Page 7 of The Curse of Golden Blood
Gryven's weathered face had gone ashen. He stared at his own hand, then at the girl, then back at me with something approaching panic in his ancient eyes.
"Again," I commanded, my voice hoarse.
Gryven pressed his fingers to the rune once more. Power flowed through me, stronger this time, desperate. The lightning that struck her wrist could have felled a horse.
Again, nothing. The energy vanished the moment it touched her skin, leaving no trace behind.
Gryven’s face had gone pale beneath his scars. His hand dropped to his side like he’d forgotten what to do with it. My eyes met Gryven's, and in his ancient gaze I saw the same recognition that was crystallizing in my own mind. The same terrible certainty.
Miralyte looked between us with those impossibly golden eyes, confusion flickering across her features for the first time. She glanced down at her unmarked wrist, then back at our faces.
"Something’s wrong, isn’t it?" she asked.
Everything. Everything was wrong. Or everything was finally, impossibly right.
I forced my expression back into its usual mask of cold authority, though my heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. "Return to your place in line."
She hesitated, eyes narrowing as if trying to peel back every lie I hadn’t said. Then, with deliberate calm, she turned and took her place among the others—head high, like it was her throne and not her cage.
Gryven cleared his throat, his voice rougher than usual when he called the final name. "Pelbie Ranthar."
I watched the brunette girl walk up to the front. She was shaking from head to toe, but her head was bowed. Gryven looked bored when he placed his fingers onto the rune.
From my place near the dais, I heard her muffled whimpers before I saw her drop. There was a soft thud. Her whole body spasmed once, and then she lay motionless on the stone floor, unconscious.
“No!” Miralyte broke from the line, running toward her.
I moved faster, summoning a wall of crackling lightning between them. She struck the barrier at full speed—white fire erupted where flesh met energy, sending her sprawling backward with a cry of pain.
She hit the ground hard, clutching hands that now bore angry red burns across the palms.
“What did I say about obedience?” I stepped through my own lightning wall as it dissipated. “You move when I say. Not before.”
She had courage, I'd give her that. But courage without wisdom would see her dead within a week. The burns on her hands would remind her that defiance had its consequences.
I glanced at the other Vessels. They watched their fallen comrade with wide, fearful eyes. At least she'd served as a proper example.
"Does anyone else wish to test my patience?"
Silence.
Miralyte pushed herself up from the stone floor, her burned hands shaking as one arm instinctively curled against her aching ribs. Her golden braid had come undone, loose strands framing a face pale with pain and fury. Blood trickled from her lip where she'd bitten it.
I turned away before I could study those defiant eyes too closely.
"Karys will escort you to your quarters," I announced to the group. "You will cleanse yourselves and don the clothing provided. You will gather in the great hall for your evening meal."
The Vessels filed out, following the dark-haired servant who had appeared at the glade's edge. Karys was ancient even by fae standards. She'd served my court since before my birth, since the days when Emystra ruled the Sun Court with absolute power. Her wingless back and simple dress marked her as common fae, but her loyalty was absolute.
Before I could dismiss her, Miralyte was on her feet again, moving toward her unconscious friend. I caught her arm before she could reach Pelbie.
She was still weak from the lightning burn and swayed in my grip. I bit back a frustrated growl. Had that lesson earlier not been enough to deter her? Begrudgingly, I felt a touch of respect for her loyalty to her friend.
"Tavora." The weight of my power pressed against her, heavy as storm clouds. She tried to pull free, but I held firm. "This is my final warning. One act of sacrifice does not make you noble. You are no different from any other Vessel in my service. Restrain yourself, or I will cut out pieces of you and feed it to the ravens."
She stopped struggling and met my eyes, golden fire blazing in her gaze. "I know exactly what you are doing." Her voice was steady despite the pain I knew she must be feeling. "The cruelty. The threats. The performance."
Her accent held traces of formal education—unusual for a hunter's daughter. Where had she learned to speak with such precision?
