Page 136 of The Curse of Golden Blood
Taken to places that existed between mirrors and madness, walking paths where thoughts became flesh and time held no meaning. The shapeshifter's final words echoed in my skull like a death knell:Walking paths you cannot follow. She chose to step through, storm lord.
I stood in the center of the massacre, storm magic coiling around me like a living thing that wanted to tear apart everything in reach. Lightning danced between my fingers, seekingtargets, hungry for violence that could match the scope of this violation.
The blood had stopped flowing hours ago, but the stench remained. Iron and death and the particular smell of betrayal that clung to enclosed spaces where trust had been murdered alongside flesh.
There were footsteps approaching from the corridor. Multiple sets, moving with the careful rhythm of people who'd seen death and learned to respect its presence. I didn't turn around.
The familiar pulse of Narietta's magic announced her before she could speak.
"Brother."
"Tell me you saw this coming," I said. The words came out rougher than I'd intended, scraped raw by hours of staring at corpses and imagining Miralyte's face among them. "Tell me your visions warned us this was about to happen."
"They tried to warn me." She moved to stand beside me, her gaze taking in the carnage without flinching. My sister had seen enough of the future to develop immunity to shock. "But something was blocking them. Muting the visions, making it impossible to see past the immediate moment."
"And now?"
"Now the interference is gone. Lifted the moment Miralyte was taken through whatever portal she entered." Narietta closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they held the terrible knowledge of prophecy made manifest. "I can see the battle that's coming. All of it."
I turned to face her fully. My sister stood straighter than I'd seen her in months, wings held high despite the weight of whatever visions had filled her mind. There was steel in her expression now. The kind that came from witnessing your own death and choosing to march toward it anyway.
"How much time do we have?"
"Hours. Maybe less." She gestured toward the eastern windows, where the first pale light of dawn was beginning to creep across the mountains like blood seeping through bandages. "Ylvena's forces are already moving."
A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "My commanders are dead. Half my officers were in this room when the knives came calling. The rest are scattered across patrol routes they'll never complete because they're probably dead too."
"Then we fight with whatever remains."
The voice came from the doorway. Captain Vex stood there, blood streaking her battle armor, her weapon still crackling with residual magic. Behind her crowded the survivors. Vessels who'd been trained for this exact scenario. Fae-touched mortals whose blood had been awakened to channel storm magic, fire magic, ice magic. Warriors forged in Thunder Court's crucible.
My throat tightened. These people had been shaped into weapons by my own orders. Trained to fight wars I'd hoped would never come.
"How many?" The words scraped out rougher than intended.
"Four hundred and thirty-seven combat-ready vessels, my lord. Plus sixty-three pure-blood fae who weren't in the barracks." Vex's jaw was set like iron. "The vessels have been drilling for months. They're ready."
Ready. As if anyone could be ready for the kind of slaughter Ylvena was bringing to our gates.
I stared past them toward the armory where my war crown waited. The weight of it pulled at me even from across the room. Three centuries I'd worn that crown in battle, and it had never felt heavier than it did right now.
Because Miralyte was gone.
Snatched away while I'd been playing political games, thinking I had time to prepare, time to build the perfect strategy. The shapeshifter's final words kept echoing in my skull: She walks the mirror roads now.
Whatever that meant, wherever she was, I couldn't reach her. Couldn't protect her. Couldn't do the one thing that mattered most.
My hands were shaking.
I clenched them into fists, forcing the tremor to stop. These people needed their warlord, not a man falling apart because the woman he loved had vanished into some nightmare realm between realities.
"My lord?" Narietta's voice cut through the spiral of panic building in my chest. "The visions are clearing. I can see what's coming."
I turned to face my sister. Her eyes held that distant look that meant she was seeing through time itself, watching futures unfold like pages in a book written in blood.
"Tell me."
"Ylvena's forces will be here within the hour. Not just her personal guard, but allies from courts we thought were neutral." Her voice carried the flat certainty of prophecy. "Eight hundred fae. Maybe more."
