Page 9 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Blair

For a moment, Blair is still back there. For a sweet moment, she is still that girl, so eager and proud to do her aunt’s bidding. To be Caryan’s secret lover, his secretly chosen one. The one he favored over her aunt.

For some precious, dreamlike seconds, her body feels whole again. Filled with pride and purpose before she blinks to her senses, remembering where she is. No, leave me dreaming! Sleep is the only time she comes close to feeling alright these days.

The months after her aunt’s death, after she and Caryan parted, she barely left her bed. She took potions to keep her mind in sweet oblivion. Reality had felt like being underwater. Not dead, but unable to breathe, flooded by despair and agony. Only when Aurora and Sofya came to force her out of bed every morning did she go, and even those waking hours were a blur. Only fractions of them are left. Scrapes and bits, all a mere collection of shards, like herself.

In those waking hours, she played along. She played her role. You only have to make it through the day so you can crawl back into your bed, she told herself. Her credo. Her deal with herself. Only one more day. One step at a time.

She made it. She doesn’t know how, but she made it. Basic instincts kicked back in and slowly, so slowly, her bloodlust returned. She was a husk, but a hungry one. And an angry one. So one day, the fire found a home in her, the pain, the darkness .

She returned from the Abyss, snapping and biting and hissing at everyone and everything in her way.

It was only in the human world that she felt she could start anew. Be something other than this shell. Something more.

And now she’s back here, more doomed than ever.

She gets up when she hears steps coming down. Perenilla stands on the other side of the bars, her two bodyguards—mercenaries, more male wolf shifters, who’ve lost their pack—in tow. The same kind that had hunted her down in the human world. The witches killed so many of their alphas, the remaining wolves are now ganging up, selling their services to anyone —even to the witches—with all rules out the window, turning into ruthless, savage creatures with few morals and even less qualms.

“Blair, I must say you look…”

“Beautiful? I know. Can we move on now?” Blair drawls, bored, pretending to examine her nails.

“I was actually going to say a little pale,” Perenilla answers sourly.

“Oh, that. It’s probably just my skin that’s hanging from my bones in scraps. Nothing good makeup can’t fix, don’t worry,” Blair hisses, looking fully at the queen, the iron bars like a magic-blocking wall between them. “But to have my queen come down here in person—I should be flattered.”

Perenilla might have pardoned Sofya, but there’s been no news about Blair. Not that Blair expects the queen to let her live after her performance up there. Not that she knows why she spared Sofya either.

She’s pondered it during her nice stay down here. Either Perenilla needs Sofya as leverage or it would have just looked bad to kill her after what Blair dared to say. Perenilla is more of a politician than a witch, after all, having been raised at a court in Palisandre. But that was long before Blair’s aunt started another war. Before she became the tyrant she was. And a thing like that—a witch living anywhere outside the Blacklands—became an unthinkable thing.

Perenilla says, “You’re actually funny, Blair. Or rather, your incapacity for diplomacy is. ”

Blair bats her lashes at her. “Is it this charming trait of mine that has kept you from having me executed so far, Perenilla?”

“That’s my queen to you, Blair.”

“Does it matter?”

As an answer, one of the shifters draws back his lips to reveal cruel teeth, flashing them at Blair in warning. He is currently caught in some state between fae and wolf, with predatory teeth and claws on his fingers instead of nails. Not to mention the sheer amount of hair on his arms, or rather, fur —definitely more dog than human.

Blair scrunches up her nose before she flashes her teeth right back at him. “Oh, really? Don’t fucking bark if you can’t fucking bite, fleabag.”

“Careful, witch. You smell too delicious. We might just take a bite out of you.”

“Yeah. Come in here and see how that goes.”

“Seems the witch is a bit needy,” the other one drawls with a leer, his gaze snagging on her breasts. “Too much time alone down here.”

Blair’s brows twitch up before she rakes her gaze over him, letting her disgust reflect on her face. “Keep dreaming. Ever taken a look in the mirror? Well, you should. They don’t lie, but you’re lucky they don’t laugh either.”

Both of them blink in obvious confusion, and Blair throws her head back and laughs. “You don’t get it. Too complicated? Too many syllables for you?”

Another growl rumbles up their throats and gone is the leer from seconds before. “Watch it, witch, or—” the seconds one warns.

“Enough!” Perenilla cuts both of them a sharp look and they fall silent.

“Now who’s a good boy?” Blair purrs.

Perenilla’s gaze flits to her. Her nostrils flare, the only indicator of her anger. “That goes for you too.”

Blair just shrugs, going back to scrutinizing her nails. “It’s not my fault. Stupidity always makes me break out in sarcasm.” She glances back up at Perenilla, sucking on a canine. “Sorry, but they could really use a shave. And a bath. I wonder how you can stand that reek of wet dog. They have some nice pet shampoos over there in the human world.”

She grins at the way Perenilla pales before a flush creeps up the queen’s throat, working its way up to her cheeks. That’s the disadvantage of growing up in Palisandre. All those staunch rules and etiquette.

Blair steps closer to the bars, making a show of sniffing the air, her fingers curling around the metal. “Or maybe… that smell turns you on. So animalistic. All I wonder is—do they do you doggy-style or missionary? And are they in their hum—”

“Shut it, witch-whore,” the other mongrel growls, while his companion’s shifting further into his wolf form. Ribs crack as he transforms into a large wolf, growling at her.

Blair just grins at him. Good luck with those iron bars.

Perenilla smooths down the fabric of her robe, hectic spots of redness still covering her cheeks. But she recovers enough to ask, “Is this really what you want to talk about, Blair, before I leave you to your miserable fate?”

Blair taps her lips with a long claw while she peers up at the ceiling. Then her gaze snaps back to the queen. “No, there’s indeed another thing that bothers me.”

“Then speak.”

She hesitates before she leans in, as if sharing a secret. Perenilla, after a moment, leans in too, as Blair whispers through the bars, “Are wolf tongues as rough as I imagine them to be?”

Perenilla jolts back, glowering at her. “Believe it or not, I want a better future, Blair—for all of us.”

“Do I get bonus points if I pretend that I care?”

“Aren’t you weary of living in a wasteland day in, day out?”

When Blair doesn’t answer, Perenilla lets out a long sigh. “You do care, Blair. I know you do. I want to change things. I want to turn them to the better.”

Blair just lets out a hollow laugh. “If this was true, you would have changed things long ago. Changed this whole wasteland of a kingdom into a lush land of abundance as it once was. Instead, you milk the last essence out of everything magical just to gain more power.”

Just like her aunt.

But then her aunt would have had her butchered straight away for her insolence. Obedience had been everything. If you broke the rules, you’d signed your death wish. Gatilla’s justice had been swift and merciless. But Perenilla…

Blair tries to ignore the strange memory flaring up of what exactly happened on that platform. She’s been churning it over and over in her mind. That black tornado of magic… What it said to her. Perenilla’s stunned face.

Had she spared Sofya or…? Or had the magic… refused to obey her?

No. It can’t be. Magic has no will of its own. But then, it also doesn’t talk to people.

Maybe it hadn’t, and Blair just went a little bit crazy from the blood loss.

She scrutinizes Perenilla’s face as the witch retorts, “I could indeed return those lands to their former splendor, but spending magic on that now seems rather unwise. It is interesting, though, to note how little the war and its outcome seems to affect you, Blair, when you seemed heartbroken as I almost killed the beautiful Sofya.”

Every bit of remaining warmth in Blair’s face dies. “I would have butchered you like a lamb if you killed her.”

“Would you have? Interesting. To me, it seemed you could barely keep yourself on your feet. Almost like when your aunt died. I wonder, was it really the loss of your beloved aunt that shook you so badly, or was it that maybe—” Perenilla makes a show of scrutinizing her own, long silver claws now before she drawls “—that the angel disposed of you like a used, dirty rag?”

Blair feels a wave of ice coat her veins. She makes herself snarl, “Nonsense!”

“Nonsense, huh? You know, when I decided to keep you after your aunt died, I was surprised to see you serving me so well. How obedient you are. And I must say useful. Until now, it seems. Such a disappointment. You could have just brought me the girl, and nothing need have changed, Blair. There would have been no need to bring up the past.”

“As I said—I didn’t expect Lyrian’s army,” Blair bites out.

“Maybe you truly didn’t. But you know that the girl is of utmost importance in this war. You also know that Caryan has been searching for her like mad, which makes me wonder… perhaps you purposely left her to him, thinking you might win back his favor and save your own hide?”

“Bullshit!”

“Resorting to such crude language won’t save you from the truth, Blair. Not this time, not with me. Because I know what you are, Blair Alaric.” Perenilla’s voice has fallen dangerously low. “You are a traitor, after all.”

The queen steps up to her, bringing her gaunt face as close to Blair as if she wants to kiss her through the bars. “Awww, so taciturn for once? Did you really think I didn’t know your dark little secret, Blair? You were there the night Caryan killed your aunt. You were there, in that very room, with your aunt bleeding out, and yet… yet you didn’t do anything as they butchered her. No, you ran like a coward! Now tell me what all your witches will do to Aurora and Sofya if they learn of that? Those two women who practically raised you. Tell me, what will they make of that? Once they learn what a big traitor and failure you are?”

Blair blinks a few times against the truth, against the lump in her throat and the sting of panic clutching her heart. How the hell does Perenilla know that? Everyone is dead except for Caryan, Kyrith, and Riven.

Perenilla’s thin lips tear into a cruel grin as Blair reads the answer from them. Ciellara. Sure. The elven bitch ratted her out before she kicked the bucket.

Perenilla’s washed-out eyes follow Blair’s train of thought before she says, “Yes, the last silver elf. Did you think she didn’t talk when I sought her out in the human world, Blair? You thought the king of Evander did you a favor when he cut her in half, and let her die with her secret. But she told me, Blair, before Regus found her. What a burden it must have been to keep this from your mothers all those years. You and the feared angel, what a story. Not even your aunt knew, did she? I wonder, did it give you a feeling of triumph over your aunt when you screwed him, Blair? Did it make you feel special? You must have been tired, being cold in her shadow day in and day out.”

Blair stays silent, too shocked to even breathe. Her words seem far away, as far away as the rest of her body.

“Huh…” Now it’s Perenilla who taps her lips a few times with her forefinger. “You know what truly interests me , Blair?” Blair does nothing as Perenilla runs her long, sharp nail over Blair’s cheek, leaving blood in its wake before the witch sucks it off. “How did it feel when he eventually killed her so you could advance up the line? Was it a dark sort of triumph? And did you tell him to do it, too fine to make your own hands dirty?”

“You know that’s not how it was!” Blair bleats.

Now it’s Perenilla who throws her head back and laughs as if she’s heard a truly funny joke. “Oh, yes, I know, Blair. Because I know you. And you just don’t have it in you. I waited for years for you to stand up against me. To challenge me for the throne and claim your heritage, but you never have. You’ve stayed calm and quiet, performing your little, childish rebellions to anger me, but you’ve never, ever truly thought of acting against me. It is heartwarming, in some way, and touching to see how utterly wrong your aunt was for thinking she could groom you into her successor. I know you really loved him, Blair. And I know you couldn’t stop him because deep down, you hoped you’d rule together one day and have little angel-witches running around your feet. How bitter to learn that he used you and moved on, not even caring enough about you to kill you.”

Blair can’t breathe. She just can’t gulp down air. Magic alone keeps her heart beating, keeps her alive and standing, when it feels as if the ground beneath her feet has opened up, as if, again, she’s tumbling back down and down into the hole she clawed her way out of.

“If you know, why haven’t you killed me?” Somehow, she manages to form the words. To utter them.

Perenilla looks at her with a smile that is half pitying, half evil as if she couldn’t quite decide what to feel.

Because, somehow, Blair has become pathetic enough to be pitied instead of executed.

“As Gatilla’s direct heir, you still pose a threat to me, even if you never act on it. If I had smothered you unprovoked, it would have raised tempers. So I watched you and waited, but you… you were so broken and full of self-loathing. I realized that all I had to do was lean back and watch a while longer, that Gatilla’s big heir and hope of the witches would do it all by herself—deconstruct herself, bit by bit. Because the truth about you is that you’re nothing but a dreamer, Blair. A dreamer and a failure. But the others don’t know that. To them, it will look like betrayal. Like you committed treason. They will want to see your head roll.”

Blair doesn’t know how she keeps standing. Why her body just doesn’t let out. All she wants to do is curl up on the ground and drink so many potions she will never see daylight again. Secretly, she’s been waiting for an ambush all these years. There are enough witches who remember Gatilla with Blair at her side and still bear a grudge. Women who would gladly push Blair off a cliff, make it look like an accident. She’s always wondered why Perenilla never killed her openly, squashing Gatilla’s heir in front of their eyes. Now the truth is finally out.

The queen’s face smoothens into a mask of contempt as she watches everything settle in Blair like dust after a storm. “Yes. There’s nothing more effective and shattering than seeing that the beacon you so fiercely believed in is nothing but a hollow dream. I just wonder what they will do to the women who raised you. Whether they’ll blame them. Whether their heads will roll too. What do you think? ”

It is that searing hot spear of panic that pulls Blair back. That tethers her to the ground and back into her body. That makes the black, devouring hole under her feet close, flushing out her anger instead. Aurora and Sofya.

“What do you want?” Her voice comes out raspy, as if she hasn’t spoken in weeks.

Perenilla just gives her the hint of a smile. “You know what I want, Blair. I want that girl. I don’t care what you do, but bring her to me and I shall forget about your failure. About your cowardice. I shall let you and your mothers Sofya and Aurora live. A promise, given by me, here and now. Ambush him once he sets out with the girl to find the relics.”

Blair sucks in a sharp breath. The promise of a fae is an unbreakable thing. They can’t lie. There’s no way they can break a promise they’ve made without dying a cruel death. Yet an ambush… three witches against Caryan. Impossible.

She says, “This will never work. At least give me the red coven for an attack.”

Perenilla shakes her head. “No, Blair. I won’t spare any other witch for this. I can’t. There is a war coming, and there are only a few of us left anyway. This is down to you.”

“What do you expect me to do? Throw myself at him alone? You might as well kill me here.”

“Use the ties you had. Maybe he has not forgotten.”

“You can’t tell me you expect me to just waltz up to him.”

“I do, Blair.”

“And then what? Seduce him? Beg him? You don’t know him like I do.”

“I do not care what you do. But I do expect you to do everythin g in your power to get me this girl. Because you want to save your mothers, after all. And now, this conversation is over.”

Blair nods slowly. She has no choice. She either brings the girl or dies trying, because there is no alternative.

“I know you have a sense of reason, Blair. Do not disappoint me again.”