Page 71 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Blair rubs her temples. There is nothing to deny—the deaths of most of the wild ones hang on her shoulders. Yet Blair never regretted it. And never would. But she wonders what fate keeps in stock for her. Whether all those deeds have finally come back to bite her in the ass.

She stops in front of an inconspicuous house, knocks three times loudly, and four times quietly. A blond elf opens the door, his green eyes shining and wide. One of the few men who still live here, if you could call it living. He’s a high elf. She feels the magic in his veins. A high elf who fled his impending execution in Silvander, the capital of the Enchanted Forest, but never made it to the human world and somehow washed up here a few years ago.

She’s the only one who knows about him and his heritage, though, because her talent is sensing strong magic. To all the others, he might just look like any other lesser fae and not the high elf he is.

And he has proven useful in enough ways for Blair to keep his secret.

Though in all these years, she’s never asked what he did to make his kind want to kill him. But then, she doesn’t care. He’s one of the best blacksmiths this world has ever seen. He’s quite good in bed, too, but this time, Blair’s here for a new blade.

“My ruby, I haven’t seen you in a long while,” he drawls, cocking an eyebrow.

She bats her long lashes, smiling innocently. “Sassy. Are you calling me that because of all the gems I bring you? Or because of the color of my hair?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Give me the best you have,” she says more sternly, putting five huge rubies on the desk.

He disappears into an adjacent room, only to return with a sword like she’s only ever seen Caryan carrying. Old, glistening runes are embedded in the shaft, flaring purple as she touches it.

The smith says, “Made from mithral ore and sealed with ancient spells. I called it Heartbreaker, because it’s said to never miss the heart.”

How fitting for me.

She unsheathes it, weighs it in her hand. Light as a feather, but much, much deadlier. “Sweet. I’ll keep it.”

“I’m afraid it will cost you a little more than a few shiny gems this time,” the blacksmith says, crossing his muscled arms in front of his chest, a charming smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Abyss, she doesn’t even know his name, or his age. He could pass as eighteen but might be much older than her. And fuck, his dimples remind her of that human man she’s screwed in that bathroom.

“You’re a pervert,” she retorts dryly. “Short of women these days?”

His lips spread into a cocky grin. “Maybe I just missed you, my ruby.”

“Always a charmer. But first I need something more.”

“More?”

She gestures with one silver claw past the heaps of dried wolfsbane and bowls containing blood moss to a faded map nailed to the wall. It’s taken her several visits to figure out what that bleached, old map showed. Then the penny dropped.

Places of power.

He follows her gaze and his expression darkens.

She says, “I need to open up a portal.”

“You will need more power for this, I’m afraid. Even you, witch. Even at a place of power.”

“Stick to your steel, blacksmith,” she warns. “And give me that map.”

Three witches and a place of power to draw from—where veins of wild magic cross. They would amplify her own. It would have to do. It would have to be enough to open a portal, to bring Sofya, Aurora and her back to the human world. Enough to never return.

She’s been awake for the better part of the night, thinking about what she said to Aurora. About getting them all safely to the human world when she remembered the blacksmith’s map. A fucking epiphany.

When he’s done carefully taking the map off the wall and folding it in a strip of soft pig hide, she says, “Now, run me a bath, because I’m freezing my ass off. And then we’ll see about your other qualities, blacksmith.”

***

Later, she stands in front of the window in his apartment, which occupies the upper floor over his shop. She likes it here—the whole building is always warm thanks to the fire in his forge.

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