Page 62 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

He stops, turning back to me.

I swallow before I raise my gaze back to him. “If he doesn’t want my blood—what else does he want from me?”

“I cannot tell you for sure.”

“You said I can trust you.” I don’t know why it matters so much whether I can trust him. But it does. As if a strange, new part of me wishes for nothing more than to trust him. It’s a dangerous line to walk, I know.

He seems to consider this.

“Did he forbid it?” I probe on.

“No. He didn’t, Melody. He wouldn’t do such a thing to me. It’s only that I’m very much in the dark about Caryan’s true motivations myself,” he says after a pause.

“But you’re—you’re his friend.”

The shadow over his features seems to grow even further. Something like pain flickers in his eyes before he looks down to the floor.

He doesn’t say anything else though. He doesn’t need to, because I see everything too clearly in his aura. Pain. Loss. Sadness. Desperation. Anger.

It hits me then. “Is this… is this why you did this? Made the promise, in the woods—to protect me?” My voice comes out strained, while my mind still tries to fully catch up to what that means.Protect me from the others. But also, maybe even more from Caryan himself.

The sad smile that curls the edges of Riven’s lips is confirmation enough. It makes my blood run cold.

“Caryan can be unpredictable. I certainly learned that the hard way.”

An answer that is not an answer at all. I don’t know what tosay.Caryan can be cruel. Is cruel.And Riven has accepted that because he knows no way to stop him.

No other way than death.

I watch how he walks out the door without turning back.

19

Melody

I don’t see Riven for the next week, nor Caryan. Only rarely do I spot the other high lords, Kyrith, and the red-haired, quiet one. Ronin, Nidaw called him. Whenever they walk down the hallways, there’s a sudden tension in the air. Servants lowering their heads, bowing and parting, or falling to a knee, keen not to glance in their direction or draw their eyes. I match them, carefully trying not to stand out in the servants’ crowd, until they pass, carefully trying not to stare at their blood-covered swords, remembering my last encounter with the blond, Kyrith, all too well.

This week, I learn more and more about the structure and the way of things around here. I learn to keep my head down, only to look at someone through the curtain of my long hair. I learn that to look someone directly in the eye at the wrong moment will be understood as a sign of challenge or aggression, especially if they have a higher rank. It seems part of their fae communication, as it does when they pull back their lips to expose their sharp, pointed teeth and hiss at each other.

I get hissed and growled at a lot before I manage this new form of language, glad my round ears seem to save me from serious trouble when I do the wrong thing.

One night, after another dreary day of scrubbing the floor on all fours and polishing tiles and statues, I almost sleepwalk to myroom, looking forward to a hot shower to ease some of the tension in my sore muscles, along with food and my bed.

But Nidaw awaits me when I enter, standing in the middle of my room. “No sleeping tonight. One of the high lords has requested that you serve at the equinox festivities,” she declares, gesturing for me to follow her back out.

We take the familiar route to the baths I’d been washed in after I arrived. Two other servants are already waiting.

“What are the equinox festivities?” I ask while they strip me down and pull me toward the steaming bath as they did on my first night. I don’t resist this time. I’m too tired to mind my nakedness.

Nidaw steps to the edge of the bath. “Two weeks of nightly celebrations.”

I say nothing as the servants grab sponges. I also accept being scrubbed down without protest, even when my skin itches afterwards and feels raw. I’m so exhausted I can barely move anyway.Two weeks.I wonder how I’m going to survive them without collapsing.

My body is stiff and aching, but when I finally step out of the water, I feel strangely restored, as if I’ve slept for a few hours.

“Healing water, from Avandal,” one of the girls explains, reading my face as they towel me dry and then guide me over to the vanity, where Nidaw waits, perched on that velvet stool again.

Only then do I notice the silvery glimmer and glitter all over her dark, ashen skin, her pearlescent hair laced with matching silver filaments.

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