Blood of the Moon

by S D Simper

  She passed cages of frightened people, commanding the earth to upturn, the cages unsettled by the roots shifting beneath them. Perhaps they might escape; perhaps not. She didn’t stay to watch, merely ran for Demitri.

  Behind the wall of energy, Flowridia watched her familiar rise in his chains. I don’t think you can touch that.

  Shem himself approached, his sword aloft. “We need her alive,” he said, his sneer cruel. “She’s tiring—look at her.”

  “Demitri, I won’t leave you.”

  She locked eyes with her wolf, her beloved Demitri, his golden gaze mesmerizing. Mom—

  Hands grabbed her. Flowridia’s skin seeped a haze of purple, but even as the man who touched her screamed, she felt the truth of Shem’s words—she was faltering.

  Mom, go. I’ll be fine. There was fear in his precious voice—oh, she longed to comfort him. You and I both know who can save me.

  Tears filled Flowridia’s eyes. “I love you.”

  She ran into the woods.

  Past crossbow bolts and screaming men flailing with sentient plants, panic guided her steps. Not toward Mereen—simply into the thicket, only the night air to witness her tears.

  Darkness fell upon her. She heard footsteps following and knew it wasn’t Mereen. Mereen would never be so clumsy.

  By every god—what of Demitri? She would leave him behind to die? For this?

  A hand grabbed her shoulder. A fist slammed her face; Flowridia crumbled, then cried as a kick rammed her ribs—

  A great boom shattered the peace of the night.

  The man fell backward, lifeless as he hit the ground. Flowridia looked up and saw Mereen, saw her holding her fearsome weapon with Lara tucked against her chest. The metallic curves reflected the moon’s light, and Mereen brought the barrel to her lips to blow away the smoke. “Your nobility will be a death sentence, but I do admire your spite. Follow me.”

  Flowridia pulled herself up, the wounds and bruising healing with each step. She ran to follow; Mereen led her to a horse tied to a tree, who shifted nervously in the presence of the predator. “Keep on running, sweetie. There’s a town a few miles north.”

  Flowridia mounted the horse; Mereen helped balance the listless Lara into her arms. “M-My familiar—”

  “I’ll see what I can do about the rest. But you should go.” From her pocket, Mereen withdrew a priceless object—the blue orb. “I believe this is yours.”

  “How?”

  “I have experience picking powerful men’s pockets.”

  Flowridia accepted it, realizing with the orb’s power she could save the rest—perhaps even Demitri.

  But it was she and Lara alone. All she wanted—yet the prospect of victory was still unsure.

  Mereen waited expectantly, a single eyebrow raised. Flowridia looked instead to the camp she’d left behind, listened to the continued cries from the destruction she’d wrought.

  I’m sorry, Demitri, she thought silently, tears welling in her eyes. She looked to Mereen, seeing only sincerity in her eyes. Still, discomfort welled in her stomach, a suspicion too wicked to voice. “Thank you.”

  “Best of luck.”

  Mereen backed away into the shadows. Flowridia swallowed her sorrow and rode off into the night.

  Flowridia returned to Ilunnes. She knew the path well.

  At the outskirts, at the cusp of the swamp, she finally slowed her horse. Gazing upon the flourishing town, watching the lanterns flicker in the dark, she wondered if they would know her, if they remembered at all.

  Lara barely stirred, but she lived, and Flowridia feared that whatever she’d been shot with had been more than simply maldectine.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  So focused she’d been that she hadn’t realized the small collection of people approaching, a few of whom held lanterns. “I’m no one—”

  “By Sol Kareena’s light,” one whispered, recognition in his shadowed features. “She’s the Swamp Witch reborn.”

  “N-No,” Flowridia stammered, cursing her own visage. “I’m not Odessa—”

  “Flowridia?”

  Among the throng was an older woman Flowridia had known for years in that lifetime before. “Matron Willa,” she said pleasantly, for this was the orphan matron who had all but raised her—though not quite in love. “Delightful to see—”

  “Flowridia, the witch?” a man said, and the throng drew their weapons. “She bears Odessa’s face, the monster reincarnated.”

  “Please, I swear to you I’m not—”

  When the first one held up a bow, Flowridia flinched. Fear shone in the man’s hateful gaze. She clutched the reins, but held Lara tighter. “Please,” she pled, “let me save this woman; she’ll speak for me.”

  “What wickedness are you concocting?”

  She looked to Matron Willa, seeking recognition, any semblance of affection. “I don’t want to hurt anyone—”

  It happened quickly—the flying arrow, the sudden, searing pain in her throat—and Flowridia fell from the horse, her own body cushioning the empress’ descent.

  Blood pulsed in her ear, pain with every throb. Warm liquid gushed against her hand as she clutched her throat. The villagers approached with their torches and hateful glares.

  In her arms, Lara groaned, and Flowridia’s fury spiked.

  One breath. The people came close.

  Two breaths—all was clouded in necromantic magic.

  Three—

  An audible thump shook the earth as life suddenly infused her body. She tore the arrow from her throat, the cries of insects and birds as loud as the people. By every god, the euphoria was grand, life singing through her veins, but when she opened her eyes, she saw the truth of her carnage.

  She thought of the forest of months’ ago, and now here, at the edge of a village she’d once loved and a swamp that brought nightmares, Flowridia stood within a sea of blight. The grass prickled at her feet, blackened and grey, and siphoned corpses—the villagers and horse both—lay in a heap beside her.

  The few who lived, standing at the outskirts, ran.

  She stared at her hands, horrified. Only a moment of lost control, yet here was her legacy, one of darkness and death. Tears welled in her eyes, the loss of life weighing down her soul.

  But Lara lay pristine, barely breathing but alive. The collar at her neck had saved her. In unsteady, muted motions, she lifted the empress into her arms, the limp woman a heavy weight.

  She felt nothing, heard nothing, as she carried her quarry into the secluded shade of trees, the barest beginnings of marshy terrain slogging her footsteps.

  A slight groan escaped the precious weight in her arms.“Lara?” she whispered, nearly sobbing for joy when she felt the woman stir. She fell to her knees, shaded from watchful eyes by nightfall and haunted trees. In the moment of peace, she pulled the key from her pocket and unlatched the collar at Lara’s throat, carefully pulling it aside without tearing her disheveled hair.

  But why? Lara was helpless; she was alone. Flowridia could take her to Odessa’s home and be done with it all. She could practically taste victory, taste Ayla’s sweet lips, yet here at the final stretch, she hesitated.

  She would heal her first. That was all. Flowridia turned Lara over on her stomach to inspect the arrowhead. Oh, it was deep. She cringed at the task at hand, but she knew it well, knew anatomy from her days with Mother.

  With no knife to wield, Flowridia’s own fingers touched the wound, her tears falling fast as she jostled the broken shaft, braced herself as she gripped the weapon, felt Lara’s blood and muscle and bone and sobbed as she wrenched it out—

  Lara immediately screamed. She screamed and sobbed as Flowridia set the arrowhead aside. “You’re safe,” she soothed, stroking her bloodied hands in Lara’s hair. “I’ll heal you now; you’re safe.”

  Life pulsed through her blood, made manifest as it left her fingertips. Flowridia felt Lara gasp as the magic coursed through her body. Flowridia coaxed the wound to heal,
the skin to grow and stretch and leave no scar. She felt sinew reattach, felt the muscles repair, and when she finally withdrew her power, Lara sat up on her own accord.

  The Solviran Empress looked about frantically, visibly confused. “W-Where are we? Where’s everyone?”

  “They’re back at the slave camp. I had to leave them behind.” Flowridia’s lip trembled as she reached up to cup Lara’s face.

  Lara settled into Flowridia’s lap. “I’m so sorry.”

  A damned fool Flowridia was, but she pulled Lara into a tight embrace, struggling to stay composed. She thought of her Demitri, left far behind, the screams of the villagers—by every god, why did death have to follow wherever she went?

  As she contemplated this bitter truth, she grabbed the arrowhead of maldectine and turned her focus upon it. Though it fought her influence, Flowridia pushed as she had learned to long ago . . . and felt its influence fade.

  Very little could defeat a Solviraes—save a small shard of maldectine.

  “Where are we?” the empress whispered.

  She pocketed the arrowhead. “The outskirts of Ilunnes, at the edge of Abyssal Swamp.”

  Flowridia could fix this. She could still save the encampment. Odessa’s house stood so close now, and once Ayla returned, Demitri could be saved. Ana could be mourned.

  She held Lara to the crook of her neck, content to warm her heart, cherish her . . .

  And then kill her?

  Flowridia pulled away, grateful when Lara released her. She offered a hand to help her rise as she stared beyond the line of trees.

  “You grew up here.”

  A palm cupped her cheek. Fingers stroked her cheek, but Flowridia couldn’t face her tender companion. She merely nodded, a cold claw crushing her chest.

  “Flowridia, look at me,” Lara said, placing her other hand on Flowridia’s cheek. Their gazes met; Lara smiled, though it held sadness unparalleled. “We’re so close. All we have to do is destroy the wards and grab the orb. We’ll return to my kingdom and have a rescue party sent before morning.”

  “Lara . . .” She shut her eyes and placed her hand atop Lara’s. With all the gentleness she possessed, lest she reveal the turmoil in her thoughts, she pulled it away, instead coaxing Lara’s face to hide in her chest. Her breath caught as she spoke, yet the words escaped nonetheless. “Let’s take you home.”

  She felt Lara shake her head. “We have time enough for this. The greater good says—”

  “Lara, you’ve been through too much already.” Flowridia’s hold tightened. Lara felt so soft, so alive.

  “Flowridia—”

  “Lara, no, we’re leaving,” Flowridia snapped, harsher than she felt. But desperation led to panic, and her heart began racing.

  Lara tried to pull from the embrace, but her grip only tightened. Flowridia met Lara’s eyes, the small empress frowning at her insistence.

  Lara’s quiet strength would be her downfall. “Lara—” Flowridia stopped, eyes rimming red as she swallowed. “Lara, there is no orb.”

  Lara’s gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Just go home; I lied!” Flowridia exclaimed, this time pulling her arms away. She stepped back from Lara, horrified at her own words as she turned around, unwilling to face her. Angry tears welled in her eyes. She had come so far, but for what? Oh, Izthuni would berate her. Her mother would mock her, call her a fool for lacking the conviction to murder so angelic a being.

  Anger pulsed at the thought of Ayla; anger towards the woman she loved for haunting her dreams, driving her to this moment—such was the price of loving.

  And Lara, sweet Lara, how she raged at Lara. Alauriel Solviraes with her patience and kindness, the way she loved so sincerely. How could she kill her now, after she’d given so much to save her?

  In another life, they were friends. In another still, they were lovers, perhaps not soulmates, but dear to each other, standing together to create their own beautiful world.

  In this life, the best gift she could give was the truth.

  She sniffed, fighting tears as Lara’s voice, darker than she’d ever heard, met her ears. “What do you mean, ‘you lied?’”

  “There is no orb,” Flowridia repeated, voice soft in her reveal. “Lara, there is no orb. Not here.”

  “Why?” When Flowridia didn’t reply, she continued, bewilderment lacing each word. “Why did you lie?”

  “I needed you,” Flowridia said, each word pure pain as they left her tongue. “I can’t tell you why—”

  “Flowridia!” Lara cried, and Flowridia turned, jumping at the sound. “Why did you need me?”

  Lara’s struggle to stay composed became increasingly apparent, and Flowridia couldn’t say whether or not she would cry or boil over with rage. Perhaps Lara wasn’t sure either. “I was told that to bring Ayla back I would need to perform a blood ritual. But only the blood of the moon would—”

  “. . . restore her to life,” Lara whispered, jaw dropping as the truth settled. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, silver eyes rimmed with red as they watered.

  “But I can’t, Lara,” Flowridia finally admitted. “You are the kindest person I have ever met. This world is so much better for having you in it.” Her words choked, eyes squeezing shut. “I can’t do it.”

  It felt like such a weakness. Yet to say it, her soul felt lighter.

  Silence held strong a moment, until Lara’s words cut through her clouded thoughts. “I love you.”

  Flowridia’s eyes snapped open, a morass of guilt steadily rising in her chest.

  Tears fell freely down Lara’s face. “Flowridia, I love you. Was that your plot? To have me fall in love with you, to kiss me while you stabbed me in the heart?”

  Yes, and somehow that sentiment was the cruelest of all. But she said nothing, remiss to say it aloud.

  “You succeeded,” Lara continued, crying softly as she sucked in a pained breath. “My heart feels thoroughly broken. Will that bring your love back?”

  To claim her own heart was as brutalized as Lara’s felt unfair; still, hers bled and tore with each earned reprimand. “I’ve come to care about you so much, Lara—”

  “But only because you came with the intent to kill me.” Lara’s lip trembled, tears still falling.

  Flowridia shut her eyes, slowly nodding.

  Silence settled. She wondered if the empress had simply vanished into the void. But when she finally looked, Lara stood there, defeat in her stance. “I’ll help you get back Demitri,” she said softly. “But then I will politely request you leave my kingdom.”

  Flowridia quickly shook her head. “I won’t ask you to do that—”

  “Flowridia, they have my general, and they have an innocent priest. They’re daring enough to try and sell a Solviraes as a toy. They need to be stopped, and Demitri is simply another victim.” She paused, her anger visibly slipping away as she shut her eyes. Her tears continued falling.

  Flowridia longed to hold her, to pull Lara into her arms and give what comfort she could. But she had caused this. To hold her now, to soothe her with sweet words, to lie . . .

  Once upon a time, she had been berated for her inability to lie. Now it seemed it was all she could do.

  “I’m sorry,” Flowridia whispered, as lost as she’d ever felt. “I’m so sorry.”

  Slowly, Lara nodded, her face crumbling. “I know you mean that.”

  Footsteps drew Flowridia’s attention. From behind Lara, a silhouette stepped out of the trees, distant but unmistakable. At her panicked gasp, Lara followed her gaze.

  Soliel walked towards them, his pace steady and calm. “I wondered how long it would be,” he said, voice soft yet booming. His armored form shone in the eerie moonlight.

  Lara stood tall, and Flowridia instinctively stepped closer, placing an arm in front of her. But Lara stopped her, instead guarding Flowridia with her small frame.

  “I feel your orb,” he said to Flowridia. “Give it to me, and I’ll let you both live.”


  Lara stood tall, her station apparent in her stance. “You’ll have to best me first,” she said, any fragility drifting into the void. Her face held tears, but her tone betrayed none of that.

  “Did Flowridia tell you what I did to the imperator? Do you think you’ll fare better?”

  “You showed no mercy, as you did when you slew the dragon you once called your son,” Lara replied. “But you’ll find a different sort of challenge with me.”

  He withdrew two orbs from his armor—lightning and fire. When he idly tossed them up, they slowly orbited his form, caught in his gravity.

  Flowridia waited for the third, yet never saw it. Instead, fire erupted in a fissure before them, growing ever higher—

  Lara stepped forward, arms parted as she let the light strike her. Not even a flinch; she simply began to glow. Light emanated from her form as the fire dissipated at her touch, only to burst from her hands in a radiant silver.

  At every side, the flame whirled about, shooting toward Soliel. Instead of a concentrated dose, they hit in rapid succession, bombarding him. Flowridia heard him cry out—then, the fire burst, his own sword of flame cutting through the silver.

  Lara took the moment to speak. “Flowridia, step back.”

  Flowridia obeyed, watching as the ground before Lara cracked, spreading like a shattered egg, and from the fissures came fire.

  Not true flame—blinding light of silver and white. Flowridia’s head reeled at the massive energy, yet mesmerized she watched as the cracks surrounded Soliel, preventing escape.

  A slight rumble of thunder, then—

  Flowridia’s stomach reeled as Lara pushed her—

  The scenery changed; Flowridia suddenly watched the fight from a distance, watched as a blast of lightning struck the ground Lara stood—and where Flowridia had once been.

  Yet the silhouette of Lara within the blast of light never seemed to disappear, and when the torrential burst faded, she stood as a pillar of pure flame, her skin erupt in power.

  Soliel blasted fire; Lara blasted her own. The energy met in the center, and Flowridia swore she felt the very fabric of the world bend. She clung to a tree, knowing she should run, yet fear froze her form as she watched this calamitous clash of magic.