Page 50 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“Kill the girl. Kill her straight away. When she’s gone, no one gets the magic. Not Caryan, not Perenilla. It’s lost forever. Eventually. As it always should have been.”

The truth hits Blair, although she can’t say why. She’s killed so many. Men and women alike. It has never mattered to her. But that girl, that woman—Blair owes her a life debt.

That girl, for some reason beyond Blair’s comprehension,caredenough for her to save her. Blair looks back out over the unfertile lands fading into nothingness. “It’s not so bad, you know, the human world. You’re free. Can you imagine how that feels? No one whips you or throws you in a dungeon. No one there to behead you or burn you to cinders either.”

The words get swallowed up by the wind, Blair’s voice so low she hopes Aurora hasn’t heard them.

But Aurora frowns, her amber eyes burning. “That is a deadly thing to say, Blair.”

“It wasn’t me who started it.”

“Killing the girl is one thing, Blair. Perenilla might forgive you one day. She will come around to see that it is better she’s dead than in Caryan’s hands.”

“Bullshit,” Blair snaps. “As if that bitch wouldn’t love to see me burn.”

“Blair, please. Don’t say such things.”

“I know, I know—it’sdangerous, boo-hoo. But what of it? It’s true. I’m over a fucking hundred years old and I have never been free in my life. I’ve been over there often and it’s… it’s different. You would like it, to no longer be shackled by these archaic rules,” Blair says, the words tumbling out of her before she can hinder them. But she wants Aurora to understand. To see that future as a possibility for them too. She doesn’t know how much more time she has with them.

And she could see the three of them so clearly, so beautifully—getting ice cream and manicures together. Doing fancy Sunday brunches in cafés and movie nights in pajamas, one of them grabbing rancid Chinese food on their way home.

It would be easy. Light.

They would be happy.

Aurora just stares at her and Blair blinks back to reality. Aurora, two hundred years older than Blair, is the closest thing to a friend Blair has ever had. To family. Not that they are friends. Witches have no friends. They have no lovers. They sleep with each other.Some do, or with men, but they neverlove. It is a need, a relief, a satisfaction. A necessity.

Nothing more.

“You know that you would be accused of treason if someone hears you talking like that. Running away is not an option. Besides, it would never work.”

“But what if… what if I can make it work?” Blair asks quietly. Aurora leans in and tucks a strand of Blair’s crimson hair behind her ear. Then she says softly, “Only cowards run. So we won’t. And you’re Gatilla’s heir.”

Blair’s head flies up. “Yeah, I know I am. And so what?”

“A lot of witches still look up to you. Why do you think Perenilla hasn’t yet dared to turn against you?”

“It’s a fucking burden, Aurora. A burden I’m not sure I want to carry. My heritage is something Perenilla has made me pay for every day since she’s been in power.”

“I know, but you must not call it a burden, Blair. You should see it as a chance. You are meant for more. Do not throw that away so lightly.”

They would turn away when they see that their beacon is nothing but a hollow promise. A coward—you’re nothing but a coward.Perenilla’s words struck home. Her aunt made a mistake in making her heir. Blair never had any interest in stepping into her aunt’s shoes, in claiming the throne. A dreamer. That’s what she is.

There is pleading in Aurora’s voice, and the same timid flame of hope shining in her eyes—a flame that refuses to die—that makes Blair focus back on the conversation, makes her swallow her fury, her despair and relent. Makes her say, “You are right.”

She can see Aurora’s delicate shoulders sag with relief as she entwines her icy fingers with Blair’s. But if Blair had a human heart, it would break from what lies ahead of her.

“I’m so proud of you. Come now, Blair. Let me see to your wounds, please.”

16

Melody

“Please don’t jump. Not even the Dark Lord himself would be able to breathe life into a rather unsavory mess of bones and flesh.”

I swivel on my heels toward the familiar voice, only to meet violet eyes, sparkling with dark amusement.

Riven stands there in the shadow in front of one of the large windows, clad in an elegant black tunic, one hand in his pocket, a whiskey tumbler in the other. “It’s good to see you woke up so quickly. Most sleep much longer after their first contact with magic,” he says. “Now you certainly want to tell me what exactly it is that you’re doinghereat this late hour?”

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