Chapter 8 #2
"No, a law the High Sovereign set. I had no part in it."
"But you are the Warlord. You are the highest authority here."
"Not the highest. I have my limits, and I have no choice but to obey."
She paused. "Why not?"
"Because the consequences would not be worth the risk."
"You're afraid."
"I'm not afraid, Miralyte," I said, a warning note creeping into my voice. "I'm not risking another war with the Sun Court. Not for a single mortal."
"You think the High Sovereign will go to war because of this?"
"High Sovereign Ylvena is the reason for the plague in the first place. If I crossed her, it would no longer be a single girl's life on the line, it would be every single mortal and immortal in this realm."
Her lips pursed, and she looked away, the line between her brows creasing. It wasn't sadness. I could feel it. Wispy and tender, the hint of something deeper still, buried so deep within herself that she was too afraid to acknowledge it.
Guilt, and the stain of remorse left too long in its bloody cradle.
My expression softened.
"You're here for justice, aren't you?" I asked. "For your sister. For your friends."
"Yes."
"Then help us get justice. Help us defeat the Rot."
She looked down at the bed, as if thinking through her next move. Which was more progress than she'd given me previously. "You make it sound easy. But from what you say, not even the greatest healers have been able to find a solution to this curse."
"Then you and I will find one."
She got up, moving away from the bed. She walked towards the window, pushing open the glass. When she turned back around, her expression was one of resignation.
"If I do this, will you swear to help me get justice for my sister?"
"I swear it."
“I won’t be a guinea pig?”
I burst out laughing. “No, little dove. We won’t dice you into little pieces.”
Miralyte seemed to mull over the words. "Fine. But if anything happens to Pelbie—"
"Pelbie will be kept safe, Miralyte. You have my word."
She let out a breath, then turned back towards the window, her body still silhouetted by the midmorning sun.
I took a step forward, suddenly realizing how little I knew of this human girl. She hated me, hated my kind, hated everything about me, yet was giving us permission to do what we needed with her life.
No matter how much I refused to admit it, I could not help but admire her, her foolishness, her stubborn bravery, her loyalty.
"There is something you're not telling me," she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
I quickly looked away, avoiding her gaze. I wasn’t ready for her to see that gleam of admiration in my eyes. "And what makes you say that?"
"Lady Narietta called me Summerchild last night." Her voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the way her hands clenched in her lap. "Only my sister ever called me that."
"It's just a word, little dove. People say many things."
She was quiet for a moment, lost in her thoughts. I could practically see her mind working, piecing together fragments she didn't want to acknowledge.
"How would she know that name?" she asked slowly. "How would a fae I've never met know something so... personal?"
I continued cleaning my hands, not meeting her eyes. "Perhaps it's a common endearment where you're from."
"It isn't." Her voice sharpened. "Ciradyl made it up."
The silence stretched between us. I could feel her watching me, waiting for an explanation I wasn't prepared to give.
"You knew her." It wasn't a question anymore. "You knew my sister."
"I know many mortals pass through these lands—"
"Stop." She stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "Just stop.” She twirled back to face me, realisation dawning on her face. “You've been watching me, haven't you? Before the Tithe, before any of this. You knew exactly who I was."
I set down the cloth, finally meeting her gaze. "What makes you think that?"
"Because nothing else makes sense." Her voice cracked slightly. "The way you singled me out, the way Narietta looked at me like she was seeing a ghost, the way you both act like you know something I don't."
She turned from the window, her golden eyes blazing. "How long? How long have you been watching me?"
"Long enough to know you're more trouble than you're worth," I said lightly, trying to deflect.
"That's not an answer."
"The answers are not mine to give."
Her jaw tightened. "Fine. Then tell me this—who killed my sister?"
I gritted my teeth and cursed Narietta again.
Before I could speak, Miralyte’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. "But your sister does."
"I'll have Karys escort you back to your chambers. " I strode towards the doors, itching to get out of there, even as my traitorous body turned to cast one last glance at her over my shoulder. "Behave yourself, please. One more outburst like this, and you'll spend the night in the dungeons."
She lifted her chin, folding her arms over her chest. Her eyes told me to go to hell, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from finding her there once I arrived.
Sighing, I didn't bother to argue any further. I'd wasted far too much of the day, and more importantly, it hadn't improved my mood. If anything, it had only made it worse. Distractions, distractions, distractions.
I was nearly out of the room when she called out to me, her voice stopping me dead in my tracks.
"Zydar."
Miralyte Tavora must either possess no brain whatsoever, or simply no fear. I ignored the pleasure of hearing my name on her lips. Focusing a hard stare at her, I lifted a brow, waiting.
"Thank you," she said, the earnest flicker in her eyes unbearably honest. It gutted me, even as a strange emotion slithering in my chest again.
I looked away. "Don't get used to it."