Page 52 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

He narrows his eyes. “You’re half-fae,” he corrects me.

Half-fae.Again, that term. I don’t know what to say. What that means for me. What that means for my parents. If this is true, one of my parents must have been an elf. The fact that I know so little about any of it hits me hard, but I swallow it down for now.

“Well, whatever. I can lie, you know,” I add viciously, inclining my chin. Something I have over them. But the actual reason I’m giving my trump card away is that I need to know whether breaking my promise to Nidaw would indeed result in something unpleasant.

He angles his head as if he’s seen me in a new light. “My cheeky little pup, so full of surprises. I must confess I’ve never even entertained that possibility.”

I raise my brows. “No? Not even when I told you how good you look?” With that I try to slink past him, but he steps in my way, looking down at me.

“Maybe I was straight-out lying,” I add.

He licks his teeth, tilting his head, obviously annoyed. “You weren’t.”

I just shrug. “Some say vanity is a weakness.”

He says, full teeth flashing, “It’s an indulgence, I grant you. Now tell me that you weren’t lying.” He grabs my wrist so fast I can’t follow. Wrenching me close. His eyes briefly rest on my lips, and it does something to me. The way they rove over my face then.

Keeping my voice light, I offer, “I could. We can make a bargain.”

He bares his teeth at me again and it takes a lot not to recoil. Not that he would let me.

“I hate to repeat myself, but I will for your sake. Bargains are off-limits, Melody. I mean that. Make as many promises as you like since you obviously can lie and it won’t have any consequences for you. But never, ever make a bargain.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m selling my soul, right?” I’m pushing him, I know I am. But I need to know more. If I’m stuck in this world, I must learn as much as I can about it.

He relents. “It is like selling a shard of your soul. You bind a part of you to someone else. You can be forced to do things you do not want to do. Such a contract only dies once its terms are fulfilled, or one party is dead. So believe me when I say, do not. Now, go and get some sleep.”

I notice the pain in his aura and wonder what kind of bargain he’d once struck. But I don’t dare ask.

He lets go of me and steps aside, but then adds like an afterthought, “And Melody—don’t get caught. Do not get yourself into trouble... please.”

I pause at the last word, only to walk away briskly. Too aware that I’ve just turned my back on him and not liking it at all.

But then I stop, halfway, turning back to him. “Youpromisedto protect me.” My words are barely a whisper, but I know he heard every word.

I want to know whether he meant it, in the woods. Whether he indeedmusthold to his promise.

Darkness sweeps over his face, but he dips his elegant chin once. A half-finished nod. “I did. But I can’t always be around. You will find your belongings in your room. I took the liberty of bringing them.”

One look at his boots and I know then. Know that he was the hooded figure who walked through that patio. Not a watchman, but him. A strange, new sensation coils through me at that. A different one.

He came to look after me.

Before he can see the flicker of emotion on my face, I turn and hurry back to my room.

***

I lie on my bed and watch the two moons for a very long time. Despite my exhaustion, sleep won’t come, so eventually I get up and go over to the black duffle bag sitting next to the bed like a foreign object. Like I myself, lost in another world.

I gingerly open it to find some of my old clothes and my paints and brushes, as well as some paper I managed to stuff in there. Everything has miraculously survived the sea water, and I wonder whether Riven put some kind of glamour on it, or whether the sea here just follows different laws. Either way, I’m grateful.

I take them over to my bed. There isn’t enough time to paint, and I don’t have any canvas anyway, so I start to draw Riven’s face.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I wake, a silvery sun gleams on the horizon, the desert land enshrouded by morning mist, and I’m lying curled up next to my drawing.

17

Blair, two years before Gatilla’s death

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