Page 200 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

“Or maybe you made me yours.”

“You’re a monster,” she breathed.

“It takes a monster to destroy a monster.”

Her aunt. Did he mean her aunt? She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want any of this.

She shook her head and finally touched him. She longed for him. Burned for him. Whatever he was—is—she always would.

She stepped closer and whispered against his chest. “When’s a monster not a monster?” He stiffened, but said nothing until she raised her chin to him and breathed, “When you love it.”

63

Riven

Riven’s heart jumps in his chest when his ears pick up the sound of a car traveling far across the desert. He steps out onto the balcony and watches the cloud of dust trailing behind it.

One car. Only one.

No flare of Caryan’s power to announce the king’s return. Something is wrong, he’s felt it over the last few days.

His mouth is dry by the time Ronin and Kyrith, faces grave, enter the throne hall, dragging Blair, Gatilla’s niece, in iron cuffs behind them. Ronin stays with Riven while Kyrith takes the witch to the dungeon. The red-haired witcher tells Riven everything that happened. They suspect that Caryan flew to the Emerald Forest to Queen Calianthe as soon as the snow stopped because Melody had fallen into a strange state of nightmares. This was three days ago. They haven’t heard anything since.

“Calianthe hates Caryan. She might—” Riven starts.

Ronin grabs Riven’s shoulder as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Caryan wouldn’t have taken Melody there if he thought she would.”

“You can’t know that,” Riven snarls, too agitated to rein in his temper.

Ronin regards him, his hazel eyes clarion and his voice that soothing, ever-calm melody. “I do. I’ve never seen Caryan like thatbefore. He carried her in his arms, Riven, the whole time, as soon as we set foot on the holy mountain. Melody was slowly dying from what we thought was just the cold. She couldn’t stay, so he shielded her with his wings. Caryan held her the whole time, not once leaving her side. He left with her as soon as the storm was over, not once looking for the relic.”

Riven watches Ronin’s face closely; the witcher is obviously as unable to make sense of it as Riven himself. Ronin also tells him about Blair, who tried to kill Melody, but, in the end, for some reason they haven’t yet learned, decided against it.

Eventually, Ronin mentions what Melody did when Caryan wanted to kill the witch—that she threatened to jump from a cliff—her threat based on the very knowledge Riven shared with her on her first night here, not thinking she would ever use it against Caryan.

Damn,this girl.

When Ronin has finished, Riven nods, thanking his friend and mumbling an excuse to leave before Kyrith comes back from the dungeon. He hasn’t got the stomach to deal with Kyrith, who, according to Ronin, has been raging on and on all the way back here.

***

His private quarters are calm, so unsettlingly calm. Riven walks over to the marble bar and pours himself a glass of raspberry wine before slumping down on his bed, closing his eyes to the scent of Melody that still hangs in the sheets.

She almost died.

Caryan almost let her die.

And now none of them knows where in the Abyss’s name Caryan has gone. They are probably lost in the Emerald Forest, at the mercy of Queen Calianthe, famous for telling her nymphs and dryads to greet every stranger with an arrow to the heart before asking any questions… and never to take prisoners.

Caryan could easily raze the Enchanted Forest to the ground, that’s not the problem. The problem is that there’s no way he could protect Melody while he did it.

Riven sits up, eyes wide, a snarl coming from his throat as he hurls the glass against the wall. Shards rain down and ruby liquid scatters, the drops as red and thick as blood, staining the sofa below. He should never have let Caryan go alone with her. He should have stood up to him.

He gets up and walks out, striding straight to the dungeon.

He finds the witch sitting with her head low, leaning against the wall. Now, with her fire-hair bleached like old bone and her shredded, bloodencrusted clothes, she looks more like a noon wraith, safe for those menacing silver nails glowing in the dark.

“My, my... isn’t it the beautiful elven prince, Riven? Or should I say the arrogant prick?” she asks without looking up, having either sensed or smelled him since he’s stepped soundlessly out of the dark. “Tell me—did Caryan leave you here out of fear you might break a manicured nail, or are you just the most useless of his lapdogs?”

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