Page 68 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Melody

The next day, a knock at the door wakes me when the sun is already up.

Nidaw enters, her frustration giving way to worry when she spots me still in bed.

“I’m sorry, I must have overslept,” I say, quickly wriggling out of the mess of sweat-soaked sheets and getting up.

Nidaw’s eyes rest on the wall I was painting the whole night.

Caryan with golden eyes.

“You’re very good at that, you know,” Nidaw says while I brush my teeth.

I say nothing, spit, wash my face, and follow Nidaw outside, deciding the shower has to wait. My hair’s a mess and I try to tame it with my fingers while I walk to the kitchen.

The day unfolds as if I was never gone. Except the tasks are harder. There is more scrubbing needed than ever, although the floors look clean, but I don’t question my orders. There are still occasional visions of Caryan’s past; the sudden hush of whispers or laughter or screams, but every time I look up, there’s no one around.

While I work the brush over the tiles, my mind wanders back to all the images I’ve seen.

All that Caryan did.

Then my mind drifts to the flame-haired woman in the tent, the memory of her more like a dream than anything real. I vaguely remember that she held a sword to my throat. The woman I’d saved from Lyrian had come to kill me. A woman with silver teeth and claws.

But—why didn’t she? Why did she decide to let Caryan take her and almost kill her instead? Caryan knew the woman. I heard him saying her name—Blair, or something like that—but everything’s so blurred, I’m not sure.

The day is over, the palace quiet and empty, and only after a while do I realize that the absence I’m feeling comes from Caryan’s physical absence. I don’t know how, but I sense he’s far away, clearer than ever before. And that bond within me—where it had been a shy, black idea of something… now it’s a swirling, velvety dark orbit, forged into the night, a whirlwind of black, streaked with silvery stars. When I mentally brush up against it, it morphs into a bridge, silken and half-solid, as if woven of black mist, leading deeper into the blackness. A gust of night-kissed magic comes up. An offer. I mentally stumble back, not even daring to get close again. Not after Caryan’s reaction the last time I did.

I snap out of it, the rooms and reality coming back into harsh focus. Suddenly restless, I find myself venturing toward Riven’s rooms, but when I ask the head next to his door, it tells me that Riven has also left.

“For how long?”

“I am not sure, my lady,” the head answers.

I swear remorse laces its voice. I remember what Caryan told me about the door, about the whole Fortress being and acting like an extension of him and his wishes.

“Where did they go?”

The blue eyes flicker to life once more. “I can’t tell you, my lady.”

I sigh, wondering how long I could possibly lead a conversation with a door before I would reasonably be considered crazy.

To hell with it. I can’t bring myself to walk back to my barren, lonely room to be alone with those flashbacks , so I slide down to the floor and lean the back of my head against the wall, savoring its coolness.

“Do you know whether he’s still angry with me?” I ask into the night.

The blue flames next to my face return. “Why would my lord be angry with you?”

“Because I failed him. I disappointed him.” I fucked up our bargain.

“I do not think it is you he is disappointed in, my lady. And not you with whom he is angry.”

I frown. Caryan said something similar to me once.

“But—who then?”

“With whom are you angry when there is no one else to blame?”

“With myself,” I say quietly, as if it’s the answer to a riddle. I’m not sure what to do with this realization though.

“Correct. Do not forget that, my lady, for whatever happens in the future.”

I mumble my thanks, although I’m not sure that any of it was an answer to my question.

When I glance up, I flinch. Ronin’s standing there, silent as a shadow, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He watches me curiously.

“You know where they went, don’t you?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“Does it matter?”

It’s an honest question, I realize. One that holds no mocking.

“You miss him,” the witcher gathers.

I startle like a deer. “Who?” I ask, covering it.

“Both,” he says.

“Can you read auras too?”

The hint of a smile comes to his lips, genuine. “In a sense,” he admits.

“Tell me what you see in me. Please,” I say, suddenly curious.

“You do know everything I sense already yourself,” he says, not unkindly. Again, just a fact. “Which is rare, but I assume that comes along with our… talent.”

I watch him. “It feels strange, when someone can read who you are,” I admit. Again, that smile. “I can only agree.”

“I misjudged you, you know,” he adds after a moment of silence.

“In what sense?”

“I thought you crueler, but you are more soft-hearted than I estimated.”

I don’t know what to do with this. His tone tells me nothing either.

“And that is good or bad?” I probe.

“Neither. It just changes things. Or might, in the future.”

“Why?”

He takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. His amber eyes brighten when they settle back on me. “Isn’t it ironic that they say people who can’t love are dangerous? But then, on the other hand, the gravest crimes in this world, we commit for the one we love.”

With this, he turns and disappears back into the darkness. I know he’s staying close, yet all the way back to my room I can neither feel nor hear nor smell him.

His words left me with a strange sensation in my body.

Back in my quarters, I look at my painting for too long, before I fall asleep, imagining that Caryan is watching me like he did that night in his room.