Page 45 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Again,Nidaw’s words cut through my mind, no matter how hard I try to ignore them. I have barely ever lived. I want to see the world, go somewhere where the sun shines on a reliable basis, and where the water isn’t storm gray, but a deep, glistening azure. I made myself a promise, but now I am a slave. All over again. In a world I know nothing about.

A new wave of despair and panic threatens to rise, to swamp me, and bury me underneath. I shove it down and get up.

Quietly, I sneak to the door. It isn’t locked, and I open it slightly. My ears strain to pick up the faintest noise in the corridor before I open it a touch wider. Without a second thought, I slip through.

The hallway is dark, the indirect light that illuminated it before has disappeared. I take a few steps, and wait. Then I start to run, silently and barefoot, figuring I might as well be fast.

Occasionally, I pause in the shade of an alcove. Listening. There are distant noises outside, but not too close. Are there guards? Someone who watches the slave quarters? I guess I’ll find out soon enough. But I discover no one as I venture back through the first atrium.

Footsteps.

Instinctively, I duck behind one of the lush rosemary hedges when someone enters the patio, walking right towards me. My heart stops for a second. Then I force myself to move. On all fours, I crawl along the hedge, reaching the shadows just as a cloaked figure passes, disappearing into the very hallway I just came from.

Shit, that was close.

I don’t allow myself a moment of relief. I don’t stop long enough to think what would have happened if I’d been caught either.

I cross the patio in a few steps before I push open another door. Silver and copper pans gleam in the dark. Metal treacherously clinks in the breeze that comes in along with me. The kitchen. The perfumed smell of herbs hangs heavily in the air as I bolt down the rows of silvery stone that cross the huge room like railway tracks. Briefly, I consider looking for a knife, given what Nidaw said about the cursed fae in town, but quickly discard the idea, remembering how well my stand-off with my makeshift blade in the woods went.

With a last sprint, I cross the remaining yards toward another door at the end. I stop again there, catching my breath. Then I push it open slightly, peeking into a vast room beyond.

Red moonlight falls in through windows that stretch from the floor all the way up to the enormously high ceiling. More sleek, polished stone pillars line the room. The walls are made from white marble fractured by massive golden veins that seem to consist of pure gold.

My eyes flit to the doorway at the other end, leading out onto what looks like a veranda.

Without thinking, I head toward it, cutting across the large hall until I reach the door. It swings open, and soft, featherlike air embraces me.

I make my way toward a marble railing as the déjà vu hits me. Just hours ago, I sprinted for my supposed freedom from that party. I would run again.

I reach the railing, ready to jump over it, only to stop dead at the last moment. The wicked layout of this complex on its hill has confused all my calculations.

There is no meadow… only a gaping abyss opening up in front of me.

14

Riven

Later in the night, a blue-haired nymph rocks up and down on Riven’s body, her stunning green eyes ablaze. Yet Riven finds his mind drifting back to the girl in the dungeon. Melody. The way her eyes shone when he found her in the woods. The way her skin felt when he touched her.

The nymph squeezes her thighs tighter against his hips as she climaxes before she collapses on top of him. When Riven looks up, he spots Caryan walking past through the vast hall where they usually spend their evenings together, drinking and fucking. Neither Ronin nor Kyrith seem to notice, too absorbed in similar activities.

Riven gently pushes the woman off him and gets up. He grabs his clothes and trails Caryan out of the hall and along the corridor to Caryan’s private rooms. He follows Caryan in uninvited and enters. Caryan’s quarters at the top of the Fortress never fail to impress him, with its high walls and a huge open front that looks out over Niavara, the two moons looming over the blue mountain range in the distance, the blood moon casting the peaks into a crimson fire.

Everything is airy and high, with a huge terrace leading out into the night.

It’s clearly been built for creatures with wings. You could spread them out anywhere without tipping something over or having totuck them in tight. Magic seals the windows up here, not glass, allowing Caryan to pass in and out as freely as the wind.

But Riven’s favorite part is the terrace leading out into the balmy night. From here, it is as if you stand directly under the stars.

“If you wanted an audience, you should have asked for one,” Caryan snarls, keeping his back turned to Riven.

But Riven knows if Caryan didn’t want him here, the door would have slammed in his face, or Caryan’s power would have blocked him like a wall.

“And you should have showered first. You smell of seaweed.”

Riven chuckles quietly at Caryan’s remark. All folk of the water—nymphs, mers, and sirens—smell unmistakably of tang and salt, a smell Riven likes and which reminds him of tossing floods and glimmering corals.

Caryan turns to him, his ever-changing eyes shifting between red and some mild blue Riven hardly ever sees on him—he doubts many others have at all.

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