Page 39 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"Oh," he said, his voice growing softer. His eyes were a pale shade of silver, his skin so pale it was nearly translucent. "No one visited me before. Are you here to visit me?"
"Yes," I lied, swallowing hard, the words sticking in my throat like tar. "I'm here to see how you're doing."
"It hurts," he whispered, fingers digging into the earth, and for a moment, I could almost feel the pain, the hollowness filling up my chest as he gasped, gritting his teeth against the surge, the tightness. "It feels like someone's scraping my insides out."
I sat down next to him, shifting so my legs were folded beneath me. "It's going to be alright," I gently brushed thestrands of hair from his forehead, hoping my face didn't betray the fear seeping into my bones, the guilt eating away at me like acid.
I wanted to comfort him, to ease his suffering somehow, to make him feel safe, but instead, I simply asked, "What is your name?"
"Riden," he whispered, his eyes half closed, his chest rising and falling heavily. His voice shook, whether with pain or fear, I wasn't sure.
I took his hand, squeezing it gently, feeling the clammy sweat that clung to his fingers.
"I won't let anything happen to you, Riden. I promise."
His grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Thank you," he murmured, his eyes slipping closed as he sank back onto the bedroll. "You're kind."
I stayed there, holding his hand, my thumb brushing lightly over his fingers. His breathing was still uneven, but steadier than before.
"Do you live here?" he asked after a while.
"No," I said softly. "But I came to see you."
"Will you come back?"
I hesitated, just for a second. Then I nodded. "I will."
He smiled faintly, eyes still shut. "I hope I’m still here."
"You will be," I whispered, though my throat burned as I said it. "You have to be."
"I like your voice," he said. "It makes the hurting quieter."
"Then I’ll talk to you as long as you need me to."
I stayed there with him until he fell asleep, holding his hand, tracing gentle circles along his palm. When his breathing slowed, I carefully untangled myself, smoothing my gown over my lap.
A breath caught in my chest, tightening my ribs, making the air turn to stones. Tears blurred my vision, burning thebridge of my nose, making my throat ache and my shoulders shake with unshed sorrow. He was only a child, a boy, afflicted by some force beyond his control.
I hated it. I hated everything about it. About the courts, the nobles, the corruption and the suffering, the horrors that they carried.
And I wanted nothing more than to wash it all away.
I got up, wanting to get away, to leave it all behind. I turned towards the exit, fighting back the tears stinging my eyes.
But something stopped me.
A touch. A hand on my arm.
Zydar.
I spun around. "What are you doing here?"
He frowned. "You shouldn't be alone."
"Why not?"
He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the shadows. His hand stayed on me, firm. "Because word is spreading. Your existence is becoming known, and soon it will be impossible to keep your identity secret."
