Page 24 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Caryan. What in the hells? The angel lifted his chin the same moment she realized her mistake. Icy claws raked down her spine and her heart started to thunder with real panic.

“My commander. You will address me as my commander, witch,” Caryan corrected, his tone like a lash of lightning.

Even the seven lifted their heads to look at the angel, vulpine smiles on their faces, their eyes hungry.

So they did respect the angel enough to acknowledge him.Fabulous.

Blair made herself hold his stare, longer than was wise for anyone. But she’d messed up. She needed to clean up her mistake. There was no backing out of this now. They had to keep up appearances.

She lifted her chin and sneered. “You are not my commander, angel.”

Her aunt flitted her blazing eyes to Blair’s, and Blair knew it was a test.

She added, baring her teeth, letting her eyes shine with outright disgust. “We witches bow to no one except our queen, angel.”

“On your knees, witch,” Caryan purred, a smile soft as silk on his lips.

“Make me,” Blair growled back, but in truth, she was holding her breath. No one ever outrightly challenged the angel and walked away from it.

A moment later, black magic filled the room, her own rising in answer.

“Enough of these antics. You will address him as your commander from now on, Blair.” Her aunt’s sharp voice cut through the room, her command leashing Caryan’s power until it collapsed.

Commander. This was something new, yet Blair knew better than to question her aunt’s decisions. She had barely survived this mistake.

She schooled her face once again into a mask of indifference as Gatilla waved an impatient, heavy-ringed hand, and ordered, “Report.”

Caryan’s eyes betrayed nothing as Gatilla’s silver nails slashed over Blair’s cheeks when she’d finished, leaving deep, violent cuts all the way down to her collarbones, even cutting through her riding leathers.

“A witch. You lost a witch. A blood price must be paid. Every witch of the red coven is going to receive ten lashes.”

“It was my mistake, my queen—and mine alone,” Blair said, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“Is that so? How noble,” her aunt mocked, her poison-green eyes flaring.

Blair would pay. She would do anything to spare Sofya, Aurora, and the others. “I chose to fly through the gap. I will take the punishment.”

Her aunt sat down and leaned back in her chair, her long, still-bloody claws clicking on the table. “Negligence breeds indolence. And indolence breeds madness,” her aunt recited. Words that defined her aunt’s whole, bloody reign. Words Blair had grown up with.

Blair dipped her chin in a nod. “I understand, my queen. Please let me atone for my deeds.”

“Very well. Thirty lashes then,” her aunt ordered, her cruel eyes taking in the cuts in Blair’s flesh with a dark kind of satisfaction.

Thirty, not the average twenty. Blair knew then that this was more a retribution for her previous insolence—for addressing Caryan the way she had—than mere punishment.

Her aunt turned to Caryan. “Go, get the pale elf. He will administer the punishment.”

She got up and strode back to Blair. Blair didn’t flinch as she lifted her hand again and patted Blair’s unharmed cheek.

“After all, pain must be delivered by a measured, loving hand to truly take effect. Mine would be the wrong one.”

Her aunt smiled as the door swung open, and Caryan returned with Riven, the pale elf of Palisandre, following on his heels. As always, the similarity to Caryan struck Blair. They could be brothers, twins even, if it wasn’t for the deep despair etched into Riven’s beautiful face and the bottomless sorrow in his remarkably lilac eyes. An elven prince Gatilla had enslaved and in whose suffering she seemed to take special delight. Such soulless, dead eyes.

“Well, elven prince,” Blair’s aunt crooned. “Take my niece up to the platform and flog her. And when you and she are done, you will bring her back down. We have matters to discuss concerning the war.”

Blair’s outright confusion must have shown on her face, but she no longer cared to hide it. Caryan’s dark eyes told her nothing, and her aunt didn’t even bother to look at her again. She blurted, “What war?”

“The war against Palisandre. Caryan will be your general, Blair. You will do as he says. Take a night to rest. You will gather your coven. Tomorrow night, we are going to paint their cities red.”

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