Page 139 of The Curse of Golden Blood
The explosion should have vaporized everything within a hundred feet. Should have turned Gryven to component atoms scattered on superheated wind.
Instead, the void-armor ate it. Consumed the miniature sun like a mouth swallowing prey, leaving nothing but darkness spreading outward from the point of impact. Gryven stood in the center of that darkness, untouched, unmarked, patient as death itself.
"My turn," he said.
What happened next burned itself into my retinas despite the blood loss making everything swim. Gryven moved the way avalanches move, with an inevitable crushing force thatrespects no prayer or plea. His fist connected with Theron's sternum, but it wasn't just a punch. Shadow erupted from the point of impact, spreading through Theron's body like poison through veins.
The executioner's solar fire flickered, dimmed, then began to turn black at the edges. His perfect fae features started to crack, darkness spreading beneath the skin like something hatching from inside. He tried to scream but shadow poured from his mouth instead of sound, spilled from his eyes like tears made of night itself.
Gryven grabbed Theron's head in both hands, fingers finding purchase despite the desperate thrashing. The executioner's wings beat frantically, trying to pull away, but Gryven's grip was absolute. Final.
"You want to know what three hundred years of war taught me?" Gryven's voice carried no emotion, flat as stone. "That pretty magic means nothing when someone's willing to get their hands dirty."
He began to pull.
Slow enough that I heard every tendon snap, every vertebra separate. Theron's hands clawed at Gryven's arms, solar fire erupting in desperate bursts that did nothing against that void-touched armor. His wings spasmed, feathers falling like burning snow.
The sound when Theron's head finally separated from his shoulders was wet and final. The body dropped, twitching, golden blood pooling thick enough to reflect the battle still raging above. Gryven held the head for a moment, studying it with the detached interest of someone examining spoiled fruit.
Then he crushed it between his palms like an overripe melon.
Gryven turned to me, his armor now decorated with Theron's remains.
"Get up, Zydar." His voice carried the weight of old oaths and older regrets. "We have a true queen to crown, and she's going to need us alive when she takes what's hers."
thirty-seven
The Sister I Chose
Miralyte
Thechainsaroundmywrists burned like captured starlight. Every movement sent liquid fire through my bones. I could taste the metal on my tongue, could feel it singing in my blood.
The Sun Court's grand throne room stretched around us like a cathedral built from golden glass. Light refracted through crystal pillars the size of ancient trees, casting rainbows across marble floors that gleamed like polished bone. Everything here was designed to blind, to overwhelm, to make mortals feel small.
But I wasn't just mortal. Not anymore.
Ylvena sat on her throne of carved amber, watching me. Her wings spread wide behind her, each feather edged in fire. She wore a crown of twisted sunbeams that hurt to look at directly. Beautiful and terrible, like a fallen star given flesh.
My sister. The word tasted like ash.
"You've come so far from that frightened little vessel," she said, her voice carrying the warm caress of summer and the promise of drought.
I looked down at my wrists. The metal was beginning to glow, to soften. Heat poured out of me in waves. The chains were singing, a high note of stressed metal and failing magic.
This was impossible. These shackles were forged in the heart of the sun itself, blessed by powers older than kingdoms. No prisoner had ever broken free. That's what the books had said.
"Impossible," Ylvena breathed, leaning forward on her throne. Then louder, switching to the old tongue. "Caelith neth!"
The guards moved at her command, their armor catching the light like polished mirrors. But they were too slow.
The chains shattered with a sound like breaking glass mixed with thunder.
They came at me from all sides. Sun Court warriors in golden armor, moving with fluid grace and killing precision. I'd never fought multiple opponents before. Never tested my power against trained soldiers. But rage was a teacher all its own, and fury made me faster than fear.
The first guard reached me with a blade that sang as it cut through superheated air. I caught his wrist, let sunfire pour through the connection. His scream died in his throat as light consumed him from the inside out. The second came low, trying to sweep my legs. I spun away, power lashing out like a whip. It caught him across the chest, sent him flying into a marble pillar that cracked under the impact.
More guards poured into the throne room. Too many. But I didn't care about the odds anymore. I was done being careful.
