Page 51 of The Curse of Golden Blood
They ignored me. One of the healers grabbed a fistful of the sheets and pushed them into her mouth, stifling the cries. My mother thrashed against him, her eyes rolling white.
"Stop it," I shouted. "Let her go!"
My father seized my shoulders, his hands like iron. "You must let them finish."
"You're killing her! Let her go, let her—"
"She's already dead! Can't you see?"
I didn't. Couldn't. She had to be alive. Had to be.
My mother went still. Her eyes were fixed, sightless, her cheeks wet with tears and blood.
"No," I gasped.
The healers stepped back. The elder, the one who had spoken, turned to my father. They were holding a bundle, swaddled tight in pale cloth.
"What is it?" My father's voice was raw. "Tell me."
The healer glanced at me, then back at my father. "It is a girl, Your Majesty."
A heartbeat passed, and then another. No one spoke, or breathed. All sound seemed to flee from the room.
Finally, my father lifted his eyes, fixing the healer with a look that was more growl than glance.
"All this," he said, gesturing to my mother's body on the bed, "for a girl?"
He left without another word. The sound of his feet striking stone faded slowly into silence, and one by one, the healers followed, abandoning their mop and bucket of water.
I stood alone in the bedchamber, surrounded by shadows. I stared at the shape of my mother's body lying on the sheets and fought the urge to walk over to her and shake her awake, as if this were all just another dream, as if it hadn't happened.
I wasn't sure how long I stood there, but the storm had quieted and the candles had burned low before I was finally able to force myself to move. "Forgive me, Mother."
The air in my chambers felt no different now — heavy, too warm, scented faintly of rain-soaked stone — yet when I blinked, the shadows no longer held her outline. They held another.
Miralyte lay where I had left her, the blanket drawn up to her collarbone, her hair fanned over the pillow like a spill of ink. Her breathing was slow, uneven, the kind of breath that seemed to weigh more than it gave. I reached out without thinking, brushing a stray strand from her cheek.
I drew the blanket higher, tucking it beneath her shoulder so no draft could reach her.
Then I turned, walked out of the room, and didn't look back.
thirteen
The Kept Word
Miralyte
Iwokebeforethesun had even dared to pry open the clouds, and although it was Gryven’s turn to be my personal guard today, I felt no safer.
If anything, my heart was more restless than ever.
“Good morning to you, too.” I greeted with fake cheer.
Gryven gave me a curt nod. “You’re ordered to rest today.”
“Mm. And I’m ordering myself not to.” I tried to step past him, but his arm shot out, barring the way.
“I have orders directly from the Thunderlord. He said no bloodletting for at least—"
