Page 25 of Kingdom of the Two Moons
Riven
A cracking sound, so hard it almost shakes the thick walls of the training rooms. Followed by a bone-grinding growl from Caryan’s throat. Even Riven startles at the brute force with which Caryan has driven Kyrith into the wall, the stone giving way and fracturing under Kyrith’s body.
Caryan’s fangs are only slivers away from Kyrith’s throat, pausing a second before he sinks them into his flesh. Brutal, without mercy, as if Caryan wants to rip it out.
Kyrith’s face is a mask of pain, but he doesn’t make any sound. Doesn’t fight it until Caryan eventually lets go of him, but not without grabbing Kyrith’s throat again, along with the wound there, and hurling him across the room into the opposite wall. Kyrith collapses on the floor like a mass of dead flesh.
Riven stares at his friend. It’s time that Caryan disciplined Kyrith, but he’s never seen Caryan this angry. He’s even taken the damper off his magic, and the power in the room is flaring so thick it’s almost suffocating.
For the dark kings of the Abyss’s sake, it has no beginning and no end. It takes all of Riven’s own magic to move against it, not to be crushed by it like a ship buried under the weight of the ocean.
Caryan strides over toward Kyrith, who’s still lying curled on the floor, every visible part of him bleeding. Kyrith lifts his head, blood dripping over his chin, looking up at Caryan like a dog at his master, pain shining on his face so bright and clear it’s gut-wrenching.
But Riven knows it’s not the physical pain. Kyrith’s a hard bastard. He can handle shattered bones. It’s the fact that he has upset Caryan so much.
Riven almost feels pity. Almost, if the thought of Melody on the ground doesn’t make him want to send another kick into Kyrith’s already cracked ribs.
Caryan wipes the blood off his chin with his sleeve before he says, calmer now, “I know you hate her because she looks like her mother, Kyrith. But you can’t punish her for that.”
“I treated her just like we treat slaves. She dropped and spilled everything. A slap was the least—”
“First you dare to speak to me like that in front of others. Now you dare to lie to my face. You ran into her deliberately, Kyrith. Do you think I can’t see it in your blood? Do not tempt me.” Caryan’s voice cuts through the air like a knife.
Riven isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees Kyrith blush under all his cuts and bruises. Kyrith opens his mouth and, briefly, Riven expects him to apologize.
But instead, Kyrith straightens up as far as his broken bones allow. He stares right into Caryan’s face, a challenge bristling in his own forest-green eyes. “Tell me why, Caryan? Tell me why you brought her here! She will be trouble. She already is.”
“She’s nothing of the sort, and you know very well why she’s here.”
“The elven relics. How could I forget?” Kyrith snarls bitterly. “But why not use her now, Caryan? Why wait? Why not get her to find them now if you’re so keen to, with all those spies clambering over each other to get their hands on her too? Why let her work her ass off like a servant? You know exactly why all those spies are coming here.”
Riven stares, surprised to hear Kyrith throwing this in Caryan’s face. Granted, he’s been unwilling to believe that Kyrith, of all people, would be astute enough to figure things out. Or that he had the spine to confront Caryan.
“You’re in no position to question my actions.” Caryan’s voice is like slick, solid ice, his eyes gleaming deadlier than ever.
“For fuck’s sake, am I the only one who sees the truth?” Kyrith’s eyes flit to Riven’s before they settle back on Caryan’s. “She can be dangerous, and you know it! But for some reason, you and Riven pretend she isn’t. You mustn’t trust her!”
“She isn’t dangerous, Kyrith.” Riven says because that is what Caryan expects him to say. And no matter what happens on the inside, between them, to the outside they have to stand in unison, like a wall. He is still Caryan’s right hand.
“You mean she is not now ,” Kyrith barks at him before he looks at Caryan. “But we heard what the future holds, Caryan.” He braces himself against the wall, flinching against the pain, but he manages to stand. His gaze is still trained on Caryan, determination burning in his eyes.
Riven winces. Not that he likes Kyrith much, but this can’t end well.
Caryan growls at him, power rippling through all of them. “Don’t you dare strike such a tone with me. Stand down.”
“No! You deemed her mother harmless, and look where it got you, Caryan! She almost killed you! You can’t be so blind. You know the prophecy. You know what her daughter will do, can do. She will be your end! To me, that means she’ll do the exact thing her mother didn’t manage—kill you. Do you expect us to stand by and watch?”
Riven feels a crack running through him at that. There is pain shining in Kyrith’s voice, in his face, so much a reflection of Riven’s own that, for a second, it makes him empathize with Kyrith. Makes it hard to stand by and keep a cold face.
But the sentiment dies when Kyrith carries on, pleading, “Kill her, just kill her, Caryan—or let me do it! Please.”
A vicious snarl escapes Riven’s own throat.
Kyrith’s swollen, blood-encrusted eyes snap back toward him, turning into mean slits. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! That sort of mercy is reckless. What’s wrong with you? You—you two seem to have a soft spot for her. For some fucking reason! Snap her neck and it’s over, Kalleandara’s prophecy gone! Fuck those relics; you’ll win the war, with or without them, and you know it, Caryan!”
“You’re overstepping your mark again , Kyrith. Back down now, and I’ll let you get away with it.” Caryan’s voice is such a low growl that Riven feels the hair on his neck stand up—a final warning Kyrith chooses to ignore.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like to have her here. You don’t treat her like a fucking slave, but like a princess.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Riven cuts in.
“Is it?” Kyrith barks toward Riven before his eyes glide back to Caryan. “Don’t pretend we can’t see the way you look at her. Why not make her your whore, huh? We can all tell how badly you want to fuck her. It’s so fucking obvious it—” Kyrith’s voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, and the second part almost sounds like whining when Caryan slams him against the wall once more. Only Caryan’s hand at Kyrith’s collar keeps Kyrith upright. Keeps him from slumping to the ground like dead weight.
“Touch her again, Kyrith, and I’ll flay you alive. Circumvent my commands one more time, and I’ll banish you from my court, throw you to your people and see what they do with you. Do you understand? You’ll spend the night here and think about what you’ve done.”
With that, he lets go of Kyrith’s tunic. Kyrith slumps down like a sack of grain.
Caryan turns on his heel, and Riven, with one last glance toward Kyrith, follows him out. The door closes shut behind them and locks Kyrith in.
Riven and Caryan stand in the quiet hallway for a moment, the mild sounds of the festivities drifting through the open spaces, carried by the wind like ghosts of better times. Such a hard contrast to the violence. Riven looks at Caryan’s knuckles, which are bruised and cracked from the blows he dealt Kyrith. Caryan doesn’t seem to notice, although they must hurt like hell, even if they will heal fast, especially when he just drank Kyrith’s blood.
Blood laden with strong magic.
Steps sound, and Ronin comes running down the hall, the witcher’s moves fast as lightning. “I brought her to your rooms, my king,” is all Ronin says, following with a shallow bow.
The quiet warrior, discreet as always, doesn’t utter a word or a question about Caryan’s bruises or the heavy scent of Kyrith’s blood all over them.
Caryan just turns away. Riven wants to go after him, to beg him not to go and see Melody while he’s still in this mood. But Ronin’s hand closes around his arm, holding him back. Ronin shakes his head only once.
Riven meets the amber eyes of his friend. The witcher who can feel more than most others, who has the exceptional talent of being at the right place at the right time, to do the right thing at the right moment—a gift from his heritage, no doubt.
It’s an instinct Riven’s learned to trust, so he obeys and lets Caryan go.