Page 87 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“Why what?” Riven asks coolly, watching his own flesh close up before he pulls the sleeve of his black hunting shirt back down.

“Why take pity on me?” Kyrith asks, spitting saliva and blood into a corner.

“Because I know why you did it—for the same reason I do the things I do.”

“You fucking know that she’s a threat. If you love him, if you love any of us, then stop it,” Kyrith hisses.

Riven sighs at the teeth bared in his direction. “For someone who looked so battered a solid minute ago, you’re pretty ungrateful.”

“I’m always straightforward and that’s exactly why you like me.”

“Do I like you?”

“Fuck you!” Kyrith mutters.

Riven sighs again. “Always going in hard with the charm. You know, some diplomacy might have saved your sorry ass, and you might not be sucking blood right now—to put it in your words. Ever thought about that?”

This shuts Kyrith up. The mention of why Kyrith had been dead… before Caryan found him and offered him a second chance. Good. A Kyrith whose blood-fresh magic’s humming might shatter Riven’s nerves.

A moment of unusual silence draws out between them. Riven waits until Kyrith breaks it. “I never regretted it, though—the giftfrom Caryan, you know? Not once in my life,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

When Riven says nothing, Kyrith looks up to him, his own eyes shaded by darkness. “If I got the chance again, I’d do no different. I’d do the very same again, just to be at Caryan’s side.”

Riven shrugs. “It’s not such a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it? To leave my people, who I fought alongside for centuries. My cadres. My friends.”

“You realized you were fighting for the wrong things, Kyrith. Ultimately, it was a good decision to change sides.”

“Yeah? Will it be when Caryan dies in the end? Will it all be worth it then?”

Riven doesn’t answer. Instead, he sinks down next to Kyrith, leaning his back against the wall, the stone soothingly cold and solid against his shoulders.

Next to him, Kyrith runs a calloused hand through his thick, whitish hair. “He already has enough power. He doesn’t need those fucking elf relics and their ancient magic. With the girl gone, he’d make sure no one else could get them either. We both know that, Riven. We’ve always known that. That’s what I was saying. Why start down that path when he has a choice to turn away? Why not kill her, for fuck’s sake? Or, if he’s suddenly, for some weird reason, turned sentimental, why not hide her away somewhere safe? Why bring her here?”

Riven closes his eyes, suppressing every hint of emotion that pushes up from his own innermost being. He knows too well that Kyrith’s immaculately accurate senses would pick it up immediately. He learned this the hard way when he served Gatilla, and became well versed in hiding his emotions.

He forces his voice to be controlled too, smooth as wet stone, and calm when he says, “Have you ever wondered what happens when Caryan has taken over the world? What happens when he’s reached everything Gatilla made him aspire to?”

“The world will yearn to kneel and offer their necks. I can’t waitto see the day,” Kyrith growls, pride and admiration resonating in every word.

“Maybe it will. But madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Imagine—for just a single moment—imagine an immortal high king.”

Riven barely dares to speak the words. Barely forces them out, but it’s his part in all of this. He will always choose Caryan’s side, always support the decisions his king makes, and if this helps Caryan’s cause, he will gladly play along.

He feels Kyrith studying him in the dark and turns his head to meet his gaze. He continues. “He might indeed go mad. He might grow tired and weary.”

“He wouldn’t. He told us several times that he can’t feel anything. That he has no fucking emotions, because he’s a fucking fallen angel,” Kyrith contradicts, shaking his head, but Riven feels the weight of his words sinking in.

“And that makes it better? Who’ll stay his hand? Caution him?”

“You, Riven. That’s what you do all the time, right? You’re the only one who gets through to him. If he listens to anybody, it’ll be you.”

“And if not, Kyrith? Caryan’s changed. What if he grows so cold that even we can’t get through to him anymore?” Riven pushes on.

Kyrith shakes his head as if he wanted to deny that Riven said the words, rubbing his eyes. His teeth are bared as if in great pain. “You can’t tell me he’ll accept dying because of that,” he growls.

The anger’s not directed toward Riven but toward fate and the prophecy. An anger Riven understands too well. He fights hard not to open up. It would feel so good to share his own worries with someone for once. But it’s his burden to carry, for Caryan’s sake. He’s always done so.

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