Page 78 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

For a second, I glimpse Riven, holding Kyrith by the throat, both surrounded by a wall of dark fire.

I blink, and Kyrith…

Is right before me. Riven’s hand holds nothing but air.

“Get me the fucking whip!” Kyrith growls, and I know I’m not going to survive the whipping. Not me, a half-fae something. Not when Kyrith does it.

“No whip.”

The whole party pauses as a wave of power shakes the room so violently I mistake it for an earthquake. Or thunder. More glasses tingle, tumbling to the ground, plates following.

Not an earthquake, I realize slowly, as the crowd parts, heads lowered, some bowing, others falling on a knee and making obeisance. It’s Caryan who has spoken. He’s appeared out of nowhere behind Kyrith, stepping out of a ripple of purest night. Although he looks calm on the outside, I can see his aura is a black storm.

“Take her to my quarters, Ronin,” Caryan says without taking his eyes off Kyrith, who stands right before me, frozen mid-motion like once in Lyrian’s house.

Everyone’s gathered to look at him, at Kyrith, then at me on the floor, when the red-haired high lord steps in. I feel him lift me up by my shoulders before he takes me by the elbow and gently steers me toward the hallway.

I let him, my head still dazed from the slap. Blood is dripping everywhere on the stone floor, leaving a lurid trail. I’m not sure whether I cut myself on the shards or whether it’s Kyrith’s. I don’t really care.

In the hallway, Ronin’s voice finally startles me. He says, “I don’t need to tell you that, if you fight, the result will be much worse than what Kyrith just did.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve learned that already.”

“Not well enough, it seems,” he replies, gesturing for me to lead the way, as if he doesn’t want to walk behind me. As if I could somehow be the dangerous one.Funny.

I obey, my face throbbing in pain with every step, with every violent beat my heart performs in my chest. Ronin guides me down a corridor I’ve never been to before and finally pauses in front of a huge, double-winged stone door. The head of a creature that is partly dragon, partly lion, with horns and long teeth, is embedded in the wall next to it; an exact replica of the one Nidaw spoke to on my first night here.

Its eyes flicker to life with bluish flames when Ronin stops in front of it.

“I’m bringing the Dark Lord’s slave.”

“You mean the Dark Lord’slady,” the head corrects him.

“The last I heard, she was still his slave,” Ronin snaps at the head.

But the head just replies coolly, “I’m rather rarely mistaken, Lord Ronin,” before the blue fire in its eyes expires and one side of the door swings open as if by an invisible hand.

I enter a huge room, larger than all the others, apart from those where the celebrations are held, the walls so high I almost can’t see the ceiling in the dim light. They are made of the same foreign, dark and gold-veined stone as in the hall, but the floor is different. It’s a dark, matte, ashy wood that looks like velvet and is just as soft under my bare feet. The front of the room is opened, and the warm, dry, still-heated desert wind blows in.

Two other massive, winged stone doors on either side suggest more rooms, but they are closed.

Caryan’s quarters.

I pause in the middle of the room, feeling lost, my arms wrapped tightly around myself, braced against whatever awaits me.

Ronin’s face is hard and his amber eyes cold when I look back at him. He has two swords strapped down his back and is not in an outfit for celebration but for battle—boots and clothing reinforced with leather on knees and elbows. He looks like a warrior, despite the fine features of his face that seem almost feminine. Another glance at his eyes, and I know nothing good is in store for me.

I attacked a high lord. They will whip me. At least. Will Ronin do it? The iciness in his eyes makes me hope not.

He leans against a wall next to a modern, wooden bar, stocked with beautifully cut decanters and liquids that dance in the scarce light, his arms crossed, his gaze trained on me like a weapon.

I keep my head low, but I can still see his aura. Feel it rather. It’s pure pain. A loss so deep it has cut right through him like a ravine, splitting him in half. And anger. The furious red wafts wrap around the core of sadness as if they can hide it from the world, from himself too. Hold him together.

He frowns, as if he is hearing an invisible voice. “You stay here and touch nothing.”

He’s already crossed the room toward the door. It swings open and then shuts me in.

I allow myself to let out a shuddering breath. My face still hurts badly. I don’t want to see how I look. Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them away. It all feels too much like life with Lyrian. The pain, the violence. My helplessness. That I can’t fight it because everyone here is stronger and faster than me.

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