Chapter 29 Gilded Silence
twenty-nine
Gilded Silence
Miralyte
In all the weeks I'd been here, through training sessions and council meetings and stolen moments in dark corridors, Zydar had never once covered his chest. He dressed for formal events when protocol demanded it, but the moment he returned to his chambers, he ripped it off.
It was a point of pride for him, I'd realized. The way fae displayed their power through their bodies, their wings, their unmarked skin that spoke of centuries surviving what would kill mortals in days.
So when he'd kept his shirt on last night, even during lovemaking, I'd known something was wrong.
He'd been careful about it. Redirecting my hands when they wandered too high, keeping the fabric between us even when everything else had been stripped away.
At the time, I'd been too lost in sensation to question it.
Too caught up in the feeling of him inside me, around me, consuming me completely.
But after, when he'd finally fallen into restless sleep, I'd let curiosity win.
I'd been gentle. Slow. Easing the fabric up just enough to see what he'd been hiding.
Black veins.
They'd carved across his chest like lightning frozen in flesh, spreading from his heart in a web of corruption that made my blood run cold.
Each marked a countdown toward death, spreading like poison through the only person who'd ever made me feel whole.
The rot. I knew those marks. Had watched them consume Riden until there was nothing left but hollow bone and bitter regret. Had seen too many fae succumb to the same creeping darkness that now claimed the man I loved.
Zydar stirred beside me, his breathing shifting from sleep to wakefulness. I forced my body to remain still, my breath even, playing the part of peaceful slumber while my mind raced with the terrible knowledge burning in my chest.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, soft and reverent, like I was something precious instead of the weapon that could save him. The irony wasn't lost on me. My death could cure him, and he was treating me like a treasure worth dying for.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
I sat up immediately, my hands shaking as I pressed them to my mouth. The silence in the room felt suffocating, heavy with unspoken truths and the weight of impossible choices.
So that was what he hadn't told me. That he was dying. That every moment we spent together was stolen time, borrowed against a debt that death would eventually collect.
I couldn't blame him for not choosing the heart extraction. If our positions were reversed, I would have done the same. I would have chosen these handful of days over the certainty of watching him die.
But I couldn't let him die. Not when I could prevent it.
If someone needed to die, it should be me.
I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling with the laces of my gown. The fabric felt strange against my skin, like armor I wasn't sure I knew how to wear anymore. Everything had changed in the span of mere days.
The corridors were already alive with morning activity when I stepped out of Zydar's chambers. Servants moved like shadows along the walls, their eyes downcast, their movements precise. None of them looked at me directly, but I could feel their awareness like a physical weight.
"Miralyte!"
Tomos's voice cracked across the hallway like a whip. He was running toward me, his face flushed with panic and something that looked like relief.
He reached me in three quick strides, pulling me into a fierce embrace that drove the breath from my lungs. "What the hell happened to you? Pelbie told me you were opening a damned portal!" he whispered fiercely, lips too close to my ear.
I stiffened in his arms, the memory of last night's failed escape rushing back. The portal that had almost worked. The magic that shouldn't have been mine to command.
"Nothing. I'm alright," I said, quickly pulling back to meet his eyes. "I'm fine. It didn’t work."
"Fine?" His voice pitched higher with disbelief. "You disappeared for a day. No one knew where you were."
"I said I'm fine." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I need to see Gryven."
Tomos blinked, his expression shifting from relief to confusion. "Lord Gryven? Why?"
"That's not your concern."
"The hell it isn't." He stepped closer, too close, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Miralyte, you can't just disappear without explanation. What's going on?"
I met his gaze steadily, letting him see the resolution that had crystallized in my chest like ice. "You said you’d support my decision. Now is the time to prove it. Bring me to him."
Something in my tone must have convinced him, because his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."
"Good."
We moved through the palace in tense silence, Tomos's presence both comforting and suffocating. Every step felt like walking toward an execution, which wasn't far from the truth.
Gryven's chambers were in the eastern wing, guarded by two sentries who watched our approach with the predatory stillness of hunting cats. Their hands rested casually on their sword hilts, but I could see the tension in their shoulders.
"I wish to see Lord Gryven."
One of the guards disappeared through the heavy wooden door. I could hear the murmur of voices from within, too low to make out words. When he emerged, his expression was carefully neutral.
"Lord Gryven will see you now."
The chamber beyond was a study in controlled luxury.
Rich tapestries lined the walls, depicting battles I didn't recognize.
Books bound in leather and gold filled shelves that stretched to the vaulted ceiling.
Gryven himself stood behind a massive desk, his silver hair catching the light from the tall windows.
"Everyone out," he commanded without looking up from the papers scattered before him.
The guards retreated immediately. Tomos hesitated at the threshold, shooting me a look that promised we would discuss this later.
When the door closed, Gryven finally raised his eyes to mine. The fury there could have burned down cities.
"Do you know what you have caused?" His voice was deadly quiet. "A war. War is what you've brought to our doorstep with your recklessness."
"I'm not here about the other night."
"No?" He rounded the desk with predatory grace, closing the distance between us until I could see the gold flecks in his pale eyes. "Then enlighten me. What brings the infamous changeling to my chambers?"
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I’m here to deliver my heart."
For the first time since I'd known him, Gryven looked genuinely surprised. Then his eyes narrowed, calculating. "That procedure was deemed too dangerous. Lord Zydar made it quite clear that anyone who attempted it would face his wrath."
"What if it was done at my request?"
"And why would you request such a thing? Death is rarely a popular choice among the living."
I thought of the black veins spreading across Zydar's chest. Of the time we didn't have. Of the choice that wasn't really a choice at all.
"I want him to live."
Understanding dawned in Gryven's expression, followed quickly by something that might have been respect. "You know."
"I do."
He studied me for a long moment, weighing options I couldn't see. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of decision.
"This is treason against Lord Zydar's direct orders."
"But you'll do it."
A smile played at the corners of his mouth, sharp as a blade. "Lord Zydar's judgment has been... compromised. The realm requires a more practical approach."
"Then we have an agreement."
"Indeed." He moved back to his desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and beginning to write. "After the twilight hour, meet me in the lower chambers beneath the eastern tower. "
I nodded, my throat tight with something that might have been fear or relief. "And after?"
"After, the rot will be cured, and Lord Zydar will remember what it means to put duty before desire."
I turned toward the door, then paused. "Gryven?"
"Yes?"
"Make sure he knows I chose it."
"You have my word."
I didn't break my stride as I left the room, crossing the threshold without looking back.
The corridor stretched ahead like a throat waiting to swallow me whole. Stone walls pressed in on either side, their surfaces carved with runes that pulsed faintly in the torchlight. Ancient words that spoke of binding and breaking, of power that demanded sacrifice.
The twilight hour was still bells away, but time moved differently when you knew it was running out. Each heartbeat felt borrowed, each breath stolen from a future I wouldn't see.
Tomos was waiting for me at the junction of two corridors, his face a mask of barely controlled worry. He fell into step beside me without a word, but I could feel the questions burning behind his eyes like fever.
"Don't," I said before he could speak.
"I haven't said anything."
"You don't need to. I can hear you thinking from here."
He grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. The touch was gentle but insistent, grounding me in a way that made my chest tight with things I couldn't name.
"Miralyte, whatever you're planning—"
"I'm not planning anything." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. "I'm simply making a choice."
"The same kind of choice that had you opening portals in the middle of the night?"
I ignored him and continued walking.
His fingers tightened on my arm. "You're scaring me."
"Good. Fear keeps you alive."
I pulled free from his grip and continued walking. He followed, because that's what Tomos did. Followed and worried and tried to fix things that couldn't be fixed.
The palace around us hummed with power, magic flowing through the stones like blood through veins. I could feel it more clearly now, could sense the way it responded to emotion, to desperation, to the kind of raw need that carved itself into your soul.