Page 30 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"She attacked me first, sir." A clear lie. He winced as he faced Zydar.
“I never gave you permission to speak.” Zydar growled at Terys, his gaze never leaving mine. Terys, the coward that he was, immediately shrunk back.
"I was defending myself," I said, folding my arms, blood still dripping from my nose.
Zydar clenched his jaw, turning his full attention to Terys, who was no doubt trying to will himself invisible. Without turning, he gestured sharply to someone behind him.
Two guards materialized from the shadows—tall, armored fae with expressionless faces who moved to imprison Terys's arms with practiced efficiency.
"No!" Terys's voice cracked as they hauled him upright. "Wait, you don't understand—it was her! She attacked me first!" His boots scraped against the stone as he tried to dig in his heels. "I was defending myself! She's lying!"
The guards dragged him toward the door despite his struggles. His voice grew more desperate with each step.
"Please, Lord Zydar, I swear it was self-defense! She broke my nose! Look at me—look what she did!" Blood still streamed down his face, but the guards showed no mercy.
Zydar's expression remained stone-cold as Terys's pleas echoed through the hall.
Once he was gone, Zydar slowly turned to face me. "What in the Mother's name is the matter with you?"
I stared. It was certainly not the response I had expected.
"You're blaming me?" I said, hardly able to believe his audacity.
"Yes, I'm blaming you." He said. "Now, what were you thinking? I leave for a few hours and suddenly you're getting into fights with other Vessels, acting like a juvenile. If you start your training this way, what do you think it's going to be like for the rest of your time here?"
His gaze swept over the scene, falling last to the pool of drying blood on the table beside me, the water glass knocked over and spilled beside it. A muscle worked in his jaw, and the air in the room crackled with barely leashed anger.
For the first time, I realized why they called him the Warlord. Power thrummed beneath his skin, savage and mighty, the raw potential of his strength bared and glistening like an exposed heart.
I opened my mouth to speak, but then closed it again. I could taste blood still, the rich iron of it sticking and crumbling in the back of my throat. Gingerly, I wiped my nose with the edge of my sleeve, my hands still trembling.
"Come," Zydar said, eyes still searching me like I was a problem that needed solving, something fragile, so fragile that if he said the wrong word I would break all over again. "Let's get that looked at."
"I'm fine," I said quickly, taking a step back. I didn't want anyone's hands near me, didn't want their eyes searching me like I was some rare commodity.
"It wasn't a suggestion." There was a hint of steel in his tone, and, surprisingly, his hand was gentle as it encircled my wrist, coaxing me in the direction of the hall. His large body surrounded my frame, warming me with his residual heat. My traitorous body leaned towards him, attracted by the comfort of his presence.
I froze. For the love of the gods. Did this man truly not know the meaning of personal space?
Still, I was too exhausted and sore to argue, and it wasn't worth another fight. Begrudgingly, I let him lead me to one of the small rooms off the main hall.
eight
Salt in the Wound
Zydar
Shewasreckless.Insubordinate.A walking liability. And if that wasn't enough, she was a distraction.
Not the kind one could ignore with a clenched jaw and a cold bath. No, Miralyte Tavora disrupted the air itself, threaded into every breath I took until even the mere thought of her consumed me.
Something that had never happened before.
"Where are you taking me?" Miralyte was practically stepping on my heels as I continued down the storm corridor, until we reached a pair of round doors. They spun apart as I approached, revealing a medical wing.
The scent of copper and stormroot greeted us as the doors opened, revealing rows of long sick beds. Pale crystal sconces bled soft light across obsidian walls veined with lightning, the storm within the walls humming and crackling softly.
There were no healers. All of them were busy with the rot. Which meant I would have to take care of Miralyte myself. Fine by me.
