Page 31 of The Curse of Golden Blood
Near the front of the room was a large wooden table filled with potions and medicinal leaves, jars of herbs neatly stacked next to each other. A second table a few feet away from it contained various bandages, metal tools, and pots of balm.
"Sit," I commanded, pointing to the nearest bed.
She looked at the spot, then at me, her golden eyes narrowed.
"I said, sit."
"I heard you."
"Then do as you're told."
"Don't order me around," she snapped.
"Little dove, I have absolutely no desire to stand here bickering like children. Either you get onto that bed willingly, or I will pick you up and put you there myself."
Miralyte opened her mouth to make a retort, seemed to reconsider, then stalked towards the edge of the cot. She sat, all the while glowering at me as though this was the worst offense one could possibly inflict upon a person.
"Happy now?"
"Not particularly. No."
"That's a shame." She shrugged. "I care deeply about your feelings."
Why was everything out of her mouth so infuriating? One would think her tongue was laced with the venom of a Sunserpent.
I stalked forward, each step reverberating against the stone, the stormroot in the walls flashing and sizzling gently. She watched me with that maddening tilt of her chin, with the fierce pride of a predator hiding a wound.
“You’re bleeding,” I said flatly, not because she didn’t know, but because I needed something—anything—to break the spiral of heat and fury that twisted in my gut every time she looked at me like that. Like she didn’t fear me. Like she shouldn’t.
"Then get a healer."
"You are looking at one."
"You? A healer?" She snorted. "Stars and gods above, the irony."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"That you are the least healing person I have ever met. Ever. You are the very embodiment of unhealiness."
"Unhealiness isn't a word."
"It's the best word to describe you."
I sighed, raking a hand over my face. "Do you have any idea how close you were to starting a bloodbath? Had that fork hit you in the right spot, even the most skilled healer wouldn't have been able to save you. You’d be dead."
"You were threatening to kill me not two days ago," she countered, her voice cool. "I find it difficult to believe your concern is genuine."
My jaw tightened, and I felt a vein in my temple throb. "I’m being practical. You heard Narietta at dinner. We need you alive."
"Right." Her laugh was bitter. "Because I'm somewhat immune to the Rot, and you need to cut me open and see what makes me different."
"Yes," I said simply. "The little dove needs to transform into a guinea pig.” I stared at her sternly. “You know that’s not what Narietta meant. You’re walking around freely now, aren’t you?"
Her lips parted, but whatever she had been about to say vanished the instant I reached up and gently brushed a fingertip against her cheek.
It was meant as a cursory examination, nothing more, but the second our skin touched, I froze, and so did she.
Shaking my head, I returned my attention back to the task at hand, a part of me trying not to dwell on the fact that I was growing much too accustomed to holding her face in my hands.
