Page 56 of The Curse of Golden Blood
“For now,” she said, rolling the dice into the center of the table, the sound sharp against the wood.
I reached forward, already planning how to make her regret challenging me.
fourteen
Blood Price
Zydar
ShethoughtIdidn’tsee her slip the shears from the healer’s tray two nights ago, tucking them under her sleeve like a thief palming a coin. I let her keep them. If it made her feel safer in these walls, so be it. Safety, even imagined, is a currency worth sparing.
Besides, her little knives were the least of my concerns.
This morning I watched her roll out of bed half asleep, stumbling around the room as she smoothed her skirts and slipped on her boots. "Well?" she grumbled, glancing out at the distant sun through the window. The light was harsh and glittering on the frosted glass, cutting daggers in the ice. "What are we doing today?
"You're resting."
"I’m done resting. At this point, I have rested more than I have done anything else in my life."
I hid a smile at her overdramatic statement as I folded my arms over my chest. "Miralyte, let's not have this discussion again."
"No. Let's." She sounded almost weary. "Why do I need rest? I'm fine. The people below the garden... They need me. They need help."
"And who will heal them if you're dead? If you push yourself too hard, you'll collapse. Do not make yourself useless because of your stubbornness."
She dragged her hands down her face and huffed. "Three days, Zydar. I've been up here for three days."
"Then one more is fine. When I say you're ready, you're ready. Until then, stop making a fuss."
The daggers she glared at me were sharper than the ones she had stolen. "If you don't let me out of here, I'm going to get bored. And if I'm bored, I'm going to use that as an excuse to stab you."
"Stab me, then." I crossed my arms, waiting. "Go on."
"I will. Eventually."
"I could lock you in here, you know."
"Would it stop me?"
No, it wouldn't. Miralyte was nothing if not wildly stubborn. She would probably try to climb down the castle walls, just to get under my skin.
"Just humor me, Mira."
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Fine. I'll behave."
I turned away, taking the steps one by one, making it halfway before she spoke again.
"But tomorrow, I want to go back to helping them. They need me. I'm not going to be your prisoner any longer."
I didn't bother responding. There would be no stopping her. She'd do what she wanted, regardless of what I said. I just hoped she understood how dangerous it was.
I brushed away the thought and made my way up the spiral staircase, the chill of the stones creeping through my boots. As always, I began my morning in the East Tower. Narietta’s door stood half-open, a slice of warm light spilling into the chill corridor. Her room was a world apart from the rest of the court— all brightness and warmth, like a shard of some gentler realm wedged into the cold stone.
Bundles of dried wildflowers hung from the rafters, their faded petals releasing faint sweetness into the air. Ribbons of sky-colored silk trailed from the bedposts, catching the breeze from the arched windows.
Her shelves overflowed with trinkets — polished river stones, seashells from coasts she’d never seen, carved wooden animals whose painted eyes still gleamed. A half-finished tapestry draped over the far chair, the threads tangled where she’d abandoned it mid-pattern.
And there she was, perched cross-legged on the windowsill, sunlight gilding her hair. She was humming something soft, off-key but certain, a tune from childhood I hadn’t heard in years.
