Chapter 40
Reyla
With a snarl, Lore lunged around the corner. The same protective fury that had burned through him in the throne room blazed in his eyes.
Bellows rang out, followed by the roar of Lore’s rage, followed by footsteps pounding down the hall in the opposite direction. I wanted to go after him, but Moira…
Sputtering, she peered at me, her face losing all color, her hands scrambling across the blade embedded in her belly. She clawed at it, slicing her fingers on the edge, before she toppled over onto the floor, driving the blade deeper with the fall.
“Moira,” I cried, stooping down beside her. I rolled her onto her back, and she flopped, her hands still clutching the blade, her eyes so full of pain meeting mine. “Moira,” I whispered again.
Blood seeped through her dress, blooming beneath her fingers. Her lips moved, trying to form words, but only a wet, rattling breath came out.
“No, no, no—just stay still, please?” My hands hovered over her uselessly. I didn’t know what to do. I’d been trained in simple wound care, but this was no simple wound. “You’re going to be fine. Lore’s here. He’ll—he’ll fix this.”
Could his magic heal her?
I’d seen others die from smaller wounds than this after raids, and it was never pretty.
If there wasn’t a healer nearby, the odds of the person surviving such a blow were nonexistent.
But Lore could heal. And Lord Briscalar once told me he had an affinity for things that were once alive and those that could be brought alive in a different way.
Surely a skill like that could make a difference now.
“Lore,” I cried out. “Lore?” Where was he?
Moira blinked slowly. I found her hand and held it, her fingers chilly in mine. Her skin had always been cold, but holding her now was like clutching an icicle.
“You look awful,” she croaked, her voice thin as paper.
I struggled to keep my expression reassuring. “You should see yourself.”
A smile cracked her pale lips, and her fingers twitched against mine. “Dulvade. You tell him… I said yes.”
My throat closed off. “Did he ask you to marry him?”
“Not yet but…he was going to,” she breathed, tears tracking down into her hairline. “Tell him… Tell him yes.”
“I will,” I promised.
Tears poured down my face as the scent of iron choked off my lungs. I brushed damp hair from her forehead. My hand shook. All of me shook.
Her head lolled. I guided it gently back, resting her cheek against my thigh. Blood soaked into my clothing, warm and awful.
“I wanted to get married…in the garden,” she said, her voice fading. “Under the red ploomala tree. I planned to wear my…favorite gown.”
“It made your waist look tiny,” I said, biting back tears.
“He didn’t care…what I look like. He…cared about me for who I am,” she whispered, grinning faintly before it slipped away. Like her. She was slipping away from me and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. “Now it’s too late.”
“I’ll help you with your hair. And cry the whole way through the vows.”
Blinking, she struggled to focus. “If only…I could trade places with you. You shouldn't have to carry this burden. It should be me…facing the curse.”
She was dying and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. And here she was, feeling bad for me.
Where was Lore? He should be here now.
“You have to run, Reyla. Promise… Promise me you'll run…from here. From him. Do it now.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“King Lorick.” Her eyes widened with panic. “Not…what he seems. You…deserve someone who…never gives up.”
The agony was driving her out of her mind.
Memories flooded back. Moira dancing with Farris, stuffing herb sachets under my pillow, pressing a flower into my hand after my coronation. Whispering, “You will rule with justice and heart.”
A low moan stuttered from her throat.
“I’m here,” I said, gripping her hand tighter. “I’m still here.” Where was Lore?
Her eyes opened. “You always were.”
Her chest hitched. Her hand went still in mine.
The hall was too quiet. No more breathing. No more pain. Just my sweet lady, lying limp beside me, her blood cooling beneath us.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My fingers curled around hers. I pressed her hand to my cheek and held it there.
“Sleep, Moira,” I croaked. “No more pain. The fates are waiting for you with open arms.”
I stayed there, holding her hand, until footsteps echoed behind me.
Lore rounded the corner with Dorion behind him.
Dorion’s face was red, and blood was trickling from his nose. Had someone hit him? I wanted to ask, but my heart was still being wrenched in two, and it was all I could do not to break down and sob.
“Dorion killed her.” Lore laid a hand on my shoulder.
I leaped to my feet and flung myself at Dorion.
He flitted to the opposite end of the hall, lifting his empty hands. “Let me explain. Please.”
“Explain what? You murdered my friend!”
“She was a memory golem.”
I reeled backward. “A what?”
Dorion's chest rose and fell, his hands trembling as he stepped closer. “She wasn't real, Reyla. Not like us.”
I shook my head, trying to deny it but… “She laughed at my jokes. She held my hand when I cried.”
“Made of memory and magic,” he continued, his voice cracking. “A construct shaped to feel familiar.”
“Shut up.” The words ripped from my throat. “She was kind. Loyal.”
“Built from what you wanted most.” Guilt made his eyes glisten. “Prager crafted her from your emotions.”
Fucking Prager was involved in this, of course. “She was my friend.”
Lore stepped between us, though he didn't stop me when I moved around him, taking another step toward Dorion.
“She played with Farris.” My shoulders fell. “She visited the kitchens. She was falling in love.”
“She was crafted from your longing for friendship.” Dorion's voice grew sharper. “For someone to see you in that empty court.”
My hands clenched into fists. “You're lying.”
“Did she try to make you think less of Lore?”
I frowned, unsure. That comment about running from him… “No,” I snarled. It couldn’t be true.”
“The memories you have?” He gestured toward Moira's body. “They were written into you. She was meant to worm her way in, to make you love her, then lead you astray.”
“Stop.”
“Then she’d strike. If she couldn’t drive a wedge between you and Lore, she’d find a way to take you from him until it was over.”
“No, she…” Fates. Her words before she died… Something about me deserving someone better, that Lore might not be all he seems.
It couldn’t be true.
Could it?
“I wish I was lying.” Dorion strode around me and reached for the sword embedded in Moira's belly. “But this will prove it.”
He wrenched the sword free.
She seized, her arms stiffening, her back arching in a shudder that didn’t look fae.
Her skin dulled first. The soft flush of her cheeks faded to porcelain white, smooth and pasty.
Cracks spiderwebbed across her hands and arms like fissures in old porcelain.
Her gown unraveled into ash that scattered across the stones, revealing a thin, seam-lined shell of smooth, bone-colored clay.
I staggered back a step. “No…”
Her hair fell away in brittle strands. Her lips split open, revealing a hollow blackness where her mouth should have been. Her eyes didn’t close. They didn’t even blink. They remained wide, glassy discs reflecting my face.
Not Moira.
Not anyone.
Dorion didn’t move. He let the bloodied sword drop from his fingers; it clattered when it hit the floor.
“I assume she died not long before you arrived at Evergorne,” he said hoarsely.
“The real person this thing consumed. I assume she was one of the servants, one with no family. Prager then used her body. Hollowed it out. Then tied her to you, infusing her with a spell that fooled everyone into thinking they knew her as Moira.”
I shook my head. “It can’t be true. She remembered things I didn’t say out loud. She cared.”
But had she?
“She mirrored what you needed,” Dorion said gently.
“What you missed. That’s what makes memory golems so dangerous.
They don’t act. They echo. The more you show a golem, the more they reflect back to you.
I thought something was wrong when I met her in the carriage on the way here.
I’m sorry I took so long to see what she was, to act. ”
To kill her.
No, not Moira. A memory golem.
I knelt and touched her cheek that felt as hard as stone now. Cold and smooth and final.
“But she wasn’t evil,” I said.
“Not in the way we see good or bad,” Dorion said. “She was bound to turn. Once you trusted her completely, she would’ve killed you. Love is the trigger. That’s when she would’ve snapped. And Prager would’ve laughed when it happened, savoring how she’d fooled you.”
Lore crouched beside me, placing his around my back. “The spell made her everything you'd wanted in a friend. That doesn't make what you feel any less real. I should have protected you from this thing, but I didn’t see through the facade.”
Prager’s spell fooled us all.
I shook my head. “She thought the stars were beautiful. She once said each was the heart of someone precious we’d lost, that we only had to look up and it would be like they were with us once more.”
I’d seen Kinart there.
Would I now see the person I’d believed was my friend?
I looked at her again, at the shell of what was left, and the horror started to settle in. All those moments… They were mine. They’d never been hers.
I gritted my teeth and stood, drawing in a sharp breath before everything inside me broke.
“She’s gone now,” Dorion said, quieter. “And when the spell finishes coming apart, you’ll start to forget.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“She’s unraveling already. In your mind. You’ll keep pieces, like things you gave her, but the rest will fade. Her voice. Her face. The way she looked when she laughed. The spell’s tied to your memory, and without it…”
“No,” I said. “She deserves to be remembered.”
But even as I spoke, dismay filled my chest. I couldn’t remember what color ribbon she wore in her hair that day I sent her to the kitchen for something I didn’t need but so she could visit with Dulvade.
I turned back to Moira’s body. Her skin had cracked further, pieces flaking away like old plaster. Soon, she’d be nothing but dust.
Maybe I would forget her, but for now, I held tight to her humming.
And the way she’d danced under the stars.