Page 27 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Riven

Riven finds Kyrith slumped against the wall, his hairline encrusted with blood, his lips caked with dried crimson, his nose broken, sweat slicking his whole body. He barely looks up when the door opens and Riven steps closer to him, avoiding the puddle of dried blood.

Riven holds out a glass bottle of water. Eventually, Kyrith drags his gaze up at him, then squints at the bottle in Riven’s hand.

“Just another fucking thing Caryan took from the human world.”

“They’re good for the environment,” Riven counters with a cold grin.

“Fuck you.”

“Unlike your language, Kyrith. It seems the word fuck is something you brought from them and seem to like quite a lot.”

Kyrith snarls but stops when exposing his fangs obviously hurts him. His healing process is being slowed down by the masses of blood Caryan drank from him.

“Came here to finally kill me, Riven, because Caryan ran out of patience with me?” he grumbles but snatches the bottle from Riven’s hand and downs it in one solid swig.

Riven regards his fingernails in the low light. “Agreed, there is no shame in a capricious murder now and again.”

“Then stop stalling. Burn me but make it quick. Not that you’d ruin one of your manicured nails using your hands for once,” Kyrith spits.

“Actually, I’m here because I took pity on you, but go on and I might change my mind,” Riven says, bringing his wrist to his teeth and cutting a gash before offering it to Kyrith.

Kyrith looks surprised but eventually takes the offer and starts drinking. The effect is instant—his bruises heal and every wound, every crack, every tiny cut, starts to close and is erased within seconds—this rapid healing, faster than their normal fae healing, just another gift from the curse.

“Thank you,” Kyrith grunts eventually, leaning his head back against the wall. “But why?”

“Why what?” Riven asks coolly, watching his own flesh close up before he pulls the sleeve of his black hunting shirt back down.

“Why take pity on me?” Kyrith asks, spitting saliva and blood into a corner.

“Because I know why you did it—for the same reason I do the things I do.”

“You fucking know that she’s a threat. If you love him, if you love any of us, then stop it,” Kyrith hisses.

Riven sighs at the teeth bared in his direction. “For someone who looked so battered a solid minute ago, you’re pretty ungrateful.”

“I’m always straightforward and that’s exactly why you like me.”

“Do I like you?”

“Fuck you!” Kyrith mutters.

Riven sighs again. “Always going in hard with the charm. You know, some diplomacy might have saved your sorry ass, and you might not be sucking blood right now—to put it in your words. Ever thought about that?”

This shuts Kyrith up. The mention of why Kyrith had been dead… before Caryan found him and offered him a second chance. Good. A Kyrith whose blood-fresh magic’s humming might shatter Riven’s nerves.

A moment of unusual silence draws out between them. Riven waits until Kyrith breaks it. “I never regretted it, though—the gift from Caryan, you know? Not once in my life,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

When Riven says nothing, Kyrith looks up to him, his own eyes shaded by darkness. “If I got the chance again, I’d do no different. I’d do the very same again, just to be at Caryan’s side.”

Riven shrugs. “It’s not such a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it? To leave my people, who I fought alongside for centuries. My cadres. My friends.”

“You realized you were fighting for the wrong things, Kyrith. Ultimately, it was a good decision to change sides.”

“Yeah? Will it be when Caryan dies in the end? Will it all be worth it then?”

Riven doesn’t answer. Instead, he sinks down next to Kyrith, leaning his back against the wall, the stone soothingly cold and solid against his shoulders.

Next to him, Kyrith runs a calloused hand through his thick, whitish hair. “He already has enough power. He doesn’t need those fucking elf relics and their ancient magic. With the girl gone, he’d make sure no one else could get them either. We both know that, Riven. We’ve always known that. That’s what I was saying. Why start down that path when he has a choice to turn away? Why not kill her, for fuck’s sake? Or, if he’s suddenly, for some weird reason, turned sentimental, why not hide her away somewhere safe? Why bring her here?”

Riven closes his eyes, suppressing every hint of emotion that pushes up from his own innermost being. He knows too well that Kyrith’s immaculately accurate senses would pick it up immediately. He learned this the hard way when he served Gatilla, and became well versed in hiding his emotions.

He forces his voice to be controlled too, smooth as wet stone, and calm when he says, “Have you ever wondered what happens when Caryan has taken over the world? What happens when he’s reached everything Gatilla made him aspire to?”

“The world will yearn to kneel and offer their necks. I can’t wait to see the day,” Kyrith growls, pride and admiration resonating in every word.

“Maybe it will. But madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Imagine—for just a single moment—imagine an immortal high king.”

Riven barely dares to speak the words. Barely forces them out, but it’s his part in all of this. He will always choose Caryan’s side, always support the decisions his king makes, and if this helps Caryan’s cause, he will gladly play along.

He feels Kyrith studying him in the dark and turns his head to meet his gaze. He continues. “He might indeed go mad. He might grow tired and weary.”

“He wouldn’t. He told us several times that he can’t feel anything. That he has no fucking emotions, because he’s a fucking fallen angel,” Kyrith contradicts, shaking his head, but Riven feels the weight of his words sinking in.

“And that makes it better? Who’ll stay his hand? Caution him?”

“You, Riven. That’s what you do all the time, right? You’re the only one who gets through to him. If he listens to anybody, it’ll be you.”

“And if not, Kyrith? Caryan’s changed. What if he grows so cold that even we can’t get through to him anymore?” Riven pushes on.

Kyrith shakes his head as if he wanted to deny that Riven said the words, rubbing his eyes. His teeth are bared as if in great pain. “You can’t tell me he’ll accept dying because of that,” he growls.

The anger’s not directed toward Riven but toward fate and the prophecy. An anger Riven understands too well. He fights hard not to open up. It would feel so good to share his own worries with someone for once. But it’s his burden to carry, for Caryan’s sake. He’s always done so.

Anything else would be betrayal.

“It’s his choice, Kyrith. And maybe he’s tired already. He’s so old. Only the ancient gods know how long he served Gatilla and what he did before. ”

“I know that,” Kyrith confirms bitterly.

“Maybe this is what Caryan wants. What if she’s the only way he can die? Can you imagine that burden—to have to live forever? Maybe this is why he brought Melody along. Why he keeps her around.”

“He can’t die.” Kyrith’s head jerks up. He glowers at Riven, eyes full of loss and despair. “We can’t allow that!”

“You can’t stop the inevitable, Kyrith,” Riven finds himself saying, realizing he’s repeating the very same words Caryan told him. The very same words he hates so much that just saying them burns a hole in his soul. Seeing his own demons reflected and thrown back at him, laughing in his face. “The wheels of fate are already in motion, and they have been for a long while.”

Riven stands, putting a hand on Kyrith’s broad, strong shoulder.

“It already started that day when Lara almost killed him. When the healer, the elf Meanara at the temple in Avandal, decided to help him instead of letting him die,” Riven explains, and understanding enters Kyrith’s green eyes. “When Lara escaped into the human world and met that human and shortly after bore Melody. A new era dawned then, along with it a new prophecy.”

“We took the first step when we started looking for Lara’s daughter in the human world twenty years ago,” Kyrith says breathlessly, his eyes wide in shock and realization.

Riven nods slowly. “Yes.”

“Caryan always planned to bring the girl here. All those years.”

Riven nods again.

Kyrith stays quiet for once. Then he shakes his head, rubbing his eyes again, head low. “So it’s not just me who thinks he’s always behaved strangely about that girl. That feverish searching, us turning every damn stone in the human world. As if she was an obsession.”

It’s Riven’s turn to say nothing.

Kyrith’s eyes are bloodshot as he mutters, “All of that so he can die?”

“Maybe.”

But Kyrith shakes his head. “Nuh. I don’t believe that’s all. Come on, you saw it too. He wants to fuck her, wanted her at that party. Badly. For a fact, I’ve never seen Caryan like this. And she’s a slave. Why not just take her?”

“We don’t know—”

“I know what I saw, and you know it too. I knew for sure when he broke my nose for mentioning it.”

“She was shaking all over, Kyrith. You smelled her fear, it was everywhere. I’m glad he let her go,” Riven points out, his teeth clenched at the last words.

“Oh, come on. We both know that’s not what I’m talking about. It was fucking crazy what went down between them, with Caryan’s eyes turning that gold. I’ve never seen him like that. And yeah, the girl was afraid, but there was more on her side too. There was some weird shit going on, as if—as if they had some sort of connection beyond my understanding.”

Yes, I saw it too. Felt it. Witnessed it.

He says, “I don’t know what it is exactly that we saw. Felt. Maybe it was indeed that she is his destiny. That she’s the one who will kill him in the end and he knows it. Even you have to admit that this makes a weird relationship.”

Kyrith looks at him for a long moment, that relentless flame dancing in his green eyes; the flame that makes him such a dangerous enemy. Made him a legend on the battlefield, when Kyrith still served the King of Elves. Maybe it’s that Kyrith is too much—too much power, too much loyalty—maybe the truth is Kyrith doesn’t know how to handle himself sometimes.

But Riven sees a kind of gratitude in the warrior’s eyes—gratitude that Riven’s shared a part of that knowledge with him, even if Kyrith would never say so.

“You’ve known all this for a very long while, huh?” Kyrith eventually says with a heavy sigh.

“I have. For twenty-two years, to be precise, when Caryan started searching for her. And believe me, I’d have done anything to change it, but it wasn’t my decision. I couldn’t have stopped him, no matter how much I tried. And ultimately, I deemed it wasn’t my place to step between Caryan and her. It was his decision, to kill her or let her live.”

Kyrith’s whole expression changes into a mask of pain, worse than before as he gets up and gently places his two large hands on Riven’s shoulders. “You could have shared, you know? You could have told us. You didn’t need to carry this burden alone all these years.” His voice is grave, his eyes as clear as a forest in the morning of a summer’s day.

“I made a promise, Kyrith. A promise to Caryan. I gave him my word of honor to serve him to whatever end.”

Kyrith nods. If there’s something Kyrith understands, it’s loyalty. It’s the only currency Kyrith’s ever traded in.

“Besides—” Riven allows some humor to enter his tone, even if it’s forced “—it was actually fun to see you enjoying yourself around those humans. Especially the women.”

“Oh, c’mon. Those trips to the human world were quite dreary,” Kyrith snaps, but a little of the darkness in his face vanishes.

Riven raises a brow.

“Okay, okay—cut me some slack,” Kyrith grunts.

“They loved you. They clung to your lips and other parts.”

“You got me. They aren’t too bad, those humans, I’ll give you that.”

“And what a dancer you are—I didn’t know you could move your hips like that.”

“Enough!” Kyrith growls, letting go of Riven’s shoulders and shaking his head, though he’s smiling to himself now. At the memory. Of the numerous times they hit the mortal clubs, searching every inch for Lyrian or his henchmen.

“No, you were the star of those clubs or discos, or whatever they call those pleasure dens. I think they liked you in black leather.”

Kyrith laughs now, truly laughs, then pats Riven’s shoulder. “You’re a bastard. But yeah, they actually do know how to have fun. Definitely more than our fae women.”

“Maybe their short lives make them daring. ”

“Must be it,” Kyrith grunts his agreement.

Riven gestures to the door.

“I’m afraid I have to sit here some more until our master lets me out,” Kyrith sighs.

“You do realize that everything reacts to Caryan’s wishes, right? That includes opening the door so I could walk in in the first place. Which means I think you’re free to leave. That is, if you let Melody be.”

Kyrith frowns down at the last words. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t touch her again, or Caryan will decorate the ground with my innards. He made that clear.” Kyrith pauses. He runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding on something. “Listen. I know I was an ass. It’s just—I didn’t understand why he brought her here. When I let her get dressed up, it was to provoke him. To bring him to do something. Anything. Maybe get him to chase her off. Or set out to find those relics. I don’t know what he’s waiting for.”

“I admit that I don’t fully understand his motivations either,” Riven says, peering up at the ceiling. “But I do understand why you did what you did, Kyrith. But she’s still a girl, and she doesn’t deserve any of it. She already had a hard time with Lyrian.”

Kyrith’s shoulders slump and he lets out a shuddering breath. “I know. She looks so much like Lara, though. I still remember that bitch and the sword in her hand, cutting right through Caryan like a damn butcher.” He shakes his head, clearing the image.

“We all do. But she is different,” Riven says carefully.

“I know. I felt it too—that light about her,” Kyrith agrees, voice raw. Again, he surprises Riven with his answer. “I won’t be too much of an ass anymore, I promise.”

“Good enough for me. Now come, you need a bath. You reek.”