Page 121 of The Curse of Golden Blood
Narietta smiled, and for the first time since she'd entered the room, it wasn't haunted by prophecy. It was sharp. Predatory.
"We start by reminding the other courts why they should fear the Sun Queen's daughter."
The title still made me want to run. But running wouldn't bring Ciradyl back. Wouldn't stop Ylvena from destroying everything I'd learned to care about.
If I had to be a queen to get my revenge, then I'd be the most dangerous queen the realms had ever seen.
"Teach me," I said to Zydar. "Everything. How to fight. How to use this power. How to be what she's afraid of."
His smile was all sharp edges and promised violence. "I would be pleased, my Queen."
War was inevitable. But at least now, I'd meet it on my own terms.
thirty-two
Ash Before Fire
Zydar
Aweekhadpassedsince Miralyte's resurrection, and the world felt different around her.
She stood in the center of the training chamber, wings spread wide, sunlight pouring through her skin like she was made of liquid gold. The power rolling off her was intoxicating. Dangerous. Every day she grew stronger, more controlled, more devastating.
And every day, another body was carried to the Cloud District.
This morning it had been Keelin, a young soldier barely past his hundredth year. The rot had taken him in his sleep, consuming him from the inside out while he dreamed. His screams had woken half the eastern wing before the healers could reach him.
I watched from the doorway as Miralyte gathered sunlight in her palms like she was cupping water. The golden fire danced between her fingers, responding to her will with an ease that should have taken centuries to master. She was learning faster than any fae I'd ever seen. Faster than seemed possible.
"Again," I said.
She nodded, closing her eyes. The fire in her hands intensified until the entire chamber blazed with warmth. When she opened her eyes, they glowed like twin suns.
She gestured, and flames erupted across the stone floor in perfect spirals. Not destructive fire, but creative. Life-giving. The kind of magic that could bring back forests, heal wounds, restore what had been lost.
The kind of magic that might cure the rot eating through my court.
"Better," I said, stepping into the chamber. "But you're still holding back."
"I'm not holding back. I'm being careful." She let the flames die, leaving only warmth in the air. "This power... it wants to consume everything. I can feel it pushing against my control."
I understood. I'd lived with storm magic all my life, knew the constant battle to keep it leashed. But hers was different. Older. More primal.
"Show me," I said, moving closer.
She turned to face me, and I saw the hesitation in her golden eyes. "Zydar..."
"Trust me."
She nodded slowly, then reached for my shirt. Her fingers found the buttons, working them loose with steady hands. When she pushed the fabric aside, we both stared at my chest.
The rot marks were still there. Faded but not gone. They traced delicate patterns across my skin like veins of precious metal. Beautiful in their way, but still deadly.
"They're better," she said softly, pressing her palm flat against my heart. "So much better than they were."
"But not gone." I covered her hand with mine, feeling the warmth that seemed to pour endlessly from her skin. "The others are still dying. Every day we lose more."
Her face crumpled with guilt. "I should be able to help them. This power, it should be enough."
