Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) Read Online Free

milk. Three scars
stretched along her face—one halved her eyebrow, the other trailed
across her cheek, and the third raised the corner of her mouth. And
yet Torin thought her beautiful; these lines did not mar her face, he
thought, but made her seem more enchanting, fierce, and strong. Her
body, clad in a blue silk dress, seemed just as alluring to him,
lithe yet curved in just the right places, and—
    "Torin!" She jabbed
her finger against the book. "You look here. Not at me. Look at
book."
    He swallowed, nodded, and
quickly returned his eyes to the book. He felt his cheeks flush. She
had caught him admiring her too many times, and Torin cursed himself.
    I'm
a soldier of sunlight occupying her city of the night, he thought. I cannot
let myself think of her . . . like that.
    Yet
by Idar's beard, for the past six months, he had barely been able to
banish these thoughts from his mind.
    He flipped a page in his book,
cleared his throat, and tried to keep reading. This was only a
children's book, full of myths of old philosophers who would wander
the darkness of Eloria, yet Torin still struggled with the words.
Ardish was written with a phonetic alphabet, left to right, but
Qaelish utilized a complex system of runes inscribed top to bottom.
He read out loud, speaking the story of Xen Qae, the wise founder of
the Qaelish nation, who could communicate with animals and speak with
the stars.
    " Fenea— "
he said, stumbling over a word. " Fenaexe —"
    She leaned close, and her hair
fell from behind her ear, grazing his arm. When she pointed at the
book, her fingers brushed against his. He looked up at her and met
her eyes, and he was struck by how close their faces were; he would
only have to lean forward for their lips to meet. He felt the heat of
her body, a warmth like embers during a winter snowfall. She stared
back, then lowered her gaze shyly and withdrew her hand. A soft smile
touched her lips.
    " Fenae
xeluan ,"
she said. "A hundred kisses." Now her cheeks were those to
flush. "This is story of how Xen Qae met his wife, the beautiful
Madori. I am named after her when I play flute." She met his
gaze again, then blushed deeper and looked away. "I must play
flute again now. I must go downstairs."
    She quickly rose from the bed,
turned away from him, and left the chamber.
    Torin remained sitting on the
bed, and a sigh rolled through him. Six months ago, he had marched
into this city with a host of a hundred thousand Timandrians, his
people of sunlight. Six months ago, he had slain a man, watched
thousands die around him, and brought the wounded Koyee to this very
chamber for healing and safety. Since then, he had returned to this
chamber every hourglass turn, seeking her company. He told her that
he wanted to learn Qaelish, that she was the finest teacher he could
find, but the truth he kept hidden.
    I
keep returning here to see you, Koyee, he thought, gazing at the door. To
look into your eyes. To feel your fingers when they accidentally
brush against mine. To hear your jokes, talk to you about animals,
and make you smile. Because I—
    He shook his head wildly. Again
these thoughts had come unbidden to his mind. Koyee might be
intelligent, beautiful, and kind, but she was also Elorian, a
daughter of the night. He was Timandrian, a soldier occupying her
land. She was forbidden to him, and he vowed he would never return to
this chamber again—the same vow he made every visit, the same vow he
knew he'd break again.
    He rose to his feet and cracked
his neck. He wore the steel and colors of Arden, one of Timandra's
eight kingdoms of daylight. His steel breastplate was engraved with a
raven, sigil of his people, while vambraces and greaves covered his
limbs. A checkered cloak of gold and black draped across his
shoulders. His sword hung at his side; he had not parted from this
weapon since invading the night, and he often thought of it as a
fifth limb, a part of him he hated but could not rid himself of.
    He had joined this