Chapter 14
Morgana
Duke Ribold cannot apologize enough for allowing us to almost be killed in our beds.
“On the contrary, sir,” Leon eventually says quite sternly. “It’s us who should apologize for bringing this danger to your home.”
The duke splutters out some halfhearted denial, but looks relieved to at last bid us a good night, saying he didn’t expect to see any of us at breakfast and that we should all sleep in.
But we don’t go to sleep. Not yet. When at last the grounds and the rest of the house have been swept for any remaining enemies, we gather in Damia’s room. Mine and Leon’s still has a huge hole in the door, making it less than ideal for conducting private meetings.
“How are you doing, Hyllus?” I ask, looking sympathetically at the sling cradling his large arm. The big fae he was fighting seems to have broken it.
Mal tuts, jumping in before Hyllus can answer. “Sorry I can’t do more. I’m no use with broken bones.”
“We’ll find a dryad on our way out of Filusia,” Leon promises.
“I’ll be fine, Your Highness. Thank you for asking,” Hyllus says gently, but there’s a strange look in his eyes—a lingering curiosity, I think.
In fact, when I look around at all our friends, I see it in their faces too. The atmosphere is strange, like there’s something everyone wants to say, even though no one is owning up. I think of the name our attackers gave me. Mithanas.
We all killed people today. We all took lives to defend ourselves and our friends.
But I’m the only one who did it without lifting a finger.
Do they view me differently because of that?
Or am I just being paranoid? Do they see me like the dark-clothed fae did—as some kind of supernatural bringer of death?
“I discovered it when Respen hurt Alastor,” I say at last, feeling the need to offer some explanation.
“I managed to…to suppress some of the life in him,” I say, trying to find words that don’t sound violent.
“He was powerful, so there were limits to what I could do. But just now during the fight, I was able to go further, until every bit of life was gone.”
“Like the opposite of your healing power?” Tira asks.
I nod, looking around for signs of disgust or discomfort.
“Good timing,” Damia says with a curt nod. “We’d have beaten them in the end, but not without more injuries. Your magic helped us end it quickly. They were Morelium, by the way. I suspected when they first attacked, but I’m sure of it now.”
There’s a rustle of recognition through the room as she confirms my suspicions, though Mal and Lafia exchange confused glances, and Corrin frowns.
“They’re an extreme religious sect here in Filusia,” I explain. “They’re fae who worship Ethira.”
“And they’ve attacked us before,” Leon says grimly, turning to Damia. “What makes you sure it was them?”
“Aside from their ridiculous theatrics toward Morgana?” Damia says, crossing her arms. “I knew them. One of the fae she killed was a second cousin of mine.”
I freeze. “The one you were fighting?” I ask.
“Yes. I haven’t seen him for decades, but I recognized him after he shouted something at me during the fight—it was a nickname my family used to use for me. It threw me,” she says, visibly angry with herself for letting him distract her.
“I’m—”
Damia holds up her hand, stopping me from speaking. “Don’t say you’re sorry. He fucking deserved what he got. They all did. Not just because of their twisted beliefs, but because—as tonight’s attack shows—most of their cult has signed up to Team Caledon.”
“Caledon sending them does seem the likeliest scenario,” Alastor agrees.
“And that’s very bad news,” Damia says. “Because the Morelium will happily throw everything they have into fighting his holy war. And they’ve got very little to fear.”
She scoffs at the ridiculousness of it, shaking her head. “They’re all so convinced they’ll be rewarded in the Eternal Realm. That’s why your new party trick freaked them out so much,” she says, looking at me. “It must’ve looked like the gods themselves were striking down their friends.”
“Listen to Damia. You did the right thing,” Leon says, trying to soothe me across the mooring. “They would never have stopped trying to kill us all otherwise.”
I try to feel better about this, but the look in the Morelium’s eyes stays with me, even as we make our plans to rest until midday, at which point we’ll hit the road again.
Upon leaving Damia’s room, a helpful servant tells us the duke has found a new room for Leon and me. We clean ourselves up and prepare for bed as the first light of dawn already peeks from behind the curtains.
“Talk to me about it,” he says out loud as we climb under the blankets. “What did it feel like?”
I’ve been avoiding discussing this strange new ability in any depth, but I can’t go on ignoring it.
“I think it started as fear,” I admit. “The fae who first came into our room had a sensic power—”
“He could generate terror,” Leon says, nodding. “I felt your fear through the mooring; it helped me wake up from the dreams.” He grimaces. I know how much he dislikes this new lack of control he has when it comes to his own sensic magic.
“He tried to use it on me, too, before I killed him,” Leon says. “Is that how you managed to tap into your new power? Did the fear make you push your magic further than usual?”
I shake my head. “I wish I could just put it down to that. But it wasn’t the fear that drove me.”
I sit up, pushing the sheets back. I need some air, and I don’t want to look at Leon’s face. I switch to talking across the mooring, hoping it will be easier not to say the words out loud.
“I felt such…certainty. I didn’t question it. I knew what I had to do to finish the fight. And the fact is, I don’t feel bad about what I did. Even now, I think it was necessary to avoid worse consequences for our side.”
“So why can’t you look me in the eyes?” Leon asks, pushing me to be honest with myself.
“I’m worried about the fact that I don’t feel more guilty.”
I turn, sitting sideways to look at him again, wanting to explain clearly.
“Listen, my love,” I begin, “I would give up my soul a thousand times for you. But what I did tonight…I think I might only have been able to do it because I’m missing that piece of me.
And more than that, I can’t help but wonder if the version of me before all this—the one with her soul intact—would feel differently about how easy it was to kill those people. ”
“And if the answer to all that is yes?” Leon asks, tilting his head. “Does that matter?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I guess I’m worried it means I’m a bad person. Will people look at me like a monster, knowing I literally have the power of death?”
Leon reaches out to stroke my arm. I lean into his hand, briefly closing my eyes as I wait for his answer.
“Lots of people have magical skills that make them very effective at killing people,” he says softly. “Look at Damia and Phaia, or Corrin and Mal. Do you see them as monsters?”
I open my eyes. “You know that’s different.”
“Why? Just because your way is quicker? Neater? Less painful? Those all sound like good things to me.”
“It’s also unnatural,” I say. “And people don’t like anything unnatural. Half my kingdom already thinks I’m an aberration. This isn’t exactly going to help.”
He considers this. “I can’t deny that people may be afraid of your power. Even the Trovian soldiers fighting by my side got uneasy when they were reminded about my power. Strength scares people, especially when they’re afraid they can’t control it.”
“So?” I ask, hoping he has some solution.
“So, I think you should decide carefully about how and when you use this amazing, impressive power in front of others, but don’t think any less of yourself just because you’ve been the one chosen to wield it.”
I smile despite myself, his admiring tone filling me with warmth that floods across the mooring.
“My love,” Leon reaches for my hand, using it to pull me down against him, hugging me tight.
“You will never be a monster, no matter how many missing pieces you have. How could you be, when you saved me? When you keep reaching for your magic to help your friends and family? That’s what matters.
That’s what shows you’re the same person you’ve always been. ”
I think about how Leon described his time in the War of the Laurels. He became hardened to death because he had to. That’s what soldiers do. But his core values remained the same, and that’s why I fell in love with him.
When I think about it from his perspective, it would be weirder if I went through everything I’ve been through and came out the other side unchanged.
But I haven’t lost my capacity for love.
I still carry all the same people in my heart.
In fact, it’s grown to accommodate a whole new crowd of people lately.
When I have that, then maybe the missing piece of my soul doesn’t matter so much after all.
I sleep soundly at first, until a new dream finds me, mind clearly not put to rest.
In the dream, I see myself as if from a height.
The version of me standing below is dressed in black, but it doesn’t hide the blood sprayed across her clothes.
She’s standing over a pile of bodies, her face a picture of violence, cruel and ruthless.
She’s unstoppable—an avenging goddess whose power will crash against my enemies like waves upon the shore, washing them away.
The avenging goddess looks up, meeting my gaze. I see the darkness in her empty, black eyes, and I’m gripped with fear. That creature down there isn’t me—she’s some lost, twisted version of me. But what if that’s my future? What if I keep changing until I can barely recognize myself?
“Ana…”
Leon’s voice comes to me in my nightmare like it always does, tugging me away from the horrifying image. When I open my eyes, he’s leaning over me, studying my face.
“It’s not real, Ana,” he says. But the blood still pounds in my ears, and my body feels like it’s on high alert.