Page 116 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"She's not there." The words came out harder than I intended. "Where else? Who else has she been seeing?"
Tomos's face went pale. The last traces of drink vanished from his expression as understanding dawned. "I... she met Gryven. Earlier today.."
My blood turned to ice.
Gryven.
I released Tomos so abruptly he nearly fell from his chair. "How long ago?"
"Hours. Maybe three or four. My lord, if something's happened—"
But I was already gone, running through corridors that seemed to stretch endless before me. The healers' quarter was on the far side of the palace, connected by a maze of passages I'd avoided for months.
She wasn't there either.
The rooms stood empty, cold braziers and covered instruments speaking of a space abandoned for the night. But there was something else. A metallic scent in the air that raised every alarm in my body.
Blood.
Not the clean, clinical smell of healing work. This was different. Fresher. More violent.
I knew where she was.
The knowledge drove the air from my lungs. There was only one place in this palace where blood flowed freely in the name of healing. One room I'd sworn never to enter again.
The birthing chamber where my mother had died.
My feet carried me through passages I hadn't walked in centuries. Each step felt like walking through quicksand, each breath harder than the last. The walls seemed to close in around me as memories I'd buried deep fought their way to the surface.
I'd sealed that room afterward. Locked it away with all the guilt and grief I couldn't bear to carry.
But locks meant nothing to Gryven. And apparently, they meant nothing to whatever desperation had driven Miralyte there.
The door stood ajar.
Golden light spilled through the crack, warm and inviting. But the smell of blood was stronger here, thick enough to taste on my tongue.
I pushed the door open.
The sight that greeted me drove me to my knees.
Miralyte lay on the same table where my mother had died, in the exact position I'd tried so hard to forget. Her chest had been opened like a flower, ribs spread wide to expose her heart. Golden blood pooled beneath her, dripping steadily onto the stone floor.
Her skin had lost all color. Her breathing was so shallow I could barely detect it.
Varlath stood over her with instruments I didn't want to identify, his hands stained to the wrists with gold. He looked up as I entered, and there was no guilt in his expression. Only triumph.
"My lord!" His voice carried a manic edge. "You're just in time. The extraction is almost complete. Do you realizewhat this means? Pure sunfire blood, enough to cure the rot in dozens of victims. Think of the lives we could save!"
Rage exploded through me like wildfire. The storm outside responded instantly, lightning fracturing the sky as thunder shook the palace walls.
"Bring her back," I said, my voice barely recognizable even to myself.
Varlath blinked. "My lord?"
"Bring. Her. Back." Each word came out harder than the last. "Now."
He shook his head, gesturing to the blood he'd collected. "My lord, I'm afraid that's impossible. She's lost too much blood already. But think of what we've gained—"
