Page 14 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Melody

My bedroom is in a separate wing. We step out into the same hallway we came from, and walk down in the other direction. It ends up in a patio surrounded by sleek, modern marble colonnades, with a fountain in its middle, framed by hip-high bushes of rosemary and lavender. Blooming teardrops of wisteria run along the outside walls, climbing up the modernistic, subtle sandstone facade.

All in all, it looks like a contemporary, tasteful interpretation of an ancient Roman villa, or maybe an occidental palace, where the water provides coolness against the no doubt singeing midday heat. Here, outside, the air is still hot and dry when it is not cooled by the cold stone walls inside, the winds carrying an arid taste as if the place is in a desert.

When I look up, I see a crimson sky with the normal whitish moon and another huge, gleaming, red ball next to it.

I stare until Nidaw tugs at my sleeves. I ask, not moving an inch, “What is that?”

“Those are the two moons.”

“ Two moons?”

Nidaw nods and points with her sinewy arm toward the sky. “Yes. You are in the land of the two moons now. The white one—this is the moon from your world, or rather, a reflection of it. You can only see it in the Two-Moon realm when its image falls through the sea and the ripple within that connects our worlds.”

“And the red one?”

A knowing smile plays around the siren’s narrow lips. “This is the blood moon. Welcome to the lands of the High Lord of Darkness.”

With that declaration, Nidaw tugs harder on my sleeve, and I follow her onward through another corridor and another patio, a smaller one, but, like the first one, fragrant with jasmine and lavender. Finally, we take a small flight of stairs.

“These are the servant and slave quarters. You get up every day at six, and then we will gather in the kitchen to start preparing food. After that, I will give you some more tasks, but we will see about that tomorrow. The kitchen is behind a door accessed through the second patio we crossed. You can hardly miss it.”

Nidaw keeps talking as she opens one of the simple doors in a long corridor, and we enter a similarly simple chamber with a bed in front of a huge window that leads out to the front side of the complex we’re in. From here, I can see that the building lies on a hill in the middle of a white desert. At its foot, there are lights of a city made of buildings with flat roofs. A town.

“Do you live here too?” I ask quietly, before Nidaw can leave me.

The siren stops in the doorway and nods once. “Yes. All the servants live here.”

“But…” I hesitate, not sure whether I should ask. I decide I don’t have much to lose anyway. “What if I want to leave?”

Nidaw’s expression darkens. I feel a lump in my stomach as she shakes her head. “You can’t leave. You are a slave, and slaves are not allowed to leave.”

“And you?” I can’t help my tone, the hurt in it, the sharpness.

She lifts her chin, but says, “I could, but it’s not advisable to go to town, especially not at night.”

“Not even for you?”

She shakes her head again, but her face softens. “A lot of the creatures who decided to follow the Dark Lord—they’re his spawn. They have the curse.”

“You’re here and not cursed, right?” I push her, only then remembering that I don’t see any fangs on her, but rather two rows of sharp-pointed teeth. Anyway, I need to know more. If I want to leave this place, I need to find out as much about it as I can. The sooner, the better.

Nidaw sighs once, as if she isn’t sure she should tell me all of this. Her pale eyes flit to the window, to the glistening town below.

Then she says, very quietly, “No, I am not. But in those realms under the Dark Lord’s control—the fae who’ve been brought back to life—the curse made them wild, wilder than usual, and stronger than they were before they were reincarnated. Especially when they’re still fresh or young . Those the lord reincarnated recently. They need to learn to control the curse, their new thirst for blood. They’re usually controlled by the high lords, but they’re not always around. And without them, they can be unpredictable. There is some measure of anarchy.”

“This is the curse then? The Dark Lord reincarnates the dead, and they grow fangs and have to drink blood afterward?” I ask carefully, not sure I have it right.

Nidaw nods once, her expression grave. Her eyes quickly wander to my neck, as if she can see what the Dark Lord did there. Maybe she can. Maybe the mark is still there. The skin there starts to prickle, and I resist the urge to touch it.

Nidaw nods, too quickly this time, and a little frustrated. “Yes. The Dark Lord—he is a necromancer. Some who live here and drink blood are fallen people. The Dark Lord usually finds them on the battlefield, and offers them the curse. If they accept, they are alive again, but they need to drink blood. And as I said, the high lords can control them, but still, they are not the way they were before. Not always, at least.”

Not when they’re hungry , she seems to imply.

She grabs my chin with her long-clawed fingers splayed on my cheeks. “So whatever you do, girl—never go to town at night, do you hear me? Never! Promise me. Right now.” Her pale, washed-out eyes seem to burn themselves into mine.

“I do. I won’t. I promise,” I say a touch too quickly, remembering that Lyrian said fae can’t lie. But as I do, I wonder whether giving a promise you’re sure to break is considered a lie. And whether Nidaw knows that humans can lie.

But it seems to placate the siren. I exhale when Nidaw lets go of my chin at last. To change the topic I ask, “So there are lesser fae and high lords?”

“No. There are lesser fae, higher fae, and high lords.”

“And… what’s the difference?” I ask carefully, not sure if it is considered rude to ask.

Nidaw squints slightly, licking her sharp teeth, but then says, “Lesser fae are all the folk with a little magic in their veins. Like me. Occasionally, there are some who are born with more magic or special talents, which makes them higher fae. And then there are high lords, the most magically gifted creatures in this world, along with the witches.”

“And who are the high lords here?”

“They’re the king’s inner circle—I assume you met them already. Lord Riven, Lord Kyrith, and Lord Ronin.” As if she’s already said too much, Nidaw turns back toward the door. She pauses after she’s taken a step, obviously struggling with herself. “Try to obey, Melody. Humans here usually don’t live long. Neither do slaves.”

It doesn’t escape me that she’s avoiding my gaze at that. Then she turns on her heel and vanishes into the night.

After that declaration, I sit on the bed at the open window and watch the blood moon and the stars for a long while, absentmindedly rubbing the bite mark on my neck. I’d looked at myself in the tiny mirror over the basin after Nidaw left. There is nothing left of it, no trace, not even a bruise.

The moon looks like it is aflame, encircled by a deep-red halo that tinges all the darkness around it in permanent semi-twilight. Despite my inner terror, I can’t help but marvel at it, can’t deny how beautiful it is. The artist in me wants to paint it. Preserve it. I catch myself wondering when Riven will show up to return the duffle bag he was carrying for me.

He is a high lord. He has fangs, too, so maybe he’s also cursed? Nidaw doesn’t have fangs. He must be.

I look up at the other moon—my moon, the humans’ moon. How pale it looks. And peaceful in comparison. Harmless.

I shudder against all the thoughts in my mind, running wild.

The portal is the sea. The sea right in front of Lyrian’s house. Lyrian was using me to hunt down fae who crossed the gap to the human world. Lyrian himself is some sort of elf—maybe. Maybe he is something else entirely, since everyone here seems to have pointed ears. But then again, does it matter what he is other than a monster?

And I? What am I? A human and a slave. In the fae world. A slave of a vampire lord.

Part of me still believes I’m in some sort of weird dream. That I will wake up and...

find myself right back in my room, stuck with Lyrian and the bloodhounds.

No. No! Anything is better than being back with Lyrian.

Slave.

Humans here usually don’t live long. Neither do slaves.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’d be better off with Lyrian.

I bury my face in my hands, wondering for the thousandth time whether I’ve just gone crazy. Maybe I have, after all. For sure. But what if… not? I pinch the skin on my thigh hard, so hard it is almost unbearable. Part of me waiting to snap out of some very dark dream at last. But nothing happens.

It’s real then. Or I am mad.

Again, Nidaw’s words cut through my mind, no matter how hard I try to ignore them. I have barely ever lived. I want to see the world, go somewhere where the sun shines on a reliable basis, and where the water isn’t storm gray, but a deep, glistening azure. I made myself a promise, but now I am a slave. All over again. In a world I know nothing about .

A new wave of despair and panic threatens to rise, to swamp me, and bury me underneath. I shove it down and get up.

Quietly, I sneak to the door. It isn’t locked, and I open it slightly. My ears strain to pick up the faintest noise in the corridor before I open it a touch wider. Without a second thought, I slip through.

The hallway is dark, the indirect light that illuminated it before has disappeared. I take a few steps, and wait. Then I start to run, silently and barefoot, figuring I might as well be fast.

Occasionally, I pause in the shade of an alcove. Listening. There are distant noises outside, but not too close. Are there guards? Someone who watches the slave quarters? I guess I’ll find out soon enough. But I discover no one as I venture back through the first atrium.

Footsteps.

Instinctively, I duck behind one of the lush rosemary hedges when someone enters the patio, walking right towards me. My heart stops for a second. Then I force myself to move. On all fours, I crawl along the hedge, reaching the shadows just as a cloaked figure passes, disappearing into the very hallway I just came from.

Shit, that was close.

I don’t allow myself a moment of relief. I don’t stop long enough to think what would have happened if I’d been caught either.

I cross the patio in a few steps before I push open another door. Silver and copper pans gleam in the dark. Metal treacherously clinks in the breeze that comes in along with me. The kitchen. The perfumed smell of herbs hangs heavily in the air as I bolt down the rows of silvery stone that cross the huge room like railway tracks. Briefly, I consider looking for a knife, given what Nidaw said about the cursed fae in town, but quickly discard the idea, remembering how well my stand-off with my makeshift blade in the woods went.

With a last sprint, I cross the remaining yards toward another door at the end. I stop again there, catching my breath. Then I push it open slightly, peeking into a vast room beyond .

Red moonlight falls in through windows that stretch from the floor all the way up to the enormously high ceiling. More sleek, polished stone pillars line the room. The walls are made from white marble fractured by massive golden veins that seem to consist of pure gold.

My eyes flit to the doorway at the other end, leading out onto what looks like a veranda.

Without thinking, I head toward it, cutting across the large hall until I reach the door. It swings open, and soft, featherlike air embraces me.

I make my way toward a marble railing as the déjà vu hits me. Just hours ago, I sprinted for my supposed freedom from that party. I would run again.

I reach the railing, ready to jump over it, only to stop dead at the last moment. The wicked layout of this complex on its hill has confused all my calculations.

There is no meadow… only a gaping abyss opening up in front of me.