Page 55 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Melody

Riven finds me in my room. He enters, his eyes fastening on me in my soaked dress.

“I want to be alone,” I say, hating that my voice is still shaking slightly.

“What happened?” he asks, too gently. It tells me that I must look like a mess.

“Why would you care?” I snap, and his eyes flare open. I glimpse a wave of fury, immediately smothered by hurt . Why the hell is he hurt? It was he who kissed me last night. He who… He who behaved tonight as if nothing ever happened. He who spent his evening with another woman. Or women, for that matter.

I’d gone back to being a slave, just as I predicted. I knew, yet…

I straighten my shoulders with as much dignity as I can muster. “I thought babysitting was over now that Sarynx is dead. I think you can go.”

“I cannot. I have the order to watch you,” he counters roughly, his eyes straying from me.

I feel a sting in my heart before it sinks. Watching him, all of a sudden I feel extremely tired. Tired of all the rules of this world. Tired of all the unbendable orders. Tired of people trying to murder me, for fuck’s sake. Tired of being controlled, of not being told the truth but only shards and pieces of it. Tired of pity and protection, of my own weakness. Of my own fucking feelings .

“I want to be alone,” I repeat.

“I am not to leave this room,” he retorts unfazed.

I can see that he doesn’t like it at all. It hurts.

Finally, he remembers to veil his aura or cares enough to. Good. Because I’m tired of that too—of reading everything in other people’s auras. I wonder how others go through life when they don’t see everything openly. It must be a relief, not to care for once.

“Very well, then make yourself at home,” I hiss and I wriggle out of my dress right in front of his eyes. I hold his gaze while I do, while the piece of fabric glides over my breasts and down my belly.

Eventually, he averts his gaze.

I hate how my heart aches when he turns away. Whatever he might have told me before, I’m not beautiful enough . Not interesting enough .

I try to shake the image of that pixie woman out of my mind and how his hand glided up and down her painted back.

On a snap of his fingers, a chair appears, and he sits down on it. His gaze only returns to me when I’m fully dressed again in my slave attire. Fitting.

I slump down onto my bed, my body turned away from his as I curl up under the blanket.

“You’re going to leave tomorrow morning.” Riven’s voice drifts through the room.

“What?” I whip my head to him.

His features are grave, his eyes muted, his achingly beautiful face solemn. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks torn, his pale fingers curling around the wooden armrests of the chair as if he’d like to strangle it.

“Caryan’s going to set out with you tomorrow to hunt for the relics.”

“You’re not coming with us?” I ask, despite myself.

He shakes his head only once.

I turn away again so he cannot see the tears rising in my eyes.

***

My heart sinks when I spot Kyrith standing next to Ronin in the corridor to the throne room the next morning. I quickly look away when I hear Caryan striding closer, keeping my head down as I follow them towards the dungeon, then out through a door to the right. There are two cars in a room that looks more like some kind of monster den than a garage, with a black tunnel leading deeper into the bowels of the Fortress. I’m not sure, but I think I catch the scent of carrion wafting over from it. My gaze snaps back to the cars. They’re weird-looking cars, but cars. Black, sleek, monstrous things.

“Demons,” Ronin explains simply, indicating the vehicles.

“Careful, princess, or they’ll try to take a bite out of you,” Kyrith drawls as he passes me. “They might just like your scent a little bit too much.”

If I didn’t know they can’t lie, I would think they were joking.

I ignore him, though, not keen on another encounter with him. I still don’t even dare to look toward Caryan—not after last night—and only briefly glance at Ronin as he opens the car door for me.

I’m glad when Caryan gets in with Kyrith, and Ronin and I take the other car.

We leave the Fortress and the machines—or demons —almost fly over the uneven, stony ground with breathtaking speed, soundless as hawks on a hunt.

I find myself looking out the window, surprised that I’m strangely excited to see more of this world. I should probably be terrified, given my last encounter with the worm and all the possible new horrors waiting for me, but I’m not. Maybe it’s the knowledge that Caryan is here to protect us, or just the power of my curiosity that’s getting the better of me.

I haven’t seen much, not of the human world nor of this one, and suddenly I long to know more, dangerous or not.

The desert seems to stretch out endlessly. After a while, the hard, rocky ground and stones under us disappear altogether and fade into a red and white ocean of sand meandering in waves into the distance. The car under us seems to shift too, now soaring just above the ground rather than moving on wheels. It drifts along the dunes like a ship going with the tide.

I have the window open. Strange, new smells fill my nose, the warm, arid wind ruffles my and Ronin’s hair.

Twice, we pause for a break, only short moments before we go on.

The light eventually shifts into darkness, so I curl up on the huge seat—the interior larger than any car I’ve ever been in and close my eyes.

***

I wake up when we stop. It’s day again, only different. The warm, desert sun has morphed into a silvery light that seems to be reflected by snow-covered mountains rising up far in the distance. When we get out of the cars, I smell the snow of their peaks, the cold arctic and unforgiving like a promise, although it’s still warm. I look around to find the desert has vanished, and we are in a strange land of transition. The orange has ebbed out from under us, giving way to a mirthless gray ground where nothing grows.

A soulless stretch of land, as if it belongs to no one and nothing.

They don’t tell me anything, and I don’t dare to ask, as we leave the cars behind and start to walk. I’m wedged in the middle, Ronin behind me, Caryan leading and Kyrith in front of me, shooting me occasional glances, as if he doesn’t trust me. But his hostility towards me is gone, at least for now. I can see as much in his aura. I guess I should be grateful.

Suddenly, I feel a cool prickle over my whole body, as if I’ve stepped through a curtain of water. And behind it, green grows everywhere, omnipresent and overwhelming. A grassland stretching out so far only the horizon is the limit. There are so many shades of green, I only manage to name a few of them—verdigris, emerald, terre verte, celadon—and others I’ve never seen.

We make our way through the hip-high grass when I freeze in my tracks. A pristine forest with ancient trees appears out of nowhere, towering up right in front of us. I blink. Hells, it wasn’t there seconds ago. The air is now scented with moss and flowers and spicy barks. Huge birds with colorful bills circle above.

We walk straight toward it, yet the closer we get, the more the trees come into focus. They form a kind of wall, the forest a fortress in itself.

I can’t detect a way in.

Caryan strides ahead unperturbed, his dark hair whipping in the wind as he steps up to the towering tree line. My eyes widen as some of the highest, oldest trees start to bend slightly as if they’re bowing to him. I watch spellbound as Caryan stretches out his pale arm, palms open toward those trees like an offering, and a silver flame springs from his hand.

A spark of my magic. My flame. I can feel it even from a distance. I remember how his eyes shone silvery the other night as my magic ran through him and his through me. Something he took from me, I can feel it. I can’t help the sting of betrayal.

“The light of the moon and the stars. We do remember that light from a time where only ageless darkness ruled.” An echoing, eerie voice calls from the forest, booming over the meadow, as if the whole forest is speaking together as one, a sound of power and knowledge thundering over us.

“Then you do remember what vow is bound to that light and bend to it,” Caryan answers, his voice strangely magnified so it, too, echoes over the canopy.

The two massive trees bend further down, their barks creaking. I suck in a sharp breath as their branches become like massive whips, ready to be unleashed.

Caryan doesn’t retreat an inch. Unfazed. Unruffled.

“We cannot say we welcome your sight, angel,” the forest’s voice booms again, shaking so menacingly that all the birds disappear and even the wind falls quiet.

“The sentiment is mutual, yet here we are, and I once again remind you of the vow you once took.”

“Not to you, Lord of Darkness.”

“I am here… and the one who carries the light.” Caryan’s voice has gained an edge.

The forest’s voice sounds once more. “Then tell us, dark angel—are you here as a wanderer of the worlds or as a destroyer of the worlds?”

Destroyer of the worlds. The words reverberate along my body, followed by another rumble of that strange power the forest seems to hold, as if it wants to brush up against Caryan’s own. A threat, I realize. The forest is afraid.

My heart stutters when Caryan says, “That depends entirely on your answer. I demand free passage. Grant me it, and you can rest assured that I mean no harm.”

“Tell us one more thing—what is it that you desire, angel?”

The sound of Caryan’s chuckle runs over my skin like ice-water. An eerie sound, cold and arctic. “Oh, at least one thing jumps to mind.”

One thing. Only then do I remember that fae can’t lie and that this is probably just a clever way to avoid an honest answer. A dark part of me wonders what he’s hiding, what he would have said.

“And will you find it in my forest?” the voice demands.

“I don’t think so. But enough of this. I ask one last time for leave to pass to the Silver Mountains and then back. For me and my party.” Caryan’s voice is somber again and ancient, like the forest itself.

“Your party…” the trees echo. Wind comes up, brushing over us. “Ronin the Witcher and Kyrith, the white mountain lion of Palisandre. You will also be allowed to pass freely if you mean no harm.” This time the threat in the forest’s voice is unmistakable before it dies, only to start anew. “And you—daughter of light and silvery blood, queen of the Kingdom of Two Moons.” I swear the gush of wind turns into a gentle breeze that runs through my hair. “We have long yearned to meet you.”

Queen? Of the Kingdom of the Two Moons —Caryan’s kingdom.

I flinch. That must be a mistake.

Ronin and Kyrith turn to me, genuine surprise and confusion shining on their faces, their gazes darting from me to Caryan. Caryan has turned too, his eyes that gleaming amber as he watches me, and unreadable. But he doesn’t say anything, so I swallow and say quickly, “I’m no queen.”

“Come to me,” is all the forest retorts, and a sudden gust of wind pushes me forward.

I walk closer to the edge, to where Caryan stands, careful not to look at him again. The largest and oldest of the trees bends down, one huge branch dangling closer, as if to reach out. When I stretch out my hand, it brushes ever so gently against it—a rustle of velvety foliage against my skin before the massive tree straightens up again. My heart races.

“Remember through shadows and darkness we grow,” the forest says, “reaching light through the long night.” A final warning.

I gasp as all the trees step aside then, opening a passage between thick columns of silvery bark. I feel Caryan still watching me as he steps forward. I follow after him.

As soon as we enter, the exotic sing-song of birds and frogs envelops us, louder and clearer inside, as if the trees and high canopy contain the jungle’s heart melody. We walk on over plush, soft, mossy ground where breathtaking fluorescent flowers bloom.

Caryan doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the beauty around us, and I can’t shake off the feeling that he’s been here before. He’s old, he said. So old. Angel—destroyer of worlds . The forest was afraid that Caryan had come to harm it.

I watch his strong back under his black shirt, the way he moves so soundlessly and elegantly through the humid thicket. The way the light filters through the leaves and touches his hair, turning it into liquid night.

I tremble as the memory of last night comes crashing through my mind. What he said about my mother. The way he was when he showed me the stars. The sensation of his fingers on my skin, the way they glided up between my legs. His scent and power, engulfing me. Flooding me.

Him, so close.

So unleashed. So… irresistible.

The absurd softness of his magnificent wings. How he shuddered and seemed to hold his breath when I touched them as if I was making him feel that way.

How his and my magic— our magic—danced with each other in the dark.

You will learn to call it on your own.

My magic… I have magic. That thought still feels surreal. I look at my hands, my white skin that shone silver as his magic thrummed along my core, calling it.

I swallow. He and I together—so beautiful it was heartbreaking. Something that was meant to be, almost impossible to stop once it started, terrifying in its force. Ravishing. Devastating.

A cold shudder licks down my spine, vying with the heat that surges through my veins once more, whether I want it or not.

Hells, last night I was so close to giving in. To surrender to it. To this strange lure. Now that I know what it does, it’s even harder to ignore.

I promised to stop. Nothing more. Caryan’s serene words cut through my mind. They should rattle me awake. Scare me.

He’s cruel. He’s dangerous. Destroyer of the worlds, that’s what the forest called him. I’m nothing but a slave to him. Mean nothing to him. I’m a pastime. A tool.

I saw what he did to his lovers. Did so easily.

And yet, that doesn’t prevent me from feeling raw. Feverish and restless.

I let out a breath as something under my skin starts to undulate along my bones. Something that wants out, that wants to be released, to burn and burn and burn, just like that night in Niavara.

I shove it down, down, down, and lock it away.

I let my hair fall into my face while I pray none of their fae senses will detect my shame and arousal. And if they do, hopefully, they’ll blame it on something else.

As if the forest has heard my wish, a gentle breeze comes up from the side, wafting my scent past us, and I murmur a quiet thank you to the kind magic.

When I glance back, I find both Kyrith and Ronin looking around, as if they don’t trust the paradise around us for a second. Their eyes dart from tree to tree as if, behind every one of them, an enemy squats. For once, they’re unusually oblivious to me.

“Is it… dangerous here?” I ask, so quietly I doubt anyone hears.

But Caryan’s ears pick it up, although he’s walking a good five yards ahead. He answers without turning. “For some.”

“Why?”

He pauses then, waiting for me to catch up to him, and I shiver once more when I enter the halo of his scent, his power. Not yet ready for it again.

He steps behind me. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and I ignore the prickle under my skin. The deep timbre of his voice. “Now listen. With all your senses.”

I do.

“Tell me what you hear. What you feel .”

His words brush against that fragile spot in me, but I fight them. Instead, I focus on my surroundings. There’s a rustle to my left, a silent crack as if someone has stepped on undergrowth, then the faintest rhythm of footsteps further up ahead.

“People. Moving,” I whisper. “Hiding.”

“Use all your senses,” he murmurs against my neck. So close. “What do you smell?”

Him. A storm. The scent of midnight and lightning . “Blossoming flowers. Leaves. Wet bark. And mold.”

“ More ,” he whispers just like that night in the throne room. And gods help me, but heat flushes my entire system, pooling in my core. “Imagine pulling back layers and see what comes up.”

I do and—startle. “Something sweet, like fruit. Salt—no, sweat.” I open my eyes and look at him over my shoulder.

He just asks, his clarion eyes on me, “What kind of sweat?”

I try again. “Not elf. More… tart. Smoky maybe, as if they’re si tting close to a fire. And something like a river, wet stones, and algae.”

I’m surprised by what I’ve just said. Maybe it’s utter nonsense, but Caryan looks down at me and says, “Good. That river smell is typical of nymphs and sirens. The campfire smell is dryads. Nymphs would never go close to a fire, neither would sirens, but dryads cook over blue fire. The tartness tells you that they’re tense, so does the salt. They’re excited, sweating.” He looks toward the trees as if he knows that the people behind them can hear every word he’s said.

Then his gaze comes back to me. “You have to train your senses. It can be vital,” is all I get before he walks on, and I have to jog to catch up to him.

“Who are they?”

“The folk of the Emerald Forest. Dryads and fauns, a lot of other creatures too,” he says, his amber eyes trained on the path ahead again, as if he expects a trap somewhere.

Darkness falls suddenly, like a curtain, the sun no longer blinking through the high canopy, right as we reach a small, milky brook, glistening in the twilight.

“We will spend the night here,” Caryan declares.

Kyrith still doesn’t seem to feel comfortable, but Ronin is content enough to sit down with his back against a tree, stretching out his long legs, allowing a sigh to escape from his throat. Only then do I realize that none of them has slept.

My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten a thing in hours. I ignore it and choose a mossy spot to curl up, turning away from the others.