Page 165 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“A contract, then?” I ask, confused. Not yet sure about their rules.

“A promise. I will stick to it if you fulfill your side.”

50

Melody

Caryan walks back without waiting for my answer. I follow him quietly through the nocturnal lushness. My mind is wild. I don’t know what to think. I will get rid of that bargain on my wrist.

Yet at the same time, there is a hollowness in me, as if everything that just happened—the way he drank my blood, the way he showed me the garden and told me a shard about himself—as if this all has served only one purpose.

Yet, why ask? Why, if he could just force me to? Because he needs three relics, or more, and the bargain on my wrist counts only for one? Freedom. He said we could talk about my freedom.

I follow him back inside. It sends an entirely different kind of fear through me when I notice that we are heading to his private rooms.

The flame-eyed face at the door greets him, then addresses me simply as “Melody” before it closes shut behind us.

I stand there like I did two days ago, strangely lost in the huge rooms, my arms wrapped around myself while Caryan strides toward the kitchen, just as the last time after he saved me from that sand worm.

I quietly go after him, reluctant to enter, nervous to be alone with him as I watch him pouring two drinks over ice. The memory of what happened the last time— all those dark things he said tome— still runs vivid in my blood.Or shall I promise you that there is nowhere in existence you could run that I would not find you. That there is nothing I would not do to save you. That I would rip apart every world, every dream and every nightmare for you. I would even rip apart the hells.

I take my glass wordlessly and down it in one go. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s sharp and burns like a whiskey, numbing my senses.Good.

“I guess I’m nervous,” I say with a shy smile and put the empty glass back down on the counter.

Caryan just keeps watching me in that unnatural way of the fae—barely moving, impossibly patient.

I finally ask, “You never get nervous, right?”

“No,” he says, clearly not knowing where I’m going with it.

I point at my glass. “Can I have one more? Please?”

His gaze says no, but then he puts his glass down and pushes it over to me. I grab it, drinking more.

Eventually, the alcohol shows its effect, and I feel a little bit calmer, bolder. Bold enough to ask one of the many questions that ravage my mind.

Let’s start with the simple one.

“What does Kalleandara’s prophecy say exactly?”

Caryan walks over to the open window, his muscled back turned to me. After a while he answers, “As I said—there is a war coming. And you, with your talent, could change its outcome.”

It’s true. Everly said the same. I can see that in Caryan’s aura too, but that’s not all. And I already know it only has to be trueenough.

“There’s more to it.” I follow him, stopping a little behind him, not daring to get too close. “It says that I will end the blight, right?”

He licks his teeth while he keeps looking up at the stars. “Prophecies say a lot of things. Things I do not necessarily believe in.”

“They say Kalleandara’s the most powerful oracle.”

“She is. That doesn’t make her predictions any more or any less real.”

“But a lot of people believe it does,” I push.

He says nothing.

“Is the blight the war?”

---