Page 82 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“She’s nothing of the sort, and you know very well why she’s here.”

“The elven relics. How could I forget?” Kyrith snarls bitterly. “But why not use her now, Caryan? Why wait? Why not get her to find themnowif you’re so keen to, with all those spies clambering over each other to get their hands on her too? Why let her work her ass off like a servant? You know exactly why all those spies are coming here.”

Riven stares, surprised to hear Kyrith throwing this in Caryan’s face. Granted, he’s been unwilling to believe that Kyrith, of allpeople, would be astute enough to figure things out. Or that he had the spine to confront Caryan.

“You’re in no position to question my actions.” Caryan’s voice is like slick, solid ice, his eyes gleaming deadlier than ever.

“For fuck’s sake, am I the only one who sees the truth?” Kyrith’s eyes flit to Riven’s before they settle back on Caryan’s. “She can be dangerous, and you know it! But for some reason, you and Riven pretend she isn’t. You mustn’t trust her!”

“She isn’t dangerous, Kyrith.” Riven says because that is what Caryan expects him to say. And no matter what happens on the inside, between them, to the outside they have to stand in unison, like a wall. He is still Caryan’s right hand.

“You mean she is notnow,” Kyrith barks at him before he looks at Caryan. “But we heard what the future holds, Caryan.” He braces himself against the wall, flinching against the pain, but he manages to stand. His gaze is still trained on Caryan, determination burning in his eyes.

Riven winces. Not that he likes Kyrith much, but this can’t end well.

Caryan growls at him, power rippling through all of them. “Don’t you dare strike such a tone with me. Stand down.”

“No! You deemed her mother harmless, and look where it got you, Caryan! She almostkilledyou! You can’t be so blind. You know the prophecy. You know what her daughter will do,cando. She will be your end! To me, that means she’ll do the exact thing her mother didn’t manage—kill you. Do you expect us to stand by and watch?”

Riven feels a crack running through him at that. There is pain shining in Kyrith’s voice, in his face, so much a reflection of Riven’s own that, for a second, it makes him empathize with Kyrith. Makes it hard to stand by and keep a cold face.

But the sentiment dies when Kyrith carries on, pleading, “Kill her, just kill her, Caryan—or let me do it! Please.”

A vicious snarl escapes Riven’s own throat.

Kyrith’s swollen, blood-encrusted eyes snap back toward him, turning into mean slits. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Thatsort of mercy is reckless. What’s wrong with you? You—you two seem to have a soft spot for her. For some fucking reason! Snap her neck and it’s over, Kalleandara’s prophecy gone! Fuck those relics; you’ll win the war, with or without them, and you know it, Caryan!”

“You’re overstepping your markagain, Kyrith. Back down now, and I’ll let you get away with it.” Caryan’s voice is such a low growl that Riven feels the hair on his neck stand up—a final warning Kyrith chooses to ignore.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say youliketo have her here. You don’t treat her like a fucking slave, but like a princess.”

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Riven cuts in.

“Is it?” Kyrith barks toward Riven before his eyes glide back to Caryan. “Don’t pretend we can’t see the way you look at her. Why not make her your whore, huh? We can all tell how badly you want to fuck her. It’s so fucking obvious it—” Kyrith’s voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, and the second part almost sounds like whining when Caryan slams him against the wall once more. Only Caryan’s hand at Kyrith’s collar keeps Kyrith upright. Keeps him from slumping to the ground like dead weight.

“Touch her again, Kyrith, and I’ll flay you alive. Circumvent my commands one more time, and I’ll banish you from my court, throw you to your people and see what they do with you. Do you understand? You’ll spend the night here and think about what you’ve done.”

With that, he lets go of Kyrith’s tunic. Kyrith slumps down like a sack of grain.

Caryan turns on his heel, and Riven, with one last glance toward Kyrith, follows him out. The door closes shut behind them and locks Kyrith in.

Riven and Caryan stand in the quiet hallway for a moment, the mild sounds of the festivities drifting through the open spaces, carried by the wind like ghosts of better times. Such a hard contrast to the violence. Riven looks at Caryan’s knuckles, which are bruised and cracked from the blows he dealt Kyrith. Caryan doesn’t seem tonotice, although they must hurt like hell, even if they will heal fast, especially when he just drank Kyrith’s blood.

Blood laden with strong magic.

Steps sound, and Ronin comes running down the hall, the witcher’s moves fast as lightning. “I brought her to your rooms, my king,” is all Ronin says, following with a shallow bow.

The quiet warrior, discreet as always, doesn’t utter a word or a question about Caryan’s bruises or the heavy scent of Kyrith’s blood all over them.

Caryan just turns away. Riven wants to go after him, to beg him not to go and see Melody while he’s still in this mood. But Ronin’s hand closes around his arm, holding him back. Ronin shakes his head only once.

Riven meets the amber eyes of his friend. The witcher who can feel more than most others, who has the exceptional talent of being at the right place at the right time, to do the right thing at the right moment—a gift from his heritage, no doubt.

It’s an instinct Riven’s learned to trust, so he obeys and lets Caryan go.

25

Blair

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