The Price Of Fate
A scent rose, bitter and sharp, like crushed leaves and smoke and something metallic.
“What is that?” I asked, wary.
“A stabiliser,” she said. “A blend to help your body recover. To help your heat settle. To keep your blood from surging the way it did.”
“Surging,” I echoed, and my hand trembled as it lifted to my chest.
My mother stepped closer, bringing the vial to my lips.
“Drink.”
I hesitated.
“Mom,”
“Nyra,” she said, and her voice carried that tone that meant this wasn’t a discussion. “Drink. You can ask questions after.”
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