty lurking beneath the illusion. Knew how easily he played people like a musician with an instrument, plucking at their vulnerabilities until they bled.

The memory of that damned maid’s uniform—the way he’d reduced me to nothing but an object of mockery, the way he’d watched, waiting for me to break—made my stomach turn.

“I didn’t realize they served cleaning staff,” he continued, voice dripping with false concern. “Though I suppose someone has to mop up after hours.”

The words landed sharper than they should have, because wasn’t that still how they saw me?

His illusions started to swirl. The dead things stirred, recognizing the artifice just as they had in the classroom, and I did too. But my victory in seeing through his magic felt hollow now.

“What’s wrong, Elio?” I tried to sound defiant, but my voice wavered. “Afraid I’ll see through your magic again?”

For just a moment, the mask cracked. Just a fraction of a second where something darker, something real, slipped through.

But before he could answer, Cyrus’s fire wards surged closer, heat rolling off him in waves. The temperature spiked, clashing against my own magic in a suffocating press of heat and cold.

“Problem?” Cyrus asked, his voice all slow-burning amusement.

His magic wrapped around mine, fire pressing against ice, heat curling in places I didn’t want to acknowledge.

His amber eyes dragged over me, deliberate, like he was peeling back layers—burning away the pieces of me that still thought I could belong here.

“No problem.” I stood, ignoring how the dead things scratched at the edges of my awareness. “I was just leaving.” Scout scampered up my arm to my shoulder.

“Aww, don’t go,” Elio drawled, stepping into my path. “We’re just getting to know you. Tell us, what other little talents are you hiding?”

“Besides the obvious,” Cyrus added, flames dancing between his fingers. “Maybe you have some… private talents.” His gaze swept down my body in a way that made me feel naked, exposed.

I should feel nauseous, sickened, but something about the heat he gave off made my pulse gallop. My eyes and cheeks felt hot as I remembered similar looks from rich guys I’d cleaned for—the ones I’d sometimes given in to, proving exactly what they thought of me.

I opened my mouth but no words came. My throat felt too tight.

Across the room, Keane stayed seated. No glance. No flicker of hesitation. Even Wisp had vanished from view. I was alone. And they all knew it.

“Maids do tend to like their extra tips,” Elio said, moving closer. His hand ghosted over my bare knee—casual, lingering. Like he already owned me. “How much time did you spend on these… scrubbing floors?”

My breath hitched, stomach twisting between nausea and something else, something hotter, something I wanted to rip from my own skin. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, the sting barely grounding me.

The dead things surged beneath the floorboards, their anger matching mine. Scout bristled on my shoulder, his tiny skeletal form trembling.

“Not very royal behavior, is it?” Elio’s illusions twisted, shadows forming grotesque reflections of my past. The weight of their magic pressed in, suffocating. “But then, what else should we expect from a half-breed? The traitor’s bastard, trying to play at being an heir.”

Something cracked deep inside me. Cold, hollow, endless.

The temperature plummeted, frost racing up my fingers, cracking through the glass.

My pulse pounded in my ears, my magic thrumming wildly, reaching for something—anything—to shield me from the weight of their laughter, their words, their touch.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Cyrus pressed, stepping closer. The heat of his fire magic clashed with the cold of my necromancy. “Your father sold us out to the vampires. Who will you sell us out to, Marigold?”

The glass exploded in my hand, shards slicing into my palm, but I barely felt the sting. Tears burned hot behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

They were right. I didn’t belong here. Would never belong. I was nothing but a joke, a spectacle, something to be toyed with and discarded. My magic surged against my ribs, a desperate, frantic pulse that I couldn’t contain— stop stop stop stop —but it was too late.

The dead things erupted through the walls—rats and raccoons and what might have been a very angry possum, their skeletal forms a chaotic mess of fury and fear. But it wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t power. It was panic and pain and the desperate need to escape.

Elio’s illusion anchors shattered. Cyrus’s fire wards leapt dangerously high. People screamed— not just at my undead army, but at me. The half-breed. The cleaning girl. The traitor’s daughter who dared pretend she was one of them.

I ran.

Behind me, Raven shouted my name, but I couldn’t turn back. Couldn’t bear to see the pity in her eyes. Or worse—the disgust.

I didn’t stop until I hit the cool night air, sucking in desperate gulps that did nothing to ease the tight band constricting my chest. The dead things followed, angry and protective, until I forced them back, their presence receding like the tide.

My father’s ring pressed cold against my skin, like it was trying to anchor me. But what good was power when they could strip me bare with just their words?

Scout curled against my neck, his tiny bones trembling. But even his comfort couldn’t stop the tears that finally spilled over.

They’d reminded me exactly what I was. And no amount of magic could change that.

The dead things hovered just at the edge of my awareness, silent now. Waiting.

I wasn’t ready for Monday. Wasn’t ready for any of this. But I didn’t have a choice.

I had to find a way to survive. Even if the only thing I could count on was the dead.

The night closed around me as I stumbled away from The Cauldron, trying to outrun their words, their touches, their knowing smiles.

Trying to outrun the truth of myself.