Page 58 of The Curse of Golden Blood
I'd known her selfishness for a long, long time. But Mira was my sworn sword. Mine to protect.
"Send for the Fog and Snow Court. Tell them it is a matter of the highest urgency." I kept my words careful, measured.
Narietta nodded.
"I will go see the healer. See if she has had any luck in her work. I need you to stay here, and—"
"Keep watch. I know."
I squeezed her hand. "Good."
My sister looked up, and something in her gaze hardened. She was not the little girl I had carried on my shoulders through the forests anymore, not the one who cried when her favorite flower was trampled underfoot or the one who had hidden beneath my blankets to escape her nightmares.
"Zy," she murmured. "She's more than what she seems. You mustn't underestimate her."
I gave her a half smile. "I won't."
"Please. Promise me."
I pulled her into a hug. Her hair tickled my cheek. "I promise, Narie."
"She has no idea who she is or what she's capable of."
"I know."
"She needs to be told, Zy."
"She will. Just not yet. Let her get stronger first." I hesitated. The bloodletting was making her weaker by the day. But stopping was not a choice we could make, not when so many lives and futures depended on it.
Narietta frowned, but nodded. "Fine. But the longer you wait, the worse it'll be."
"I know."
"Good. And you better be nice to her, too."
I smiled. "Don't worry. I've been treating her like a queen."
Narietta laughed,"I'm glad to hear it." She rose and kissed me on the cheek. "Be careful."
"You too, Narie." I gave her a small smile and headed down the stairs toward the healer's quarters. I needed to ask him a few more questions about Mira. See if anything he had observed would help disprove her nightmares, as unsettling as they had been.
The halls were quiet, empty this early, when most were either sleeping off the night before or simply recovering from training too late. The quiet would only last an hour or two more, so I enjoyed it while I could.
The healer's quarters were at the easternmost end of the east wing, below the gardens. I knocked on the large, gleaming oak doors, the sound ringing through the thick wood. An answering call came, a low and weary voice.
"Name and reason?"
"Varlath, it's me."
"My lord!" A rustle of clothing and the squeal of chair legs followed. The door swung inward. Varlath's usually orderlyhair was askew, with strands floating in several different directions. He flicked his white strands from his face and gave me a quick bow. "Forgive me, my lord. I was not expecting you so early."
I waved him away. "Please. No need for formalities right now."
Varlath ushered me inside. His quarters were an impressive study and laboratory. All three walls were lined with shelves of jars, flasks, bowls, instruments. From the front of the shelf closest to the door hung a metal censer, sprigs of dried lavender spilling out of its bottom compartment.
"Did you find a cure yet?" I asked.
His smile faltered, and he crossed the room to his desk, straightening a stack of manuscripts. "We're getting closer," he answered.
