Page 26 of The Curse of Golden Blood
The girl merely smiled serenely at Gryven, taunting him.
"She will not be forced," Narietta announced, and every head turned to her. "It must be her decision."
"Very well." Gryven inclined his head in acceptance, although his expression suggested he disagreed.
"If you change your mind," Narietta began, moving her chair closer to the girl. "Please, tell us. There's no reason we cannot come to some sort of compromise."
The mortal was silent for a moment, as if contemplating whether to reply. When she spoke again, there was a trace of melancholy in her voice. "I have no reason to help you. None."
Narietta looked at the girl with desperation and shook her head. "Sometimes having a reason that compels one into action is worse than a choice that has been made without obligation."
With that, she rose gracefully from her seat, her wings moving gracefully with the movement, and glided towards the door. When she reached the threshold, she turned once more to Mira and smiled, her eyes clouded with sadness.
She paused at the threshold, turning back with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Consider it carefully, Summerchild."
Summerchild? What an odd choice.
Miralyte went completely still at the sound of the term, and she slowly lifted her head.
It was the first time I had ever seen her show such vulnerability. Mortals were often afraid of us, but this seemed more than mere fear. It was an old hurt, buried deep beneath layers of anger and hatred, still so raw and festering.
"How do you—" she began, voice cracking. "Who told you thatname?"
Narietta didn’t answer.
Miralyte stood abruptly, the chair legs scraping hard against stone. She moved not with rage but with intent—fast, purposeful, like a shadow breaking formation.
She crossed the table in a blink. Plates crashed to the ground. Wine spilled like blood across the linen.
I leaned back in my chair, genuinely entertained.
She nearly reached Narietta before two of my guards materialized from the shadows, catching her arms and hauling her back. She thrashed against their grip like a wildcat, all pretense of composure shattered.
"Answer me! How do you know that name?" she snarled, struggling to break free. "How dare you—"
"Careful, dear one," Narietta said, her voice honey-sweet and utterly calm despite having nearly been attacked. She tilted her head, studying Miralyte's fury with the detached interest of a scholar examining a particularly fascinating specimen. "Strong emotions often muddle the mind and lead to poor decisions."
"Let me go. Now." Each word was a rasping growl.
Narietta smoothed her skirts and stepped closer, just out of reach. Her smile was gentle, almost maternal, and somehow far more unsettling than any threat could have been.
"Sleep well tonight, Mira," she murmured, her voice carrying easily across the silent hall. "And do have your answer ready after breakfast tomorrow. "
I gestured for the guards to release the girl. She stumbled back, chest heaving, her careful composure in ruins. For a moment, she looked lost—young and vulnerable and utterly bewildered.
Her eyes met mine, wide and defiant and brimming with hatred. Then she fled from the room as if the hounds of the Underworld were at her heels.
Perhaps they were.
seven
Fire Without Smoke
Miralyte
"I'mtellingyou,Pelbie,it was nothing to fret about. Just dinner. We ate and drank. And that is all."
Pelbie shook her head. "You must be lying. There's no way it was as simple as that. They must have told you something."
