Page 50 of The Curse of Golden Blood
The chamber had been too warm, the air thick with steam from the basins the healers kept refilling, as though hot water could staunch what poured from her. Sheets were heaped under her hips, sodden and heavy, the pale linen blooming gold where the light caught it. The smell of her blood filled the room.
"There has to be something you can do!" My father rasped, staring up at the elder healer as he rose from checking her. "What use are you, then, if you can’t help her get my child out!"
Another pulse of blood escaped her, spreading faster than they could mop it up. The elder looked at him, a cold, slithering gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps, my lord, you should pray for the mercy of the Mother above."
I wanted to grab the healer by the collar and shake the words out of him, but something stronger held me in place. Helplessness. Fury. Horror.
My mother shifted in the sheets, and his words faded into the muffled murmurs between us. I leaned close to hear her over them.
"Zydar."
Her fingers groped, unseeing, and curled about my wrist, the hold weak, but the urge in the pull powerful.
"Come nearer."
I did. The heat rising from her made my skin prickle. Beneath her bronze skin, every drop of blood seemed to glow bright, like liquidgold flowing through her.
"Look at me, dear heart," she breathed. "You must listen well."
I grasped her fingers in mine and clung to the fumbling touch. Not the hold of a king, but the grasp of a child who wanted his mother.
"Mother, are you dying?" The question shook free without leaving my lips.
She gave the smallest of chuckles. A soft, tinkling sound, as faint as a wind chime in a summer storm, but no less noble, no less hers.
"Someday, we all must taste the fields of the earth and mingle with the winds."
Some distant part of me noted how the light glanced off her black curls spread around her face. It lent an otherworldly sheen, as though she was gilded like a goddess.
"Take care of your sibling," she whispered. "Will you, Zydar?"
I held her hand tighter and bowed my head to kiss the skin. "I will. I promise."
She rested her head back, exhaustion making her eyes drift shut. "That's my son. My warrior. One day, the lightning will roar for you as it does for the mountains. You'll be the greatest thunder lord to ever live."
The storm threw itself against the windows with a sudden, angry gust. A wind strong enough to make the stones shudder in their foundations.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she went still. "Mother? Mother?"
She didn't answer.
"We must cut the baby out, my lord. Or they both will die."
I looked over at my father, his hands folded into a fist against his lips.
"Do it."
"Father—"
"Do it," he bellowed.
"Father, no! I beg of you!"
The healer gestured to the others. Two moved in to hold her down, while the third drew a silver blade. He placed his hand flat on her stomach and drew a deep breath. Then, with a quick, smooth motion, he brought the blade to her skin and sliced a straight line down.
The sound she made was so horrible I could not believe it was her. Her body bucked against their hold, but the healers held her down, their faces impassive.
"Get away from her," I roared.
