29.1 || Kiss of Forgotten Embers
The necromancer's throat burned as she threw up mouthfuls of seawater.
Morana couldn't believe what she was seeing.
She had to still be dead. Her mind loved to play tricks on her while she floated between life and the world beyond, tormenting her with past memories and reminding her of the cursed person she was.
Why was Prince Damian here to save her?
The Fireborn dropped the driftwood in his hands and fell to his knees beside her, pulling her into his chest. "You're alive." His voice broke into a severed melody as he spoke, a tune woven with sorrow.
"That I am." Morana didn't have the energy to move. The warmth radiating from Damian's skin, even with the storm that raged around then, was comforting. It promised the safety she craved. The peace she longed for and knew she would never get. "Why are you here?"
She managed to look up at her saviour and found she was unable to tell if the water rolling down his cheeks was rain or tears.
His clothes were soaked through, his white shirt nothing more than a nuisance that revealed the dark skin of his abdomen riddled with sharp lines.
Smudged makeup along his neck unveiled hints of onyx ink hidden underneath.
"Didn't I promise I would stick by your side?
Even if it means hitting someone over the head with a plank of wood.
" His half-smile made something strange skitter through her bones — a nervous type of joy.
"Silas wanted to see me after the events that happened.
When I couldn't find him at his office, an Orge told me to head to the beach and.
.. fuck. As soon as I saw him trying to kill you, I didn't think.
" Damian cupped Morana's face, his trembling fingers embracing her skin as if he thought he would never touch it again.
"I thought you were dead. I saw... I saw your body and-" When he couldn't get the words out, he rested his forehead against hers. "Are you okay?"
A laugh stumbled through Morana's mouth. "I need to sleep for a week and drown out the taste of saltwater with some alcohol, but I'll be okay."
Her gaze fell onto the Fireborn's lips. Had they always looked so soft? Each crease in the skin looked to be forged of silk. No cuts marred their surface aside from a black loop peering across the lower lip's centre. Did they feel as smooth as they appeared?
This had to be the spell Silas had used to revive her earlier than her magic had deemed her ready. It made her woozy, sending her thoughts swirling in chaotic spirals.
"Really, bone girl. You were seriously injured. Are you going to be okay?" Damian's grip tightened, pulling her even closer as if he was afraid of losing her. Her of all people. He looked down at her lips too, their eyes meeting on the way.
"Yes, fire boy." With all the strength she had left, Morana reached up and kissed him.
At first, it was a peck that tested the waters. A cautionary step to check if she was welcome in the unknown territory. Her lips tingled with the promise of forgotten embers and lustful greed as she pulled back, leaving her wanting more.
What was she doing? This was a man she had met mere days ago — a prince of a kingdom. He was going to turn tail and leave her, just like everyone else had.
Damian tilted the necromancer's chin upward and pushed their mouths back together, snatching the precious air from her lungs.
This time, their kiss was hungry. It yearned for more, sparking with a desire no touch could quench.
It set Morana's skin ablaze with hope. There would be a way out of this.
There was a sunrise at the end of the dark night she faced and her Fireborn was waiting there for her.
Only when the two couldn't find the chance to breathe did they part. She couldn't believe what she had done. Morana had kissed him. And he had kissed her back. What did that mean? It must have only been a spur-of-the-moment action. Could it have meant more to him?
A groan beside them made the necromancer flinch. Silas twitched, his fingers furling around clumps of sand, but he settled back into a deep unconsciousness.
"We need to get out of here," Morana said with a sigh. She tried to stand but her ankle rolled, sending her sprawling towards the ground.
Damian caught her and slung her arm over his shoulders. "Right." He cleared his throat. "I don't know where we're going to go. The castle is not an option and I don't know anything about this island."
"I have a place," she confirmed, nodding as she thought her plan over. The world swayed with the motion and she couldn't tell if it was her head, or if the cliffs had learnt to dance. "A friend that will hide us for a little while."
The prince hooked Morana in as she staggered to the side. "Let me know where to go and I'll get us there."
As they took the first slow steps, each one eliciting pain that twisted in her stomach, the assassin's eyes widened. "Wait!" She unlinked herself from her warm support and fell back to the sand.
"Morana!" Damian cried as she crawled towards Silas.
Numb fingers made it difficult to pilfer through the sodden fabric of his suit to search him.
It had to be here somewhere. It wasn't in the secret lining of his jacket, nor was it in the visible pockets on the outside.
His trousers were empty and the flask tucked into his belt was too.
Finally, when she reached the breast pocket in his shirt, she found her necklace.
It glowed a fierce purple as it was reunited with her, magic thrumming through the crystal as she rubbed it across her cheek. It was safe from her boss.
"Now we can go." Morana placed it in the vacant pouch on her belt — one that was usually filled with her bone shards. They were gone, still left in the castle where she had tossed them aside.
The Fireborn reached out his hand to help the necromancer up, but she hesitated.
What about Silas? What was she going to do with him?
She could leave him on the shore of Wyrith and let the Molten Sea decide his fate.
Or, she could take his life. It would only be a matter of time before he ordered one of his lackeys to search the Lost Abyss for her.
Morana was vital to his plan, the only one who could make their dream happen, and he wouldn't give her up easily.
Even if she didn't believe in his reverie anymore.
She had no weapons and no strength to finish the job. Nothing to use to her advantage. Forcing Damian to take his life in her stead was out of the question. She had to leave him.
"Are you ready?" the prince asked, crouching beside her.
Morana nodded. "Let's go."
Making sure her arm was tight around his neck, Damian scooped her up. One arm braced around her waist and the other tucked under her knees. They headed towards the slope that led to the top of the cliffs, the summer storm fighting them with every step they took, leaving her boss behind.
"Make a left here." Morana pointed over Damian's shoulder towards a narrow alleyway. Thanks to the torrential rain, only a few brave souls dared to head out and brace the streets of the Wandering Market. Or foolish, if they weren't prepared to be knocked over by the winds.
"We've taken this left seven times now and we haven't gotten any closer to this friend of yours.
All we've done is walk in circles," he proclaimed.
With each minute that passed, his shoulders had become more and more tense.
The dull amber in his eyes darted toward each sound that the cracks of lightning above them made.
"It's around here somewhere," she groaned. "This storm and my magic isn't helping."
She had walked these streets hundreds of times before, both on the cobbled grounds and from the rooftops above. Why was one wooden door with a recognisable symbol on it so difficult to find now? It had to be close by.
"Put me down," Morana demanded, patting his shoulder.
"Will you be able to walk?" Damian squinted in suspicion.
"I'll be fine." She waved off his concern but he still didn't seem convinced. "I'm just giving these strong muscles of yours a well-deserved break. Think of it as a reward for carrying me all this way."
"My strong muscles are more than capable of carrying you for longer if you need it. I'm only worried that Silas has woken and sent someone after us. We'll need to be able to move quickly if that's the case."
"I'm looking for a crescent moon on a door. It's the back entrance to a tavern and it's always been around here somewhere," she explained.
After a moment of debating in his mind, Damian put her down. His arm still snaked around her to keep her balanced. "Lead the way."
They headed down the same passage of discarded beer bottles and shattered glass, peering closely at every door.
Morana felt better now that she was on her feet, ignoring how her vision faded in and out every once in a while.
The familiarity was better suited to guide her.
When they reached the end of the alley, the Fireborn tried to turn her toward the same route they had taken previously, but the necromancer moved in the opposite direction.
"This way, I'm sure of it."
At the sight of empty barrels once filled with liquor piled high and the ever-growing collection of wanted posters nailed to the exterior wall, she knew she had the right place. They weaved around them and found the door she searched for hidden behind them.
A silver moon was etched into the centre of the fortified wood, the metal gleaming with a magic enchantment that stopped angry customers from bashing it down.
Itros had a spell customised for the Defiant Moon Tavern for every situation he could think of — he did live here after all.
However, his fancy hired magic had never covered the keyhole.
Morana reached into her braid for the hairpins she always kept there, excited to pick the lock once more.
Yet, her smile sunk when she found nothing sharp between the strands.
That bastard. Silas had taken her pins when he had retied her braid.
What useful thief was she now when she couldn't even get through a door?
"I need something small and malleable to pick this lock with," she declared. "Do you have anything like that on you?"
"I thought you said this was your friend?"
The necromancer shrugged. "Friend is a loose term here in the Lost Abyss. If we find each other useful and someone isn't out to take my life, they're fair game."
Damian looked over himself and then back at the door. "Maybe we could wedge something in the side of it instead? I don't have anything on me."
"When did you become an expert at breaking doors open?" she teased. It was a good idea and the only one they had for now.
"When you're kept locked inside, you learn how to free yourself." He flexed his fingers. "I should have brought some wood from the beach."
Morana shook her head. "It would have been too brittle. We need something a little stronger." Holding onto the wall, she kicked one of the bottom barrels beside them and sent the rest crashing to the ground.
Once the rain had settled the dust of the fall, Damian picked up a broken shard of one of the unlucky barrels and motioned for the necromancer to step aside.
"Save your strength. I'll try." He began to wedge the wood above the handle of the door, but the enchantment coating it cried out in fury.
It flared from a tranquil emerald to an irate crimson, singeing the wood until it splintered into useable pieces.
As if on command, the door opened to reveal Itros standing in the shadows of its frame.
It was clear he had rushed away from the bar to find them.
Plain breeches flecked with dots of alcohol were all he adorned and a cloth was tucked into the waist of his trousers.
The horned man held a bow that was primed, ready to shoot Damian in the chest.
"Five," he began, watching as the Fireborn dropped his broken tool.
"Four." The bartender pulled the bowstring back all the way, equipping his weapon with as much power as he could.
Morana had been in this situation before the very first time she had needed a place to stay. "Three."
She had taken an arrow to the shoulder courtesy of her quick reactions. "Two." In return, he had received a bone shard to his thigh.
Itros was going to kill him for trying to break in. "One."