Page 63 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "But I'm doing everything I can to find out."
He nodded slowly, and then his face suddenly broke into a smile. "I brought you something."
My mouth fell open as he reached into his bag and pulled out an old, familiar object. The wooden horse was small and worn from use, the paint faded and chipping. It was only a toy, but to me it meant more. I took the carving from his palm, my fingers wrapping around the smooth wood. It still had the same weight, the same shape, the same texture.
I swallowed hard, and I was back in the village.
I was seven years old. Tomos and I were playing in the grass by the riverbank. We were pretending to be knights, and Tomos had made little horses for us. I'd been entranced with the little figurine.
"You kept this?" I asked quietly.
He nodded. "I never forgot about you, Mira."
I lifted my gaze to his, searching for something, some sign that he'd changed in the years we were apart. But he was still the same boy, the one who had followed me around and shared his food with me.
The same boy who was now a man.
"You're staring," he said, smirking.
I dropped my hand, heat flushing my cheeks. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."
"That makes two of us."
We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other.
It was strange. It felt like no time had passed at all. It felt like we were still those carefree kids who had nothing to worry about but the next game.
Still, there was a boy waiting for me in the healing dome, and a stack of stories I had promised to read. I would have to speak with Tomos later. Time to unravel the threads between then and now.
For now, I tilted my head towards the hallway and smiled at Tomos, “Come on, there’s someone I have to visit”. Side by side, we walked towards Riden, the boy who still believed in happy endings.
sixteen
The Taste of Hate
Zydar
Thestormshadbeenrestless all night. They prowled the skies above the Thunder Court, curling into themselves and breaking apart again, unable to find their shape. I knew the feeling.
Gods, I was tired of thinking about her. Tired of the way her name stilled the chaos in my head, only to replace it with a different kind of ruin.
Miralyte.
Every path I followed ended at the same abyss. If I told her the truth, I would lose her trust. If I didn’t… I would lose her life.
I had carried death before. Men, women, soldiers who had followed me into battle and never come back. Their faces were sharp and cruel in my memory, yet none had been carved into me the way the thought of hers did. None had made me hesitate like this.
The cure was in her. In her blood. In the steady, stubborn beat of her heart. And the only way to take it was to still that heartbeat forever.
I should have been able to say it. I should have been able to be the Warlord the court needed me to be. But the words stayed caught behind my teeth, too heavy to move.
I stood at the window of my chambers, watching lightning dance in the distance. It painted the clouds in brief flashes, bright enough to illuminate the truth I kept trying to outrun. She would hate me for it. She might even try to kill me for it. But if I stayed silent, the Rot would keep spreading, and one day there would be nothing left worth saving.
And still… I couldn’t say it.
The storm outside cracked once, a white vein splitting the clouds. I was still staring at it when the door opened.
She stepped in without knocking, her presence soft as it was maddening.
