Page 29 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Soon my bare soles hurt, stones and thorns digging into my flesh. My lungs ache as if they are on fire. Low branches slap me in the face, leaving scratches on my cheeks and arms, but I barely feel them.

All I can think of is my escape, the tiny window of freedom that’s just opened up. It occurs to me that I have no idea of the terrain. No idea of the property’s layout. I have only the memory of an outline in my head, the land I saw from above from the helicopter. We were heading south. There was a street somewhere.

Still, I have no clue where the hell I am.

But that doesn’t matter. I can make it. I feel it, for the first time in my life—that I will escape for good.

I push deeper and deeper, probe further and further into the thicket of the trees and bushes. I lose my last sense of orientation when darkness enshrouds me so thoroughly I can barely make out my surroundings. It sends me stumbling more often than I’d like.

Just the faintest sound of occasional cars somewhere far in the distance above the rustling of leaves gives me any sense of my location. The road I saw from the helicopter. I must stay away from the road!

I veer sharply to the right. More stones bite into my bare fleshlike nails, but I ignore them. Eventually, the sound of the street grows quieter, and soon all I can hear is my blood rushing in my ears. My own heartbeat, thudding and feverish. The sound of my feet on the ground. My vision is blurred from sweat and rain and exhaustion.

I don’t know how long I’ve been running when I finally sink down to my knees, desperately gasping for air, every inch of me strained, every muscle protesting. The strip of fabric that is my dress is soaked through, clinging to my skin like a layer of ice. Tears well in my eyes so unexpectedly I’m not sure I know where they come from. Whether it is just the rain.

I close my eyes, trying to calm down, trying to calm my ragged breathing and push back the exhaustion a little while longer. I’ve made it this far. I need to go further.

I brush back a sweaty strand of hair, then get up. Only to stop dead in my tracks.

Right before me stands the man from the ballroom. His gaze holds the same, gloomy shine as he looks at me with a cold, calculating expression.

What the hell?

He can’t have run like me. No. There is no trace of exhaustion on his body. Not a drop of sweat. Not a strand of hair out of place. Yet I got far away from the mansion—or have I been running in circles?

For a second, desperation clutches my throat so tight I can’t breathe.

No! No way. I haven’t. Can’t have. He isn’t real.

Again, my sleep-deprived mind is making up strange things.

He is not real.

But then I hear his voice, as real as it can be, melodious and deep as he asks, “Are you trying to run from me?” His words cut through the surreal, sudden silence, as if the forest, too, has stopped for a couple of seconds to listen.

I stare at him, at the eyes that shine through the fallen darkness like frozen violets. Surreal, stunning eyes. For a moment, I don’tunderstand his question. Then the meaning hits me—the latent threat in them—and I instinctively take a step backward.

I jut my chin upward and ask, sounding as unafraid as I can, “Why would I?”

He tilts his head slightly, almost curious at my tone. Clearly not used to it. “I wonder—from whom are you running then, if not from me?”

What a weird question. What a fucking weird conversation.

But I’m arrested by his gaze, drained beyond the point of a breakdown. That’s probably why I answer automatically, “From Lyrian.”

He seems to consider this. Then he glances down to my bare, savaged feet. I seize the moment and sprint off to the right. I will outrun him. I will never turn back. To no one. Real or not real. I run until my lungs hurt more than ever.

A hand grabs my wrist and I’m brutally wrenched backward, caught in a sprint. I scream when my arm twists, and I’m hurled to the ground.

How? I didn’t hear any steps behind me.

Before I can think, I’ve clasped the shard of glass in my palm tighter. Driven by sheer instinct, I lash out, putting all the fluidity and speed I can muster into the movement. The shard catches the moonlight before it slashes into finely woven fabric and skin.

There’s only air, where a split second ago there was this man and his shirt.

Impossible.

I stare, breathing hard.

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