Moon's Flower (Kingdom, #6)

Hanging his head, he shook it. “I’m sorry, Siria. I truly am. I hope someday that we could be friends again, but that is all we could ever be.”


A prickling warmth suffused him, and he didn’t need to turn to know that the veil of night was now his. Clenching his jaw, he turned to look at the colors swirling into a familiar pattern.

But something warned him to keep his true intentions private, at least from Siria’s prying eyes.

“Go home,” he said it softly but firmly.

“Jericho?” His name trembled on her tongue, but nothing else came after it.

He heard the questions in that one word, but he had nothing else to offer, so he said nothing.

After three long agonizing minutes, he knew she’d gone and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

In a land where magic was the currency of all, he knew he walked a very fine line. Just as he could not spy on what Siria did during the day, she too could not spy on what he did during the night, but should he give her any cause to be suspicious there were plenty of spies loyal to her within Kingdom who could, and would.

Much as he wanted to go to Calanthe now, he forced himself to think of anything but her. The sky before him that usually only showed him images, had now turned into a spiraling funnel of blue light.

Once a month, between the ephemeral period of waxing and waning the curse of isolation lifted and he could travel the realms. The only way to safely go to Calanthe so as not to raise any suspicion was to first visit each realm and spend a little time there, so that his appearance in the glen would seem more random than planned.

Jumping off the banister, he slid through the funnel, forcing his thoughts to focus on anything but the glen, his first stop was Wonderland.

He wandered about for an hour, walking around and around in circles, nibbling on chocolate vines growing off the chocolate tree, exchanged a few words with the Cheshire, before eventually moving on to upper Kingdom where the cloud people roamed, then to Dwarf Mountain. Which wasn’t nearly as pleasant as he’d thought it might be.

The moment he’d landed on their rocky soil scouts had tried to toss a net over him, chanting that food had been found. He’d not stuck around long enough to decide whether they were inviting him in for a feast, or whether he was the feast.

His last stop had been to Seren, the maids laughed and danced in the waters before him, urging him to take off his clothes and come join them for a small dip. And he might have taken them up on that offer, had he not wished to see Calanthe with the desperation of a man starving.

It was sheer torture to pretend that he wanted to be anywhere other than where he was when every beat of his heart screamed her name.

He’d already wasted three and a half hours of a very short night, just to make sure Siria wouldn’t know of his true destination.

But finally the time had come and all the nerves in his stomach were forming into a massive ball that threatened to make him vomit. Once, long ago when he’d lived as a mortal on Earth, approaching women had been like second nature. He’d been gregarious, happy, and carefree. But for so long he’d been locked away in that tower of rock with only the darkness as his companion that he’d lost touch with how to interact with others.

What if he said something stupid, or worse yet, nothing at all? If his brain just simply froze?

“Jericho,” a mermaid he’d visited a time or two in the past called his name, breaking through the gripping panic.

“Huh?” he shook his head, turning to look at the white haired and stunning beauty floating gracefully before the craggy and spiraling rock he’d been perched on the past hour.

She laughed. “I can see that your mind is elsewhere, anything I can do for you?”

Her voice was as dulcet and hypnotic as any proper siren’s voice should be. Normally, a sea-maiden could be quite deadly to a man. Mermaids did not give birth to males, ergo they were forced to find their mates above land, which was why so many stories of maidens dragging men to their deaths were so prevalent. They did, in fact, drag men to the briny depths of Davy Jones’ Locker, men who were never heard from again.

But the moment the maidens had discovered he was the Man in the Moon they’d never tried to be anything other than playful with him. In fact, they treated him with difference and reverence, explaining once that it was the power of the moon that affected the very waters they lived in.

That admission had made him feel safe enough to hang about with them.

Standing, he dusted off the back of his pants and offered a weak grin. “I am fine.”

“And in love,” her ruby red tail flicked briefly out of the water, as she laughed. “I know the look well.”

Frowning, he stared up at the sky and their surroundings before quickly hushing her with a finger to his lips. “Do not utter those words again, maiden. Truths like that can be dangerous in the wrong hands.”