Page 14 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Never show fear. Never cry in front of him.

I force myself to look him in the eye. In those surreal pale-blue eyes in his skull-like face, his skin like old paper.

“I told you what would happen if you disappointed me again, and yet you did. I told you I would consider giving you to Hunter and Kayne, let them make a woman out of you.”

I ignore Kayne’s greedy leer at this remark, ignore the sickness roiling in my bones at the sheer thought.

I remind myself that I know all of this too. The pain, the punishment, the threats.

I remain as calm astheytrained me to stay—Kayne and Hunter, who trained me to undergo cross-examination and to fight because Lyrian told them to.

I say, “Then do it. I’ve listened to your threats over and over. You’ve threatened to hand me over to them since I was thirteen. Maybe it’s time to make good on that promise.”

Heshowed me—drummed into me—not to show fear. Lyrian himself taught me how to lie, even under extreme pressure. Taught me to never show any weakness.

His eyes narrow and he raises his hand. At that, Kayne steps forward and backhands me so hard my head snaps to the side. Coppery blood fills my mouth, dripping over my chin.

This is also routine. They have their ways of hitting me so they never break my bones or shatter my teeth—or at least, it’s never happened so far.

I blink against the onslaught of pain. The dizziness. Then I lift my head toward Lyrian and spit blood onto his silken tunic. “You don’t even have the guts to hit me yourself. Come on, do it. Just once. Or are you not man enough?” My voice comes out dead. I glower at him, dare him to do it.

He looks at me, and for a brief second, it appears as if he’s truly considering it. But instead, he just smooths down his vest as if the stain isn’t there. “You’ll regret that,” is all he says. “Now I’ll leave you to your punishment as the pathetic creature you are.”

I watch him leave. The door closes behind him, and only Kayne stays with me. For another bizarre second, I fear that this time, Lyrian will indeed make good on his threat. But Kayne just looks at me for a while before he unchains me.

Then he also leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving me in total darkness once more.

4

Blair

The iron-tipped whip digs deep into Blair’s skin, tearing the wounds that already gape there even wider. The metal clashes with her magic as it hits her blood, blocking it. At least for a while. Blair grunts, clenching her teeth so hard she wonders why they don’t turn into powder.

But no fucking way will she scream. No fucking way will she give Perenilla the satisfaction. This woman is so much like her aunt.

Blair looks up to meet Sofya’s pained stare, then dips her chin to a silent nod. Daring her to swing the whip another time.Do it. Get it over with. Or Perenilla will delight in your pain too.But Sofya looks back at her blankly, her hand not moving. Her long, whitish-blonde hair dancing in the cold wind.

Blair turns her head to see Aurora, the breathtakingly beautiful, dark-haired witch, between the other witches. Her face is a mask of agony so deep Blair feels a dark flame in her jumping to life. The face she thought she’d never see again. She’s never met her natural mother—she died giving birth to her—but Aurora has always taken her place. Aurora and Sofya, her two mothers. To see Aurora in so much pain—pain caused by Perenilla, who is forcing Sofya to whip her…

It makes Blair get back to her feet, a crazy grin plastered on her face. “Come on, do it! Do it for me!” she barks at Sofya, trying hardnot to sway from the blood loss as she holds her mother’s blue stare.

Don’t give her the satisfaction.

Sofya scrunches up her perfect face before she brings the whip down one more time.

The crack reverberates from the high mountains around them like an avalanche.

And again.

And again.

Blair doesn’t look once at Perenilla, who’s following the whole scenario from the stone throne four witches have carried up from the throne room to the landing platform. The spiral tower, Cloudcleaver, made of polished onyx, reaches further up into the sky to her right, indeed scratching the clouds.

Taller than Gatilla’s Windscar ever was.

The huge, newly built tower also has an even bigger reservoir in its base. Cavern-like halls, deeply embedded in the stone the tower was built on. The new reservoir is the biggest storage unit for magic the fae world has ever seen. Brutally harvested magic for the witches to draw from, amplifying their inherent power.

“You disappointed me, Blair Alaric, oh, heir of your great aunt Gatilla,” Perenilla speaks up when it’s over, her voice ringing over the soaring wind. Mockery drenches every word.

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