Page 52 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"I know." I cut him off. "I heard you. I'm not going there."
His brows rose, his sharp gaze inspecting my body, as if searching for some hidden weapon. "Where are you going?"
“To visit Pelbie.”
His stare hardened. “Not a good idea.”
“She’s my friend.”
“She’s also a distraction. And you’re supposed to be recovering, not gossiping in the rookies’ wing.”
I folded my arms. “I’ll take my chances.”
His stare hardened. I held his stare and waited, silently daring him to forbid it.
Finally, he stepped back, and I knew I had won. “And by tomorrow,” he said, “another guard will be assigned to you. One less inclined toward lenience.”
I did not look back. “I’ll try to contain my excitement.”
“Do. Perhaps they’ll succeed where I have failed—reminding you this is not a garden path in your mortal villages.”
I smirked. “Maybe they’ll even be less irritating.”
“Unlikely,” he replied, the faintest shadow of a grin buried in his voice.
His silence trailed me like a shadow, his boots falling into step a few paces behind.
I made my way toward the rookies’ wing, passing under the narrow stone arch where rainwater always trickled down the walls, leaving dark veins in the rock. The corridor bent sharply to the right, opening into the Hall of Stormglass — a long, vaulted passage lined with tall panels of black crystal. My reflection followed me in those panels, distorted and rippling with each flicker of light.
From there, I took the spiral stair that wound around the outer tower, up and up, until I reached the chamber on the fourth floor. Gryven didn't say anything, but I knew he was still there, three steps behind me.
The door was unlocked, and I pushed it open. "Pelbie?"
Her voice came from within, soft and a little rough. “Mira?"
"It's me." I walked into the bedchamber. Pelbie was sitting up in bed, dressed in a white nightgown that swallowed her frame. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes still hazy from sleep.As soon as she saw me, she gasped and threw off the blankets. "Mira, oh, thank the Mother. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Liar. Look at you." She sprang from the bed and crossed the room. In moments, she had gripped my hands and pulled them towards her, examining the palms with a scowl. "Blood and bones, what have they been doing to you?"
"It's nothing."
"Nothing?! Mira, have you seen your face? You're paler than a corpse! And you've lost weight. Gods, have they not fed you?!"
"Of course they have. Pelbie, stop fussing!"
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you ever going to tell me the truth?"
No. It would only put her in danger. Because the truth would put her life at risk, and hers was all I had left. "Pelbie—"
"You promised you would," she insisted. "You promised no secrets."
I fixed her with a level look. "This secret is for your protection. Believe me, it would be much better if you did not know."
She scowled. "I have never seen you scared by the truth, Mira."
She knew me well enough to know how to reach inside me and find the string tied to every emotional wound I refused to show. But not even she was hard enough to pull that thread.
