Page 103 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Craving nothing but lightning under her fingertips.

And one day, she was going to break loose. She would rage, the sky would split, and the wyverns would dance.

And this world would change forever.

32

Melody

When I wake up the next morning, Riven’s gone, the sun already up, so I hurry to brush my teeth, shower, and then run to the kitchen.

Later that morning, I return to the corridor that leads to the throne room… when a screech tears the air, followed by a slashing sound and a crack, as if something has just burst open.

I freeze. A slender, blue-skinned, turquoise-haired siren grabs me by the wrist and pulls me along with her into a different room, as big as the ballroom but darker, to join some other servants who’re already crouching behind columns.

There, on a throne carved of gold-veined onyx with two beasts with long, vicious fangs forming the armrests, lounges the Dark Lord. The beasts are hewn in such an artistic form they seem to dissolve from the stone, ready to rip into the crowd that has gathered. But my eyes rest on a huge puddle of blood that stretches to a large double-winged door to the left and my heart jolts into my throat in answer.

Someone just dragged a body out.

My gaze wanders over the crowd, their faces rabid from the bloodletting and their eyes hungry. But below that, pure, undiluted fear paints their auras a deep, dark blue.

My mouth goes suddenly dry.

With a shudder, I look back to Caryan. A black-and-gold crown rests on his midnight hair at an insouciant angle, accentuating his perfect features. He wears black clothes that look like they’re made for combat but at the same time strangely modern and human, just like his castle.

On the outside, he looks endlessly bored, indifference and disdain simmering in storm-gray eyes. But inside, he is still livid, his aura as furious and bristling as last night.

I shudder as my gaze falls on the huge sword that leans negligently against the throne next to him, discarded like an afterthought. Its blade glistens with fresh blood.

Riven stands slightly behind Caryan to the right. He wears a shirt of dark silk and a long coat made of heavy, black silk brocade, his hands casually in the pockets of his pants. As if he wants to show that he doesn’t need his hands to kill. His aura, too, is swirling with fury.

Kyrith and Ronin flank the throne, two huge, silver swords slung across their backs. They’re both clad in some kind of dark armor made of the scaly, shimmering skin of some creature I don’t know.

Riven’s face, like Caryan’s, holds nothing but latent disinterest, while Ronin and Kyrith seem ready to shred the crowd to ribbons. The immovable masks of the Dark Lord’s executors.

All of them watch the faun kneeling in front of the throne, dressed in a tunic of moss-green gossamer, a heavy scarlet cloak pinned at his shoulders. He carries a thin rapier on his belt, and his hooved feet are tipped in covers of liquid gold. Too late do I notice that the peaks of his huge, twirling horns are encrusted with a deep-red color, making it look like he recently impaled someone.

“Stand, spymaster.” Caryan’s voice booms through the room, followed by a wave of power that makes everyone present gasp for air.

The faun dips his head deeply, his horns touching the space in front of the king’s boots before he comes back up to standing. “Thank you, my king. I have reason to believe that one of the servants’ circles is behind the hostile infiltrationattempts.”

“Very well, my blade is still thirsting. Bring the creature and we’ll see.” Caryan waves an elegant hand and the massive door at the other end of the hall opens. Two guards, their horns the same deep red, drag in a pretty siren with blush pink hair and fine features. She’d be beautiful if her face wasn’t so gaunt and her eyes so bruised.

My heart jumps. She’s one of the girls who bathed and scrubbed me. A few meters away from her in the crowd of servants, I spot Nidaw covering her mouth with a hand, her eyes pained and wide with shock as the guards push the siren to her knees in front of Caryan.

The spymaster gestures with a hand whose tips are covered with long, golden claws. “Here she is, my lord. We’ve found evidence that she sent owls to the High Court of Palisandre. The letters were enchanted and burned themselves when we caught the owls, so we weren’t able to retrieve their contents.”

Another hush goes through the crowd. My eyes stay transfixed on the siren, who’s now shivering the way I shivered in that dungeon. My throat tightens up as fear stirs in me, not for myself, but for her.

Caryan stands and comes down the few steps of the dais, stopping in front of her, that vicious blade still resting against the throne. “Rise,” he commands.

The woman does, barely able to stand she’s trembling so hard. Caryan takes her tiny hand and brings it up to his lips. The woman lets out a slight cry as his teeth sink into the flesh of her wrist. Caryan’s storm-gray eyes shift into a menacing crimson as her blood flows from her into his body. He takes only a sip before he lets her go.

His voice breaks the crushing silence once again. “You wrote those letters to your aunt. You know that all contact with Palisandre is considered a crime warranting an execution. When I took you in as a servant, you were read the rules, and yet you chose to break them. To disobey your king.”

The girl starts to plea heartbreakingly. It looks almost like she’s crying, but no tears roll over her cheeks. She falls to her knees again,her forehead resting on the ground in front of the king’s feet, her webbed fingers touching his boots. “I never meant to disobey the rules, my lord. It’s just… my aunt. She raised me. She’s old, my lord. Please, forgive me. Please.”

I find myself holding my breath until Caryan says, “I will stay the execution this time, but disobey me again and your head will roll. Yet I won’t let this infraction go unpunished. Whip her, fifteen times.”

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