Page 67 of Kingdom of the Two Moons
Riven
Riven finds Caryan in the ring in the arena, his powerful upper body naked and sweat-slicked as he dodges relentless, night-misted punches from Arien, one of the few shadow-shifters Riven’s ever caught sight of—they are so rare. Feared for their ability to turn into liquid night without giving themselves away by smell or sound—and their relentless speed—their reflexes are even faster than those of high elves. They are a dangerous, lurking species who, as far as Riven knows, can also breathe underwater like mermaids. Arien is not a creature Riven would trust for a second if he wasn’t blood-sworn to Caryan, yet he has become the best spy Riven’s ever met.
The shadow-shifter launches for another attack, Arien’s lithe body—muscle, covered thick with ornaments, white skin glinting through them as fluorescent as the moon over the waves—shooting forward. His hair, already sticking to his forehand, is the deepest blue, like the coldest part of the sea, the color matching eyes that are trained on Caryan with unrelenting focus.
Seeing Caryan and Arien fight isn’t something one would easily forget. Their motions are an avalanche of blocks and attacks so fast even Riven’s vision has trouble following. Only the mist that permanently envelops the shadow-shifter betrays his moves.
Arien dodges a blow from Caryan before he sidesteps, then vanishes only to reappear to Caryan’s left, his fist already going for Caryan’s face when the arch of a black wing manifests out of nowhere and hits the shadow-shifter right in the face.
He goes down, so slack Riven knows it’s a knockout.
Caryan sneers, his breath still coming slowly. No wonder the elves killed the angels. They are frightening.
At Caryan’s feet, the shadow-shifter comes to, coughing hard but grinning at Caryan as he gets up, wiping blood from his lips. “I didn’t see that coming,” Arien says, true surprise ringing in his voice.
“Me neither,” Riven agrees.
The shadow-shifter turns, still grinning, his teeth covered in blood.
“We’re done, thank you, Arien,” Caryan says.
The shifter nods once before he grabs one of the towels and steps out of the ring. Another step and he’s gone altogether.
In the ring, Caryan spreads his fingers along with his wings.
“I thought you had a long journey,” Riven says, sauntering closer, one hand in his pocket.
“I needed to stretch my legs.”
“Well, clearly more than just your legs.” Riven pauses beside the ring. “Wound a little tight?”
Caryan shoots him a flashing glance. Riven keeps his mocking expression, although he is not the least bit as relaxed as he pretends to be.
They were gone too long. Ten solid days.
“Want to join me for another round?” Caryan asks.
“You know I prefer weapons or magic over hand-on-hand combat anytime. Less chance to get an armpit full of sweat,” Riven sneers.
“You can use your magic,” Caryan offers.
Riven raises his brows. “You’re really up for it, aren’t you? And will you use your skills ?”
“I’ll play fair. Only my body, no magic.”
“Don’t complain when I singe your eyebrows,” Riven says forcefully, shrugging off his shirt .
The corner of Caryan’s lips lifts ever so slightly, but Riven’s unable to say whether it’s to flash his teeth or a hint of humor.
They fight like they mean it. Riven only survives the rounds without a knockout like Arien because he uses the same talent the shadow-shifter displayed—to become shadow, stepping in and out of the darkness.
Riven doesn’t hold back though. He fights with all his anger, his claws, his speed. Caryan lets him work it off, he knows.
It doesn’t spare him from a punch to his jaw so hard he’d have lost all his teeth if he were human. A flash of dark flames springs to life all over his skin, turning Riven briefly into nothing but shadowfire. Only this keeps Caryan from landing a second blow.
Riven pivots, steps into darkness, and lands a flame-laced kick into Caryan’s back.
The angel clenches his teeth, snarling.
“You wanted it,” Riven chides, wiping sweat from his forehead with his arm, challenging Caryan to counter with his magic.
But the angel doesn’t. As with Arien, he shoots out his wings to knock Riven out, but he becomes darkness again, throwing a fist right into Caryan’s face, a move the angel blocks with his lightning-fast reflexes, putting an elbow up between them to deflect Riven’s hand while he lands a blow right into Riven’s face. The impact hurts—revenge for the kick to his back.
Riven barely avoids another similar strike as shadowfire flares up on Caryan’s wings before Caryan can block it with his magic.
For a sliver of a second, the angel with black wings burning with dark fire looks like a god from hell.
Gloriously vengeful.
“Now we’re even,” Riven says, both hands up, palms open, breathing hard, willing his flames out before they can singe the feathers of Caryan’s wings. Not that Riven would allow them to truly harm Caryan, no matter how furious he still is. He’d only let them sizzle a little on the outside; knowing too well how sensitive Caryan’s wings are—he might as well be singeing Caryan’s balls .
Caryan bares his teeth nonetheless, snapping at him, living onyx dancing in his eyes. “You cheated,” he snarls, his tone lethal.
“You said I could use my magic. And you were the one who used his wings, or they would have been off limits,” Riven says quickly between breaths.
Caryan glances at his wings—not a feather has been even slightly singed—then nods in acceptance of Riven’s truce.
Two water bottles appear out of nowhere in their hands—a gift from Caryan—and Riven watches with some satisfaction how Caryan gulps down his as quickly as he does.
“Good to see that I can still make you sweat harder than Arien,” Riven drawls.
Caryan just raises a brow.
“So…” Riven starts again, grabbing a towel and wiping his wet torso with it. “I take it you didn’t get what you were looking for, or I’d have found you screwing one of those gorgeous elves rather than working it off here.”
“Elves you passed the time with, as I’ve heard,” Caryan replies.
Riven shrugs. “One has to pass the time. Turns out being king is not quite as fun as it looks.”
Caryan just says, “I need a bath,” and steps out of the ring and is gone.
Riven follows him, entering Caryan’s private bathroom a split second later, watching Caryan undress fully and slide into the hot water. Caryan’s wings are gone, the angel leaning against the edge of the bath with his head back and his eyes closed.
On a snap of Riven’s fingers, a siren enters, bowing her head. Nodding when Riven tells her to bring two glasses of honeyed wine. She serves them before retreating as quietly as she came.
Caryan doesn’t touch his glass, doesn’t so much as open his eyes once. Riven watches him, trying to make sense of everything Kyrith, Ronin, and that witch have told him.
The way Caryan carried Melody in her arms, shielded her with his wings. It would make sense that he didn’t want to lose the girl who’s the key to the artifacts. Or the key to his death. But the rest doesn’t fit. The way he didn’t leave her side to go looking for that relic, but held her in his arms the whole time, trying to keep her warm while life leaked out of her by the minute.
The way Ronin said Caryan hesitated to give her his blood.
That also makes no sense. Caryan gave his blood to all of them—to all of the people who lived again because of him, who he offered the curse to, and who now inhabit his kingdom. His whole army exists only because Caryan gave his blood to every single one of them, no matter whether they were elf, faun, or any other fae.
Riven might have been able to believe that Caryan was too fine to give his blood to a half-mortal—or to a half-mortal who was Ciellara’s daughter, for that matter—if Caryan hadn’t watched over her the way Ronin and Kyrith said he did.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Riven asks when he grows impatient with the silence. It’s one of the things he has to handle about a true immortal—Caryan’s confounded patience.
Caryan opens his eyes, still black as the sky on a moonless night. “I made a mistake.”
“In what regard?”
Caryan just closes his eyes again.
“What, Caryan? A mistake how—in bringing her to that mountain? Not considering that the mountain she told you about is the cursed holy mountain, and she’s a half-mortal, and that its raw magic would kill her?” Riven can’t hide his temper anymore, his anger.
Caryan meets his eyes over the steaming bath while Riven’s voice echoes from the walls, unusually sharp and loud.
“Or in flying back to the Emerald Forest with her, to Queen Calianthe, so that now everyone in all of Palisandre knows that you have her and that they will hunt for her even harder?”
Caryan stares at him with the stillness of a predator, his face unreadable. The Caryan Riven knew would have lashed him, shown him the ropes. But all he does is answer, “She knows better than that. Or I will burn down her forest.”
Riven shakes his head, then presses, “Why not just sacrifice her for the relic? She could have led you there with your blood in her veins, could have stayed alive long enough for you to retrieve the relic. Is that what you regret? Your mistake—letting her live? Is that what you mean? Or is your main concern that dead she couldn’t lead you to the other two relics?”
“It was a long night, Riven and I am tired,” Caryan says but Riven’s not yet done. Not this time.
“Tired in the sense that you finally decided that you want to die, Caryan? Is this why she is so important? Because if so, letting us know about it would be the least you could do.” Riven bares his teeth, flashing them at Caryan, waiting, daring him to answer. To react.
But all Caryan does is angle his head slightly and look at him.
After a long silence, Caryan asks, “How long have you known that you are in love with her?”
Riven doesn’t know what to say.
Caryan gets up and climbs the stairs out of the bath, turning his back on Riven. “My mistake was believing, no matter what I told you, that I could avoid the inevitable, Riven. But apparently, even I cannot. Stay as long as you like, but then leave. And don’t follow me this time.”
It’s an order Riven feels in his bones. Unable to follow Caryan, all he can do is watch him go.