Page 35 of Daughter of the Serpent

Brunhilda turned on her with a sharpness that made Sylvie’s breath hitch. “See what you’ve done?” she spat, her voice rising. In an instant, she grabbed the front of Sylvie’s robes, yanking her forward until her face hovered mere inches from Tara’s ruined back.

“You may have others like Godvick fooled - but you don’t fool me.” Her eyes flashed with rage. “I see right through you. I see you for who you really are - serpent’s spawn!”

Releasing her grip, Sylvie stumbled back, her chest heaving as her heart pounded against her ribs. Brunhilda’s huffing filled the space as she turned back to her work, muttering under her breath.

Sylvie stood frozen, her legs trembling beneath her. The coppery scent of blood and bitter herbs filled the air as Brunhilda fished out the healing balm, suddenly making it hard to breathe. She forced herself to move, to approach Tara’s side, careful to stay out of Brunhilda’s way.

Despite her own discomfort, Tara was what mattered.

“I’m so sorry,” Sylvie whispered, her voice breaking as she reached for her hand. The girl’s fingers were cold and limp, but Sylvie held on tightly, desperate to offer some semblance of comfort.

As she looked at Tara’s pale face and broken body, a surge of helplessness broke her.

How had it come to this? How had she let this happen?

A sudden sensation rose to the surface, her newfound magic stirring, responding to her emotions. It whispered in her veins despite her own exhaustion. To heal. To fix what she had broken.

If the healers couldn’t come, maybe she could at least do something -anythingto make things right. But she hesitated.Could she trust herself?

Brunhilda’s voice cut through the air like a whip, waving her away. “Get out of my way, girl!”

Sylvie stepped back, her heart heavy. “I may be able to help - ”

A sudden fire engulfed the left side of her cheek, her head jerking sideways with the impact of Brunhilda’s hand. A sharp sting reverberated through her skin, hot and tingling. Shock thrummed through her body, a metallic taste blooming on her tongue, her eyes flying wide. Brunhilda sneered in her direction, and quickly struck down upon her other side, forcefully.

“You’ve doneenough!” She bellowed down at her as Sylvie crumpled to the floor, her legs giving out underneath her.

“Do you really think you could help her now? For what, to soothe your own guilt?” Brunhilda snapped, spit flying from her mouth. “I shall never allow it! Your selfishness has cost the lives of five of our good men - now maybe more! You don’t deserve the very air you breathe, nevermind some foolish attempt at redemption!”

Her eyes filled with hatred, digging into Sylvie’s flesh like cold clawing fingers, drawing blood.

“You want to help her?” She raged. “Then you should disappear like Lafar - and never come back.”

The sharpness of her words struck further than her blows. Her mind mercilessly berated her as she retreated further, scuttling like a rat back to the darkness, where she belonged.

Maybe everyone was right.

Maybe there was something broken in her, something so dark and vile that she didn’t even recognize it herself.

Agony flared with every movement, but she bore it in silence. When her hands met the cold stone wall, she sat quietly, her ears attuned to every one of Tara’s whimpers.

This was all her fault.

For now, she could only watch as Brunhilda worked, her hands idle, her magic useless, and as each pained sound left Tara’s pale lips, they sliced through her like a blade - a relentless reminder of her failure.

She would make this right. Somehow, she would make this right.

Tears slipped free, tracing silent paths down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands.

When Tara lay silent on the bed, her wounds cleaned and bandaged, Brunhilda finally stood to face her.

“You know better than to believe I would help you.” she said, her tone biting as she set a basket of balms and ointments at Sylvie’s side. “My only hope is that you rot, and your wounds fester. You deserve every ounce of pain for what you’ve done.”

Sylvie looked up and her vision blurred as Brunhilda turned and strode toward the door.

The door creaked open, cutting through the silence.

Yet Brunhilda flinched, letting out a startled gasp.

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