Chapter 17 A Beautiful Day for Death
seventeen
A Beautiful Day for Death
Miralyte
I could still feel the ghost of his lips on mine. The heat of his breath against my skin. The way his hand had cupped the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.
It was all I could think about. All I could focus on. It was like a drug, coursing through my veins, making me ache for more.
I had never been touched like that before. Not by anyone. It had been so... tender. So gentle. And yet, I had wanted more. Much more.
And that terrified me.
I paced the library, trying to clear my mind. But all I could think about was the feel of his skin on mine, the warmth of his lips, the taste of his breath.
How had this happened? How had I allowed myself to become so... attached?
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away.
It didn't matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting through this. Surviving. And, if possible, finding a way out of this mess.
I looked at the book. At the worn leather cover. The faded title.
Sanguinar Aurion Thalethis.
Blood... Golden... Curse...?
I picked it up, running my fingers over the leather. It was old. Maybe ancient. I flipped it open, scanning the pages. There were just endless lists of names. Of dates. Of times. And next to each, a simple, brief description.
Cherilda, daughter of Hasin, born 540 years after The Fall, 97th child of the Fog Court.
Theodora, daughter of Selune, born 282 years after the Fall, 119th child of the Cloud Court.
I skimmed through them, realizing they were records of every high fae child who had ever been born. Each one, meticulously documented, from the moment of their birth until the day of their death.
It was... strange. Creepy. And yet, fascinating.
The title now made sense. Faeries were born of golden blood.
It wasn’t just a turn of phrase. I had heard it whispered before, in fragments of overheard gossip and in the half-remembered lullabies of my childhood.
The blood of the first high fae had shone like molten gold beneath their skin, warm as sunlight and just as dangerous.
The gods had made them radiant, untouchable…
Cursed.
Because faeries had never been meant to exist. They had been a mistake, a divine error that had turned them into immortal monsters. That was what the old tales said. The stories my sister had once told me.
I stared at the page, feeling a strange sense of dread. Golden blood. That was why the fae needed mortals, why they couldn't breed fast enough. And the Rot was another type of curse.
A cruel irony. A punishment for their sins.
Each court fed from a vice the gods had bound into their veins: Thunder from wrath, Cloud from greed, Fog from envy, Rain from gluttony, Wind from lust, Snow from sloth, and Sun from pride.
They called them strengths, but in truth they were shackles, chains that would one day drag every court to ruin.
"Miralyte."
I looked up to see Narietta standing in the doorway.
Her dark hair was combed back, and she wore a simple gown of dark green.
A silver circlet rested on her brow, the stone glittering in the light.
She looked every inch the princess she was, and for a moment I forgot that she was also a soldier, a warrior trained to lead the armies of Thunder.
"My lady," I said, getting to my feet.
She shook her head and gestured for me to sit. "I'm not here as your lady, Miralyte. I'm here as a friend."
I hesitated, then sat back down. She smiled and took a seat across from me, crossing her legs at the ankles. She seemed almost nervous, and I couldn't help but wonder what had brought her here.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"I just wanted to check on you."
I blinked, surprised. "Check on me?"
Narietta nodded. "I know it must be difficult, being so far from home."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I had no idea how to respond.
Narietta smiled. "You don't have to pretend. It's okay if you miss your home."
I swallowed hard. "I... I do."
She nodded. "I understand. I miss home too, sometimes."
"Home?"
"The Fog Court. It's where I grew up."
I frowned. "But you're Thunder."
"I know." She sighed. "It's a long story."
"I'd like to hear it," I said, curious. "If you're willing to tell it."
She bit her lip, looking at me for a moment, as if she were deciding whether or not she could trust me. Finally, she sighed and said, "My mother died giving birth to me. My father was furious. He... he never forgave me for that. So when I was old enough, he sent me away to Fog."
I stared at her, shocked. I had always assumed she'd been born here, in Thunder. But now...
"I grew up there. I wasn't trained as a warrior like Zydar. In the fog court, they harvest the magic of sleep. They use it to foresee the future, to heal wounds, to protect the court from attack. I learned everything I knew from them. And then, when I was ready, Zydar came to take me back home."
"And they just... let you go? Just like that?"
Narietta smiled. "Of course. Thunder and Fog are allies. Have been for centuries." She paused, and a shadow passed over her face. "Besides, the lady of Fog was my mate."
I blinked. "Your...mate? Silvyr?"
Narietta nodded. "We were bonded when we were young."
"Bonded..." I whispered.
Fae mates are rare, and precious, and most do whatever it takes to keep their mate alive and well. They're soulmates. Bonded in a way that humans can't understand. It's not something you can fake.
"How do you know? That she was your mate, I mean?"
"When a fae finds their mate, they have a... sense of it. An awareness, deep in their bones. A pull toward the other person. As if their souls are connected, even before they meet."
"So it's not like...love, at first sight?"
"It can be. But not always. Sometimes it's not until after the two have spent time together, gotten to know each other, that the bond forms. And sometimes...sometimes it doesn't happen at all. It's rare. Very rare."
"How is she doing now?"
"Silvyr?" Narietta sighed. "Your blood seemed to help her. At least, for a little while. But the curse is taking its toll."
I swallowed, remembering the way she'd looked, the fear and anger and pain in her eyes. I didn't want to imagine what it would be like to watch someone you loved slowly die, their body rotting away from the inside out.
"You have to help me convince Zydar to continue the treatment," I said, desperation edging into my voice. "Please. It's working. We just have to keep going."
Narietta looked at me for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Then, she shook her head.
"You don't understand," she said softly. "The Sun Court is coming for you."
I froze, a chill going down my spine. "What?"
"They have spies in every court. They know where you are, and they're coming for you."
"How? Why?"
"Your blood. It's the only cure for the Rot. And the Sun Court wants that cure. That's why we have to protect you. To keep you safe. To hide you away, until it's time for you to ascend."
I stared at her, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Ascend?"
"Do not worry." Narietta placed a comforting hand on my arm. "We'll keep you safe. No one can touch you here. Zydar won't let anyone harm you. You're too important."
"Important," I repeated.
Narietta nodded. "For once, those fools at the Sun Court may have done us a favor."
I shifted uncomfortably. "How so?"
"You'll see soon enough."
With that, she strode off. Her cloak swished around her, and I glared at her back, my hands curling into fists.
I let out a slow breath, the tension in my shoulders refusing to ease. I needed to see Riden. The thought of him waiting in the healing dome steadied me. I promised I’d finish reading him the next chapter of The Throne of Silver Fire.
He would be expecting me, eyes bright with that quiet, stubborn hope I’d come to recognize. He was getting better each day—his cough easing, his color returning—but I knew the road ahead was still long. The healers said it was my voice that kept him calm enough to sleep through the pain.
I gathered the worn book from the table, running my thumb over the creased spine. At least with him, there were no secrets, no curses, no schemes. His sweet innocence reminded me of the times when I believed magic could only be found in tales.
The gardens below the manor were heavy with rain, each petal trembling under the weight of water. I clutched the book to my chest as I made my way down the winding path, the scent of wet stone and night-blooming flowers pressing close.
The magical door to the healing dome yielded at my touch, its frame whispering with faint silver light as I stepped through. Warmth and the scent of crushed herbs met me, the air thick with steam from the central pool where the sick were lowered into the enchanted waters.
I searched for him immediately—small head, fragile shoulders, that stubborn spark in his eyes. He should have been there, leaning against the pool’s edge, waiting for me to begin the next chapter.
But he wasn’t.
Instead, two healers stood at the far side of the water, hunched over a floating body.
My heart stopped.
It was Riden.
I let out a cry, rushing to his side. He was floating in the water, his eyes closed, his mouth parted. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and his veins were stark beneath the surface.
"Riden," I whispered, reaching for his hand.
The healers looked at me, and one shook her head.
"It's too late. He's gone."
"No." I shook my head. "He was getting better."
"I'm sorry, Miralyte," she said. "He fought bravely, but the Rot is stronger."
Riden's hand felt cold in mine, and I pulled him closer. His skin was pallid, his lips tinged blue. He'd been fighting this sickness for weeks, each day growing weaker. And now, I feared it was too late.
I took his face between my hands and stared into his pale eyes. "Come back," I whispered. "Come back to me."
Riden didn't respond. He just floated there, lifeless, his body like a husk of what he used to be. His hair was floating around his face, and his limbs looked impossibly small. And I hated it. I hated it so much.
Gently, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. "Rest now," I murmured.
I turned to the healers. "What happens to him now?"
The healer glanced at Riden, her expression hardening. "We burn the bodies," she replied.
Numbness crept over me. Burn the bodies. So it was over then. It was really, truly over.
I swallowed hard, forcing back tears. I couldn't afford to break down now. Not with everyone watching. Not when I still had work to do.
"May I stay with him?" I asked.
The healer nodded. "Of course."
She and the other healer walked away, leaving me alone with Riden. I looked at him, taking in his delicate features. His dark hair framed his face, and his lips were still slightly parted.
I knelt beside him, letting the warm water lap at my knees. He looked so peaceful, so serene. I almost couldn't believe he was dead. But the emptiness in my chest, the hollowness where his presence had once been, was a constant reminder of what I had lost.
I pressed my palm to his cold cheek, feeling his skin against mine for the last time. I'd made a promise to him. I would read the next chapter. And I would not let him go alone.
I slid into the pool, the water rising up around my chest. It was warm and soothing, like a comforting embrace. I reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly.
"You're okay now," I murmured. "I'm here."
He didn't answer. He was still as stone, his eyes closed, his body unmoving. I felt his emptiness, a vast expanse of nothingness where his soul had once been. He'd fought so hard to live, to recover from his illness. And yet, the Rot had taken him anyway.
My throat tightened, and I choked back a sob. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes, and I willed them away. I couldn't cry. Not here, not now. I had to be strong. I had to be strong for him.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. Opening the book to the next chapter, I began to read.
I didn't stop for a long while. My voice rang out through the healing dome, echoing off the polished stone walls.
When I finished the final paragraph, I closed the book and looked down at Riden's face. His lips were pale, and his cheeks were flushed, as if his body were clinging to life by a thread.
"Goodbye, my friend," I murmured. "Rest easy."
I stood in the warm water, staring at his body. I'd promised him. I'd promised that I would be here when he left, that he wouldn't leave this world alone. And I had kept my promise.
I reached out and stroked his cheek gently, letting the tears fall at last. There was nothing more I could do now.
Slowly, I turned away from Riden and made my way back toward the stone path. The sun was beginning to set over the mountains, bathing the garden in golden light.
It was a beautiful day. Too beautiful for death.
But death comes for us all. I used to think the fae were above it. I was wrong.