Page 105 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

I drop my eyes to my tea, but my cheeks sting, and my heart hammers even faster than before and won’t slow.

Because of you. All ofthisbecause of me? Why?

Because of those Nefarians who tried to kill me. Because I’m the last silver elf. Hells, they got interrogated and flayed because of me. But why? Can I really be so precious? All because I can read forgotten languages?

Her presence imperils us all.

I keep my head low as the sirens start to remove the scraps of clothing from Everly’s deep wounds, applying an ointment that instantly seals the skin shut. Then I glance at Nidaw, who’s taken the girl in her arms and keeps rocking her back and forth on the floor, both of them crying now without shedding tears.

I look away quickly, wishing someone had taken care of my wounds when the bloodhounds hurt me. I wish I had someone—anyone—who cared, the way they do for each other. But I don’t belong here. No, I only make it worse.

To think that this… thatIbrought this upon them. I feel sick to my stomach.

Not to mention what Riven told me last night. He’d been a slave. Forced to kill and serve in Gatilla’s bedroom. Is this what slaves do? Is this why Caryan made me kneel over him at the celebrations?

For a few moments, I feel like I can’t breathe. That the walls are closing in. The room’s suddenly too tight, even though it’s vast. My heartbeat skyrockets. It makes me dizzy, my skin’s breaking out in a cold sweat.

I startle as Nidaw gets up, sending all of us back to our tasks.

“Work is your friend. It makes you forget, so go!” she says as if she knew about the turmoil inside of me.

The punished girl gets to her feet. She’s changed into a fresh set of clothes, and Nidaw shoos all of us out after putting a bucket with water and brushes into our hands as if nothing ever happened.

But it did happen.All would be better if she’d never come here.

33

Blair, two years before Gatilla’s death

It was in the morning hours, while mist and fog still hung heavily over the war tents, the biting scent of the long-smothered fires of the night still stinging Blair’s nose, that she snuck up to Caryan’s tent. Most of the witches had settled to bed by now, except for a few who stood watch. By now, her aunt would be sleeping too.

Caryan always slept alone.

Blair quietly slipped into his tent, but it was empty. His scent had long cooled. He hadn’t been here in a while.

Her ride had cleansed her. Grounded her. She was ready for bed. And yet she was here.

She let out a long sigh before turning on her heel and stepping back outside, where she picked up a shy whiff of his scent and followed its trail.

Riven’s tent. Her stomach tightened. Inside, there was the faintest sound of breathing.

She shouldn’t.

She couldn’t help herself. She brushed back the tent flap.

Caryan was lying on Riven’s bed, and on him, sprawled over his chest—Riven.

Caryan looked up at her, Riven on his chest safe and sound asleep, almost like a child.

“So this is who warms your bed now?” she snapped. Her voice for once bereft of any emotion.

“It’s not like that, Blair.” If anything, Caryan sounded bored.

“No? To me, it looks a lot likethat.”

“I’ll see you later,” was all he said, and not for the first time did Blair long to dig her claws into his flesh until she reached bone.

She didn’t move a muscle.

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