Frey’s eyes flew wide as she struggled to breathe.

Something tugged at her hair, but quickly let go.

“Freya?” a female voice asked, worried.

A woman she could no longer recognize met Frey’s eyes. The false-confident demeanor she’d always maintained had finally broken, leaving a mess of a person with slumped shoulders, empty eyes marred by black bags, and an aura of defeatedness that no amount of makeup or accessories could hide.

Not that Maritza wasn’t trying.

Frey’s hair had slowly been eased from its natural frizzy curls into straight locks over the past couple hours. The left side was drawn into an elegant bun, but the right hung loosely—slightly scrunched—as if released before another bun could be finished.

Then, she wore a soft pink dress that complimented her ginger hair. It had countless layers of ruffles that resembled waves. That’s what reminded her of—but Maritza had insisted they were supposed to look like cherry blossom petals. Whatever those were.

But Maritza had said Frey was ‘lucky to get away with this little.’

The ‘guest of the hour’, and she was still a slave to everyone else’s whims. That’s how it went in their so-called “high society.” Everything was about appearances and your usefulness, not who you were as a person.

It’s one of the many reasons Frey hated it.

If she had any more energy to spare, Frey would’ve at least put her foot down and refused to let Maritza straighten her hair. But she was too exhausted to do much more than complain.

Like a child. 

Yeah, she didn’t miss that irony.

Behind Frey—reflected in the mirror in front of her—was Maritza herself, a mermaid of about Frey’s age. She had periwinkle-blue skin, fins branching out from her ears, and a mass of floaty water for hair.

She’d basically been Frey’s lifeline since she arrived in Lynsmouth. Even though Frey barely had the energy to get up and eat, Maritza had dragged her out of bed and forced her to live like a normal person. Then, she’d slowly helped Frey explore the villa, get a lay of the land surrounding it, and start to do things by herself.

It’d been almost two weeks since Frey woke up on the shore of Lynsmouth. Sopping wet, coughing out seawater, and children poking at her as though expecting her to grow extra appendages. Asking her if she was a ghost, or a fae spirit.

Somehow, that was still one of the less miserable experiences of her life.

Still, it helped word get out of her survival. It didn’t take too long for people to start swarming, then for Maritza to drag her to the villa she was based at. And here they were now—Maritza preparing her like a four-course meal for Lynsmouth’s nobility to tear apart piece by piece. All the while complaining they didn’t like the taste, or that the presentation was off, or—you get it.

Maritza held a hairbrush to the side as she met Frey’s eyes through the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Maritza asked.

Frey cleared her throat, quickly turning her head and trying to ignore the burning of tears behind her eyes.

“Ye—ah,” Frey said. She winced as her voice cracked.

Seriously? she wondered bitterly. What’s wrong with you now? Can’t even hide your tears from her—so how’re you going to fare with the nobles?

Silence hung between them.

A few soft metal thunks trailed around Frey as Maritza walked around her. Finally, the mermaid stopped and knelt beside Frey, leaning with her palms against her prosthetics as she met Frey’s eyes again.

“Are you thinking about the accident again?” she asked softly.

‘The accident.’ What everyone within her earshot was calling the sinking of the Slumbering Serpent—her father’s ship. As though she didn’t understand what they were talking about.

Not that Maritza thought that little of her.

Frey sighed slowly, turning again and flicking her hair out of her eyes. She hated how it felt like this. Straight. She hadn’t straightened it for a long time, and didn’t like thinking about when she used to.

“I’m fine,” Frey insisted, forcing herself to grin at her own reflection. It didn’t even look convincing to her. 

Maritza glanced at the mirror, trying to meet Frey’s eyes again.

Frey did her best to pretend she didn’t notice.

Finally, Maritza sighed.

“Okay,” she said resignedly, putting her hands up as though in surrender.

Without another word, she paced behind Frey again, her prosthetics once again thunking quietly as she walked. Maritza picked up the brush from the desk again before beginning to recollect Frey’s loose hair.

Frey tried not to wince at how the bun pulled against her scalp. Intentional or not, she didn’t feel like picking a fight about it. Not another.

There’d been too many arguments between her and Maritza, and Frey needed to save her mental energy for dealing with the nobles. If they were anything like the ones back in Drønhals, she’d need it.

A long moment of silence passed before either of them spoke again.

“Are you looking forward to the gala?” Maritza asked.

A cocktail of emotions ranging from hatred to resignation to disgust swirled through Frey’s chest.

Of course, she wanted to say, why wouldn’t I look forward to a bunch of people preening for my attention, pretending to care about my dad’s death and how I feel about it? Yeah, it’ll be sooooo fun acting like I don’t know how fake they are. Can’t wait.

Instead, Frey watched her reflection’s eyes deaden as she bit the response back.

“Not really,” she said emptily. “I’m just ready to get it over with. What’re they pretending it’s for again?”

Oops, she let that part slip.

Another awkward silence stretched between them—this one somehow even more tense than before. Frey glanced up in the mirror to see Maritza frozen, biting her lip and staring teary-eyed at the half-complete bun.

A twinge of guilt pricked Frey’s heart.

Before she could say anything, Maritza sucked in a sharp breath, shook her head, and swapped the brush for hairpins and flowers.

“I don’t think they’re pretending,” Maritza said decidedly, “they really are glad you’re alive.”

Frey scoffed before she could stop herself.

“Yeah, ri—” she began sarcastically.

“But!” Maritza said. Her voice started sharp, but quickly went defeated: “you do have a point that their motives aren’t exactly… pure.

“Nobody could get anywhere with Soren—or me, obviously, since I work for him and wasn’t going to do anything he wasn’t okay with. But here you are, fresh ‘new blood’ and ready for them to manipulate you,” Maritza said annoyedly, pinning the flowers into Frey’s hair. 

They won’t be manipulating shit, Frey wanted to snark.

But Maritza continued, speaking around the hairpins between her teeth.

“Of course, you and I both know that’s not how it’s going to work out, but it’s how they’re seeing it.” Finally, Maritza’s voice started turning weak. “Because why wouldn’t it be fantastic news to hear of—... of…”

Of Soren’s death, Frey’s mind auto-filled.

Except, that’s not what Maritza wanted to say.

That’s one of the things they’d argued about the most. Maritza kept insisting that Soren was fine—that, just because Frey had miraculously washed up on Lynsmouth’s shore, it had to mean that Soren would’ve survived, too.

As if the fact that Frey survived didn’t make it all the more unlikely that Soren would.

What’re the odds that both of them would be carried by the waves to shore without drowning?

Not. High.

In fact, nigh impossible.

Just like Frey’s own survival—but she tried not to think about that.

“—of what happened,” Maritza finished feebly.

Her reflection paused to set down the last flower and hairpins on the table beside them, then stressfully run her hands through her watery hair. It parted between her fingers, but moved as a giant mass not too unlike actual hair.

A shaky sigh escaped Martiza. 

Then her eyes went wide, jumping to meet Frey’s in the mirror.

Oops.

You can’t blame me for watching you. I don’t have much else to do, Frey wanted to blurt. But she held it back, instead trying to find better words.

‘Look, I get pretending to be stronger than you are—?’

Maritza bit her lip as Frey thought, shaking her head and quickly picking up the hairpins and flower again.

“Point is,” she said sharply, returning to Frey’s hair, “they’re going to see you as a new chance. To be able to negotiate for better trade deals, to manipulate you to their sides, as a fresh target to sucker, that sort of thing. Especially the Fèvres.”

‘The Fèvres,’ Frey noted. She’d have to remember that name.

But it wasn’t like she hadn’t realized any of these things for herself. That’s what made her so angry with the situation.

“That’s part of why Soren arranged for your whole engagement with Daleira,” Maritza continued, her voice bitter as she finally secured the last pin into place. Finally, Maritza pulled her hands away to slowly raise them into the air. As though waiting for it to fall apart.

It didn’t.

All the while, Mariza kept talking: “the Fenastras don’t really have anything to gain from you. Daleira’s a brand-new artificer who hasn’t put out a single product, Valyarus minds his own business all but running the whole city, and both of them can just magic up anything they want, anyway. Their being rich is just icing on the cake. There’s nothing you could give them, and everything they can do for you.”

You sure seem to know a lot about my dad’s motives, Frey wanted to note dryly. Did he tell you about them?

But she swallowed her comment back—a sensation all too familiar to her these days.

Instead, she bit her lip as another thought came to her.

Did Dad actually think this through that well? He didn’t just pick out the first guy interested in me and decide to throw me at him? Did he—but what’s even the point of wondering? Frey thought brokenly, tears welling in her eyes.

He’s dead.

Thankfully, Maritza wasn’t looking at her. Instead, her back was turned as she busied herself cleaning up the vanity and putting away the products. 

“Most people are terrified of getting on their bad side. Valyarus apparently used to be some sort of powerful ‘protector’ figure—” Maritza said doubtfully “—and, well, they’re both faeries, of course.”

“Wait, they’re faeries?” Frey asked suddenly, shocked.

She quickly wiped away her tears as Maritza slowly turned to face her. Maritza had an incredulous look on her face—eyebrows furrowed—as they locked eyes.

“Ye...ahhh?” Maritza said, her confirmation sounding more like a question. “Did Soren not tell you? That’s a major thing to leave out…”

Although few people met one—and even fewer lived to tell the tale—everyone knew what faeries were. They were powerful entities with unique and often abstract magic, able to wield their elements more naturally than humans could breathe.

Oh, and they were reality warpers.

Able to transform reality—and anyone within—in any way they wanted.

But as far as Frey knew, most of them stayed hidden in the Faewildes. And yet the Fenastras lived in Lynsmouth? And Maritza said Valyarus ‘all but ran’ the city? When faeries were supposed to be flighty, chaotic creatures that lived to cause problems for everyone else?

What?

Frey’s face twisted and flushed, but she just swallowed and tore her eyes from Maritza’s to stare out the window.

“Never mind that,” she said, but quickly looked back at Maritza as she sharply added: “how do you know so much about Dad’s plans, anyway?”

Whoops. The jealousy reached her voice.

Maritza swallowed, looked around uncomfortably, and chewed her lip—clearly not having expected that question.

Maybe she should’ve thought about that before—

“Because,” Maritza said awkwardly, meeting Frey’s eyes. “I helped him with them.”

Frey didn’t actually know why she was so angry all of a sudden. But that wasn’t going to stop her from acting on it.

“YOU WHAT?” Frey demanded, suddenly standing up and gripping the arm of the chair to support her.

Maritza froze, eyes slightly wide.

“I know Lynsmouth better than him, so he—”

“So he had you decide on what my life should look like!?”

Maritza’s hands were clenched over her prosthetic legs, but she quickly raised them as though in surrender.

“No! He asked me what it was like here and—”

“Because you just know everything, huh? If only you were his daughter instead, right!? Bet he would’ve been sooooo much happier!”

“No, Freya! You’re his daughter!” she said pleadingly, dropping her hands to anxiously grip her necklace between them. It radiated magic energy.

Frey tensed, half expecting something to shoot out at her.

But nothing happened.

Maritza finished: “he loves you—more than anything!”

The moment of panic was enough to clear her mind. Suddenly, Frey became fully aware of how she gripped the arm of the chair, how her shoulders were squared back aggressively, and how Maritza was shrunk in on herself.

Frey forced herself to loosen up, anger dying.

“That’s exactly why he—”

“Then why didn’t he show it,” Frey interrupted, voice dead.

Maritza froze, but Frey didn’t pay her any mind. Instead, she let out a slow sigh, closed her eyes, and turned away to put her head in her hands.

Levebolg, what’s wrong with me? Frey wondered. Why do I keep doing this? She doesn’t deserve it—she didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know what her deal was with Dad, but—

“I… can’t answer that,” Maritza said weakly, “but—”

“Don’t even try.”

It’s not your fault. It’s his. And now here we both are.

“Please just… leave me alone,” Frey said.