Page 16 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Blair

Blair sits on the landing platform, legs dangling off the edge, the cold wind soaring up, cutting into her face. To her right, the new mighty Cloudcleaver reaches like a spear, penetrating the clouds.

She’s been sitting here for two hours, trying to get her head straight while she watches her mighty wyvern circle the tower. The beast’s screeches tear through the wild currents and the hungry, moonlight-drenched quiet that’s lurking beneath, her luminous rainbow-body unbattered by the occasional hailstones.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you too,” Blair mutters.

Hells, her wyvern is so beautiful that whenever Blair watches her flying, it takes her breath away and a sentiment close to… tenderness is clefting her heart. Not for the first time Blair thinks how different she looks to all the other wyverns with her unusual iridescent scales, her two white, twirling horns, her rounded snout and a tail that ends in three long whips of silken strands, the three deadly tips shaped and sharp like dagger-blades hidden under their feathery plumes.

A creature made to inspire beauty and awe instead of bloodshed and death.

At least at first glance.

Next to her, the other wyverns, most of them massive beasts with thick, leathery skins and tails tailored to maim and kill, look more like instruments of war. Beautiful and terrifying in a different way.

Blair sighs, flexing her claws. It usually works—coming out here to detangle that mess of her mind and the ridiculous beating organ behind her ribs—but not this time.

Instead, she’s just started shivering from the relentless cold. The wind is so icy it can bite the flesh from your bones. Perenilla owns these lands in the north, but she doesn’t want to waste any magic to make the weather a little kinder, so this stretch of land is merciless, the landscape around Akribea nothing but dead, burned soil, covered by hoarfrost and haunted by snowstorms and blizzards.

Blair aches for the human world.

In the human world, she’d just turn the music louder and dance it off. Or go to a club. Or get her brain fucked out. She grinds her teeth.

There’s nothing worth living for here. No sun. Just rain. Cold, icy rain that might quickly turn into ice.

Abyss, she hates every second of it. So much has changed since her aunt died. And at the same time, nothing has.

She closes her eyes, baring her teeth, the cold biting her lips like a cruel lover.

It’s true what Perenilla said—she did stand beside the carnage. She did nothing while Caryan killed her aunt. Slaughtering her aunt’s seven witches along with her.

Blair’s never thought back on it since the moment she ran out that door and sprinted down that collapsing staircase, escaping sure death through a window.

As if a part of her died with her aunt that night.

Why did Caryan let her go? Because he was too badly hurt to do anything else. He sure as the hells had been in no state to chase a witch on her wyvern through a storm. But no one would care for the full truth, would they? All that matters is that Blair stood apart and watched her aunt being slaughtered.

It would be considered nothing other than treason.

Even now, with the scene playing over and over in her head, Blair doesn’t know why she didn’t act. Didn’t defend her aunt. Her own blood. The woman she owed so much—not love, witches don’t love. But they do feel respect. And gratitude.

Treason—so this is the reason Perenilla keeps her around. Knowing that tiny calamitous detail about her. One word from Perenilla’s mouth and Blair is as good as dead. Since fae can’t lie, it’s enough to just state those fact as facts.

Fuck, how could she not see that coming?

Blair doesn’t turn when she hears the familiar rhythm of Aurora’s steps behind her.

“Are you alright?” her mother asks, resting her hand on Blair’s shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Blair snaps and dismisses her wyvern with a wave of her hand.

“Because you’ve been sitting here since you left the dungeon, and I can smell the blood all over you,” Aurora answers calmly, her white nose already turning red from the biting cold.

Blair clenches her fists against the need to hug Aurora, to feel her body against hers. Soak in her mother’s reassuring warmth. She wants to tell her how much she missed them. How she thought she’d never see them again. Instead, she digs her sharp nails so deep into the palms of her hands that they pierce flesh.

She says as lightly as she can, “You know me—pretty face, dark, badass soul.”

“Come inside with me. Let me see to those wounds, Blair,” Aurora retorts gently, as if she can see right through the act.

“We need to leave soon,” Blair says as if she hasn’t heard the words. She doesn’t deserve to have her wounds healed. She doesn’t deserve any of Aurora’s kindness. She’s drawn them into this mess. She’s doomed them.

“Where?” Aurora asks.

“We need to find that girl I failed to capture in the human world.”

A suicidal mission .

Hells, she can’t allow anything to happen to them, yet Perenilla’s order is clear—Sofya and Aurora must go with her.

“Why only us?” Aurora asks, frowning.

“Because Perenilla doesn’t want to spare more witches and we happen to be the chosen ones,” Blair snarls. She’s just so fucking angry at herself. She needs a way to get Aurora and Sofya out, even if she knows Perenilla plans for them to die along with her. But if they return, Perenilla might let them live, deeming them no longer a threat…

Maybe.

Dark times when all Blair can do is hope.

Aurora looks over her shoulder, then leans in closer. Not that anyone is around, but at this court, you never know. “We can’t, Blair. You can’t be serious. We don’t even know what the prophecy means.”

Blair frowns. She’s never heard her mom speak like that before. She’s always believed both of her mothers fiercely loyal to their queen.

“We do know that the girl has the talent to find the elven relics.”

“But you know what will happen if Perenilla gets her hands on them.” Aurora’s eyes simmer with justified fear.

“I do know,” Blair barks back, her teeth snapping toward her mother.

To her credit, Aurora doesn’t flinch. She holds Blair’s gaze, challenging. “Then we can’t.”

“And what do you suggest? Just say no and ride off into the sunset?” Blair barks, not caring to hide her sarcasm. She needs this anger. Anger is better than the void of sadness that tries to swallow her whole. Better than the fear for Aurora and Sofya that threatens to suffocate her.

“Kill the girl. Kill her straight away. When she’s gone, no one gets the magic. Not Caryan, not Perenilla. It’s lost forever. Eventually. As it always should have been.”

The truth hits Blair, although she can’t say why. She’s killed so many. Men and women alike. It has never mattered to her. But that girl, that woman—Blair owes her a life debt .

That girl, for some reason beyond Blair’s comprehension, cared enough for her to save her. Blair looks back out over the unfertile lands fading into nothingness. “It’s not so bad, you know, the human world. You’re free. Can you imagine how that feels? No one whips you or throws you in a dungeon. No one there to behead you or burn you to cinders either.”

The words get swallowed up by the wind, Blair’s voice so low she hopes Aurora hasn’t heard them.

But Aurora frowns, her amber eyes burning. “That is a deadly thing to say, Blair.”

“It wasn’t me who started it.”

“Killing the girl is one thing, Blair. Perenilla might forgive you one day. She will come around to see that it is better she’s dead than in Caryan’s hands.”

“Bullshit,” Blair snaps. “As if that bitch wouldn’t love to see me burn.”

“Blair, please. Don’t say such things.”

“I know, I know—it’s dangerous, boo-hoo . But what of it? It’s true. I’m over a fucking hundred years old and I have never been free in my life. I’ve been over there often and it’s… it’s different. You would like it, to no longer be shackled by these archaic rules,” Blair says, the words tumbling out of her before she can hinder them. But she wants Aurora to understand. To see that future as a possibility for them too. She doesn’t know how much more time she has with them.

And she could see the three of them so clearly, so beautifully—getting ice cream and manicures together. Doing fancy Sunday brunches in cafés and movie nights in pajamas, one of them grabbing rancid Chinese food on their way home.

It would be easy. Light.

They would be happy.

Aurora just stares at her and Blair blinks back to reality. Aurora, two hundred years older than Blair, is the closest thing to a friend Blair has ever had. To family. Not that they are friends. Witches have no friends. They have no lovers. They sleep with each other. Some do, or with men, but they never love . It is a need, a relief, a satisfaction. A necessity.

Nothing more.

“You know that you would be accused of treason if someone hears you talking like that. Running away is not an option. Besides, it would never work.”

“But what if… what if I can make it work?” Blair asks quietly. Aurora leans in and tucks a strand of Blair’s crimson hair behind her ear. Then she says softly, “Only cowards run. So we won’t. And you’re Gatilla’s heir.”

Blair’s head flies up. “Yeah, I know I am. And so what?”

“A lot of witches still look up to you. Why do you think Perenilla hasn’t yet dared to turn against you?”

“It’s a fucking burden, Aurora. A burden I’m not sure I want to carry. My heritage is something Perenilla has made me pay for every day since she’s been in power.”

“I know, but you must not call it a burden, Blair. You should see it as a chance. You are meant for more. Do not throw that away so lightly.”

They would turn away when they see that their beacon is nothing but a hollow promise. A coward— you’re nothing but a coward. Perenilla’s words struck home. Her aunt made a mistake in making her heir. Blair never had any interest in stepping into her aunt’s shoes, in claiming the throne. A dreamer. That’s what she is.

There is pleading in Aurora’s voice, and the same timid flame of hope shining in her eyes—a flame that refuses to die—that makes Blair focus back on the conversation, makes her swallow her fury, her despair and relent. Makes her say, “You are right.”

She can see Aurora’s delicate shoulders sag with relief as she entwines her icy fingers with Blair’s. But if Blair had a human heart, it would break from what lies ahead of her.

“I’m so proud of you. Come now, Blair. Let me see to your wounds, please.”