Page 69 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Caryan’s eyes flare in a warning.“My motivations are none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? I’m your right hand. Palisandre is readying its army. Every week we catch more rogues at the border. You know thatsomeonemanaged to slip through the wall of your wards, but we haven’t yet found him. Someone invaded your kingdom, Caryan! And we don’t know what the witches are going to do once they learn you’ve found the girl. And noweveryonehas seen her. So if they don’t know already, they will. It’s going to catalyze recent developments. Everyone will try to get her. And they won’t stop. We’re running out of time. So I’m asking you—what are you waiting for? Why not set out with her now and search for the relics?”

“You seem to have forgotten your place recently,” Caryan snaps, flashing his fangs.

Riven lifts his chin, although Caryan’s voice makes an intrinsic part of him want to lower his head in submission. “I’m asking you as your right hand, Caryan. Household chores as a slave can’t really be the position you had in mind for her. And you can’t just proceed as if there’s no threat.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do—proceed as normal. And now this conversation is over.” Caryan turns on his heel, striding away.

Riven says, “Caryan—please. If you won’t talk to me as your right hand, then at least talk to me as your friend. Please don’t lock me out.”

Caryan pauses at the plea in his voice, turning back to him.

“Please,” Riven pushes, “tell me what you’re really waiting for. Why stall?”

“You said it yourself—someone infiltrated my kingdom. I felt them slipping through holes in the wards. I want to find them first and eliminate the threat.”

“But the longer we wait, the more time we’re giving everyone else to prepare an attack—” Riven counters.

Power rumbles through the room, crawling up the high walls. “Enough of this! I won’t expose her to danger after I searched for her for so long. I won’t have her leave the seclusion of the Fortress. I won’t allow anything to happen to her, do you hear me?”

Riven stills at the unusual rage in Caryan’s voice. He’s never seen Caryan like this before. He nods once and the dark power slowly retreats, pulling back into Caryan.

Caryanisdifferent; it’s not just his imagination. He’s more withdrawn than ever. More on edge than ever.

And it’s not just the rare, light blue in Caryan’s eyes, nor the blazing gold in them when Melody knelt over him, something Riven’s never seen before.

Or what just happened between them in that ballroom—Caryan and that girl, both so absorbed, forgetting the world.Somethingwas going on between them that Riven felt in his blood. Only for Caryan to send her away moments later, using harsh words, as if he wanted to chase her off.

And that Caryan decided to wait, for her protection, instead of setting out for the relics…

“You got your answers, Riven. Now leave me,” Caryan orders, and all Riven can do is obey.

21

Blair

A black, hooded cloak hides Blair’s features from the little people who frequent Akribea’s streets at night. The cold has swept the town empty. Frost is gnawing on windows, icy wind crawling in under doors. Her fingers are already numb from the flight down here.

The ground is muddy and dirty from snow and rain, treacherous ice coats the bridges, her boots soaked and heavy. She pulls the cloak even tighter around herself, not to hide, but against the cold. There’s no reason to hide. Not here. There are only a few witches left anyway, too old to live in Perenilla’s tower and serve. And very few other fae have stayed, despite the threat of being murdered or harvested. Who survived Gatilla’s reign in the first place. The ones who haven’t left are creatures with barely any magic worth slaughtering for.

And anyone who sees her will know better than to utter a word.

Blair looks up and bares her teeth at the sentinel of the collapsed tower rising to her right. The ruins of Windscar, the amethyst stone black in the absence of light, looming over the town like a warning.

Lights are on in only a few of the formerly elegant, now-rotting townhouses as Blair ventures on. Once richly ornamented façades are now crumbling, most of the windows broken or missing altogether, the doors under impressive portals scratched and unhinged, clattering in the wind.

But the worst is the wind itself, which howls through the empty buildings like the lost souls from the Abyss.

Akribea is a ghost town.

As Blair ventures on, she remembers the stories Aurora and Sofya told her when she was still a small child. About what a flourishing metropolis Akribea had been when they were young and came here to study at the great university of witches, open to all races and teaching all subjects. Not only dark magic and methods of harvesting, as it is nowadays.

The streets then were brimming with students and merchants and art shops and markets, beloved by elves and everyone else alike. Aurora’s and Sofya’s stories are so vivid in Blair’s imagination that it’s as if she’d seen it herself. Artists painting and playing instruments and taverns where bards sang lewd songs and Aurora and Sofya danced all night long.

Blair clenches her teeth at the gaping hole in her heart.Music.Dancing.

All fae love music and dancing.Everyoneloves to party and dance and sing. Hells, how she misses it every fucking minute. She can only imagine how it must have been for her mothers, for everyone here, when Gatilla suddenly took over these lands, long before Blair was born, and everything fell into darkness.

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