Blood of the Moon

by S D Simper

  “If you’re trying to downplay your own talents, that’s ridiculous. You’re a legend.”

  “Born to be a legend, yes. But I think you’ve already earned the skill to sit among the greats.”

  Confusion struck her at the words. “Is everyone in your kingdom so accepting of necromancy?”

  “Likely not. But closed minds hinder growth.” Lara looked forlornly to Flowridia. “You’ve been rejected before.”

  Flowridia settled for a simple nod, unwilling to entertain the shame that came at the reminder. If to lose all those she loved was the price of greatness . . . could she stand to pay it?

  “Flowridia.” Lara’s gentle voice pulled her from her downward spiral. She glanced up as Lara scooted herself closer and placed Ana into her arms. Flowridia cradled Ana close, wondering for the thousandth time if the creature was capable of feeling love. Hands wrapped around her waist, and Lara smiled as she gazed at Ana. “Did you kill the fox so you could raise her?”

  Flowridia shook her head, shocked at the notion. “I raised her because I couldn’t save her.”

  “Your intentions matter. I don’t think anything evil went into the creation of your little one.”

  Intentions matter . . . Oh, that stung. “If I had raised a human corpse instead of a fox, would you feel the same way?”

  Lara hesitated. That was enough. Flowridia stared down, unwilling to face her, and flinched when she heard her speak. “Intentions matter,” Lara repeated. “I believe the dead should remain dead, but we aren’t our bodies; we’re our souls. To restore a soul to a dead vessel seems like a hellish fate, especially since their mind would belong to the necromancer. But if it’s merely a body, and their soul has gone on, I don’t see why it would necessarily be evil.” Her expression softened. “I don’t know how I would feel to have a host of undead servants at my beck and call, but if I were to give that power to anyone, I would trust you to wield it responsibly.”

  The embrace tightened a moment as Lara squeezed her affectionately, and then she let her arms slip away. “I came here to invite you and Demitri to dinner with my council. Ana, of course, is welcome to join, though I will request she remembers her manners.” A teasing smirk twisted her lip as she offered Flowridia her hand.

  “I don’t know, to be honest,” Flowridia said, accepting the gesture. Ana remained in her arms. “Have you told your council who I am?”

  “No, though I suspect many of them know, since they saw you this afternoon. If you’d prefer, I’ll happily take dinner with you in your room instead. You’ll have to meet some of them in the morning, though. I’ve assembled a small team to accompany us to the Abyssal Swamp.”

  Flowridia fought to hide her fear at the words—her resolve threatened to shatter simply from the sincere kindness in Lara’s visage, much less the realization that there would now be witnesses, and thus more deaths. “I think I’d rather take dinner in my room tonight. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  Lara nodded kindly. Flowridia set Ana onto the floor. “Stay close,” she commanded, then Lara intertwined their fingers. Flowridia stared at their hands, but tightened the grip when Lara tried to pull away. “No,” she whispered. “This is nice.”

  It truly was. Not quite romantic, but comforting, familial. Her growing affection for Lara threatened to rip a hole in her heart.

  Lara’s smile lit the room, but that only added to Flowridia’s gloomy shadow. She led her forward, opening the door and stepping aside so Ana and Demitri could walk through.

  Fingers intertwined, Lara led her down the hallway. Demitri’s voice caught her off guard. You two are awfully touchy.

  Quietly, she turned around and shot him a glare.

  If your goal was to get Lara to slip the noose around her neck herself, I’d say you’re doing a great job. I can smell it; she’s smitten.

  The words slipped from her mouth unbidden, a manifestation of her grief. “Shut up.”

  “Pardon?” Lara stopped, brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t for you,” Flowridia said, now openly glaring at Demitri. “Demitri has a habit of pointing out the obvious.”

  But not of casting judgement.

  “Just because you’re not judging doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

  I think you’re projecting because you feel guilty.

  “You don’t know my feelings.”

  I know all your feelings, stupid.

  Lara placed a hand on Flowridia’s shoulder when she tried to step forward. “May I ask?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, petulant at her own defensive tone. “It’s unimportant. Something about you being smitten. You and I already discussed this.”

  “Do you mind if I speak to him?” Flowridia shook her head, following as Lara looked to the large wolf. “Demitri? I am smitten. And I don’t know how much you know, but Flowridia and I did speak about this last night. I know about Ayla, and I’ve offered her all the time she needs to mourn. She and I have agreed to be friends, and I hope you and I might be too.”

  “He would like that,” Flowridia whispered.

  “You’re a considerate friend, Demitri. I’m trying to be considerate too.”

  Tell her she’s too good for this world.

  “Demitri thinks you’re a good person.”

  Don’t misquote me.

  Lara chuckled, extending her free hand. Demitri rubbed his head against it. “Oh, you’re sweet.” Her eyes suddenly widened, and she withdrew her hand. “Is that patronizing?”

  No. I’m sugar sweet. The sweetest ever.

  Flowridia’s sigh was nothing less than long-suffering. “As long as Demitri is the most sweet, he’s happy to be sweet.”

  “Good to know,” Lara said, petting his head again. “I haven’t met many witches, so if I ever over-step my bounds with your familiar, please tell me.”

  “My permission isn’t what you need to worry about. As long as you have his, you can touch him all you want. I think he’d appreciate the attention.”

  I’m starting to like her. I see why you’re conflicted about killing her.

  “And I’ll gladly interpret anything he has to say,” Flowridia added, her smile only slightly forced. “But he understands you.”

  “Demitri, you are wonderful,” Lara said, pulling her hand back. “And I’ve made sure there’s a plethora of different meats for you for dinner.” She turned to Flowridia and whispered, “He does eat meat, right?”

  Flowridia nodded, and Lara squeezed her hand and resumed leading them through the library.

  Dinner was a relaxed affair—simply she and Lara giggling at Ana’s antics, Flowridia occasionally interpreting Demitri’s attempts at humor. It warmed her heart, to simply sit with a friend and speak of idle things, and for a few precious moments, Flowridia forgot her quest, forgot her own inevitable betrayal.

  But once the food had gone, when the sun was a forgotten memory, time moved forward. “We leave tomorrow after breakfast,” Lara said, when the night had concluded.

  “I can be packed at a moment’s notice. Most everything I own is in my bag.”

  Lara nodded. “I’ll leave you to sleep, then. Get some rest.”

  Flowridia hesitated, placing her hand at Lara’s hip. “You don’t have to go,” she muttered.

  “I wouldn’t be sad to stay,” Lara said slowly, “but I don’t want to encroach on you. You need time.”

  But Flowridia’s grip tightened. “Stay,” she pled, realizing how desperately she meant it. Was it her guilt? Some deep-seated affection? “Nothing has to happen. But sleep beside me?”

  Lara slowly nodded.

  They did not embrace as they slept, but to hear someone breathe beside her held comfort, even if it was a comfort she hadn’t known since the days she’d lived in an orphanage.

  Ayla, after all, had never needed to breathe. And Lara’s breaths, as fleeting as they were, seemed a precious thing.

  The next morning, Flowridia waited outside the stables, listening t
o Lara discuss the best location for a portal with a man as ancient and eccentric as she’d ever seen. From his umber skin to the stark white of his hair, everything about him cast a presence, the flamboyancy of his robes suggesting either insanity or a high prowess for sorcery—or both. She recognized him from the wedding—Magister Reginal.

  “I have no intention of drawing any attention from the populace of Ilunnes,” Lara said. “Perhaps a few miles out?”

  The smell of manure was oddly soothing—familiar among the bureaucratic finery. But anxiety brewed in Flowridia’s stomach, to consider the newfound impossibility of her quest. She stood near a young Celestial priest—Coal? Coal . . . something, was his name. He would be joining she and Lara on their journey to the swamp, and Flowridia felt much more comfortable standing beside him than the other two members of their small party.

  Two paladins of Sol Kareena busied themselves saddling their horses. Flowridia spared a glance for Ana at her feet, bidding the little fox to stay close.

  Coal looked at her, hesitant as he caught her eye. “I think I’ve seen you before. Were you at Queen Marielle’s wedding in Staelash?”

  She saw nothing but earnest sincerity in his gaze. “I was. I spent most of my time standing next to Imperator Casvir, trying to be invisible.”

  She said it in jest, amused at the nervous glance she received from the younger paladin. He’d been introduced as Ser Luftlight, and she wasn’t quite certain if ‘Luftlight’ was his last name or first, or if ‘Ser’ was a title or a name, but she’d felt much too awkward to ask.

  He seemed relatively harmless for a paladin—his eyes were wide and unseasoned, perhaps having never seen bloodshed. He knew how to hold himself in armor, but she couldn’t say much more for his prowess.

  “You’re friends with the imperator?” Coal said. “Can I ask something?”

  She braced herself for the predictable line of questions, prepared to deny all flirtation.

  “I heard once that Imperator Casvir can only come out at night. Is that true?”

  Flowridia shook her head, smiling for relief. “No, certainly not.”

  “I also heard he summons packs of wolves to fight for him.”

  “Oh, no. Living creatures instinctively distrust Casvir,” she replied. “Including Demitri, and he’s a rather intelligent one.”

  “Perhaps more intelligent for it,” Luftlight muttered, though he could barely be heard.

  “Oh, perhaps,” Flowridia said, staring at him directly. “But Casvir never would hurt anything needlessly.”

  Luftlight’s slight blush was readily apparent in the morning light. “Is it true Imperator Casvir drinks only the blood of virgin Celestials?”

  Taken aback, Flowridia actually laughed at the accusation. “I only saw him eat a handful of times; if he drinks virgin blood, it’s for fun, not necessity.” The horror on their faces only made her laugh more. “He keeps some in his service who will drink virgin blood, but I sincerely doubt that he partakes. Though I’ve never met a vampire who discriminated based on sexual habits.”

  Luftlight looked a bit faint at the remark, but Coal’s intrigued bordered on enamor, his eyes wide and bright. She wrote the priest off as naïve. “You met a vampire?”

  The question brought mixed emotions—Flowridia recalled Ayla, yes, and Mereen, but also Palace and her screams. “Several—”

  Suddenly, her stomach lurched, vertigo striking as the world spun. A massive portal, far larger than any summoned by Casvir, expanded before them. “There we go,” Lara said, a subtle dullness to her aura.

  Flowridia distracted her addled mind with the darling creature provided for her. She offered a hand to a lovely grey mare, her rump speckled in white. “You beautiful creature,” she said, her words laced with power. “I promise to treat you well.”

  “You charm the living the way you charm the undead?”

  A shadow cast itself across her. The second paladin had been introduced as General Irons of Solvira, trained and handpicked by Khastra as a replacement when she’d been sent to Staelash. His graying beard covered a weathered face—and any glance he gave to Ana was pure disgust. Imposing upon his decorated steed, General Irons stared with a set jaw and narrowed eyes.

  “Is ‘charm’ really the word for casting influence upon the undead?” Flowridia asked, offering pleasantries to his palpable disdain.

  “It’s as polite a word as I can summon in front of her majesty.”

  Flowridia simply smiled. “General,” she said curtly, “you and I clearly have our disagreements, but I’m willing to set that all aside and be friendly acquaintances if you are.”

  His gaze narrowed, and Flowridia was acutely aware of the sword at his hip. “That will depend on your intentions for Empress Alauriel.”

  Flowridia recognized his implied intent. “Only the future can say.”

  Irons gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. Flowridia was quite confident he could stick his sword through her stomach with no hesitation. He held himself with power and assurance running deep, no false airs or pettiness. This man held the conviction to slay her.

  And she was only marginally certain she held the conviction to slay him first.

  What a pleasant man.

  Flowridia looked to Demitri, who Irons had thankfully ignored. “I beg your pardon?”

  See? I’m a good liar too.

  Flowridia rolled her eyes and gave a quick pat to her familiar’s head. “Never change.”

  She mounted her horse, resolving to write a ‘thank you’ letter to Casvir for teaching her to ride. They all stepped through the portal in a line—

  An odd sensation, to fly through the worlds upon a horse.

  She gripped the reins when they landed, nearly falling off her mount into the lush field of grass.

  A few hours’ journey from the swamp? Flowridia surveyed the area, realizing they stood a far distance from a forest.

  The Forest of Wisps, bordering Ilunnes. This was her home.

  A cool breeze ruffled Flowridia’s hair, bringing with it memories of Casvir. When their entire party had passed through the portal, they set off with Irons in the lead.

  The sun shone bright, and Demitri stood taller than the horses. Even Lara’s, blonde and speckled with white, could not quite match his massive height and bulk.

  They travelled largely in silence, but Flowridia appreciated how the sunlight warmed her skin through her embroidered dress. Lara’s clothing remained rich, but more practical, her regal skirts exchanged for leggings and a split, but fanciful skirt, feminine and easy to move and ride in.

  At midday, they reached the edge of the forest, Lara by her side. Off in the surrounding meadow, bunches of purple daisies littered the scene, and Flowridia longed to stop her mount and pick a few for her hair.

  So, when Ser Luftlight announced his intention to relieve himself, Flowridia took the moment to do so. General Irons proposed they take time to stretch; Flowridia had a few minutes yet.

  Lara followed beside her, apparently bemused by her actions. Flowridia stepped into the field, grass clinging to her skirts and tickling her bare legs. She knelt beside a particularly vibrant patch and plucked a few, expertly weaving them into her thick locks as Lara watched.

  “I’m impressed you can do that without a mirror.”

  Flowridia laughed lightly. “Years of practice. I know it’s a bit juvenile, but I feel naked without them.”

  “Not juvenile,” Lara said, sitting beside her in the dry grass. “I think it’s cute.”

  Lara’s hair held a practical bun, so Flowridia took a particularly large daisy and stepped toward her, balanced on her knees. She threaded the purple flower to the side, weaving it so the stem remained unseen. “Fit for an empress,” Flowridia said warmly.

  Lara’s blush radiated more heat than the warm air. “I will warn you—if I’m seen wearing this by the populace, it will be the style of every woman for the next year. Becoming a fashion icon unfortunately comes with my title.”


  Flowridia laughed, Lara’s charm infectious, yet . . .

  The thought twisted her gut, that she would soon slay this lovely, kind woman. Her laughter faded. Flowridia resumed placing daisies in her hair, imagining lithe cold fingers caressing the strands instead of her own.

  “Are you all right?”

  She’d lapsed into silence, she realized. Lara waited beside her, watching as Flowridia continued weaving flowers into her hair. “It’s been a long few months, I will be honest,” she said, hoping to distract from her true anxieties. “And I don’t think General Irons likes me much.”

  “Did he say something to you?”

  “Nothing rude, exactly, but he didn’t have to be.”

  Lara glanced back to their party, eyes narrowing when they landed on Irons. “I’ll speak with him.”

  “Lara—”

  “Flowridia, my own feelings for you aside, he has no business insulting a foreign dignitary. Once we’ve returned, he’ll be reprimanded.”

  Venom had seeped into Lara’s voice. The woman she had shared a bed with begged for domination, but Alauriel Solviraes was born to be an empress, and no matter how sweet her demeanor might be, Flowridia suddenly understood how she could control a room. “I think it’s your feelings for me that he’s worried about.”

  “I see—Ah!” Lara suddenly yelped, stumbling to her feet as she frantically brushed her skirts and hands. Silver flame rose as she stomped on the ground, and beneath the faint scorch marks, Flowridia saw the remains of an impressively large spider. “No. Bad. Very bad.”

  Flowridia bit her lip, actively fighting laughter as the most powerful woman in the world squirmed in the face of a harmless arachnid. She swallowed her amusement, instead offering a few forcibly calm words. “Not a fan of the outdoors?”

  “I love the outdoors, but . . .” She grimaced, true fear flashing across her eyes. She lifted her skirts, checking the folds of the fabric. “Things live outside.”

  A smile tugged at Flowridia’s lip. “I have a few spells to never cast in front of you, then.”