Chapter 7
Mora
In her smoke, Mora was reborn. Her flesh cleansed of her sins, pristine and unmarred, as it had been... before. Though, it never erased the memories. As wisps of glittering onyx splashed against the floor, Mora’s flesh slowly weaving back together, she felt it. Felt him.
Even in death, Dother lingered, his rapacious fingers staining every inch of her. His voice ricocheting off the stone walls and assaulting her ears.
THERE WILL ALWAYS BE AN US!
Mora felt small, the room leering over her, the walls closing in. The first breath she inhaled was too sharp, her lungs screaming as the smoke cleared. Embers still crackled by the doorway, consuming Sev, Edmund, and what little remained of her mother.
All she knew was the rapid beat of her frantic heart, the taste of ash and death coating her tongue.
Mora curled her fingers around soft velvet, the navy fabric of her torn dress now a deep shade of purple, sticky with so much blood.
She squeezed her fists tight. Imagined Dother’s death enveloping her, painting her in his agony and shielding her like armor.
If she focused, she could almost feel it, a sluggish heart beating in her palm, thick globs of sanguine soaking into her skin.
“Princess?” a stunned, masculine voice whispered.
Glowing amber eyes snapped open, narrowing as they took in the stranger.
“Keeper of the flask”—a frown pulled at her full lips when she realized what he was—“my power is yours to command.”
Splashes of gore stained his royal blue uniform, but it didn’t take away from the gleam of silver filigree dusting his broad shoulders.
The King’s Guard pressed his lips together, his hand slipping from his sword’s pommel as he bowed low.
The flask lay discarded at his feet. Dropped in a fruitless attempt to defend himself from the onyx mist—as if his blade would accomplish anything.
“I am the one at your command, Your Highness,” he said reverently, the tone plucking at her grief. He tipped his head up, piercing gray eyes like storm clouds locking onto her. “We thought something happened to you.”
His words cut like a blade, so like Philip’s the day she’d returned home after spending the night with Dother. The beginning of her end.
“I always come back,” she whispered, echoing her past self, the pain in her throat unbearable.
The guard raised a brow, but was kind enough not to ask what she was muttering about. “Why did you call me Keeper? And what was with all that smoke?”
Blond curls slipped free from his helmet, tickling his forehead. She didn’t recognize him.
“Who are you?” Mora demanded, lifting her chin. Taking comfort in the familiarity of an old dynamic she knew she couldn’t cling to for long.
A gentle smile tugged on his lips. “You haven’t answered my questions.”
“I outrank you.”
He nodded, a pink flush dusting his freckled cheeks. “I’m Castellan, Your Highness. Castellan Briar.”
Mora knew that surname well. “Lord Emmett Briar’s son?” Nobles had played a role in bolstering the furious mob that broke into the castle, stoking their fear and hatred for Halflings. Desperate to regain their Indentured.
Was Castellan involved?
He bowed his head, unable to meet her gaze. “Yes, Princess, the Lord of Moldenna is my father.” The guard’s features wilted, no pride in his admission.
“And you became a King’s Guard? Why do such a thing when you have a lordship to inherit?”
His eyes darkened, thunder looming within them.
“Necessity,” he said, crossing his arms as if to protect himself.
His tone was thick, tinged with a bitter sort of sadness.
Where it was coming from, Mora had no idea, but a sour blend of warring emotions wasn’t new to her.
Castellan gave her a pleading look—whatever his reasons, he didn’t wish to discuss them with a stranger.
“I joined the Guard a little over a year and a half ago. I’m afraid we never had the opportunity to speak before...
” He trailed off, shifting awkwardly as he stared down at her flask. “What happened?”
Mora’s jaw tensed, unshed tears stinging behind her eyes.
She squeezed her fists tighter, so hard they ached, and forced herself to look at those rumpled black sheets.
“I died,” she said softly, examining Dother’s corpse once more.
Cursing herself for not coming back to burn him before she gave in to the demands of her flask.
His face looked... She hated that it was almost peaceful.
Eyes closed, lips slightly parted. As if he’d simply fallen asleep.
“You look alive to me.” Castellan’s boots scuffed on the black tiles as he moved to Mora’s side.
She stilled, muscles coiling while her stomach lurched.
“Stay back,” she hissed. Panic pulsed in her chest, goosebumps skittering up her arms. Mora stared at Dother’s hand, watching for any sign of movement.
Any hint of life. Nothing moved; even the eerie glare of his ring was missing, looted in the hours since she’d ended her first Keeper.
You’ll never be rid of me.
He’d sounded so certain. Yet, as the setting sun rained down on him like a beam descending from the heavens to judge his severed soul, Mora felt somewhat free.
If not for the press of smoke under her skin.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Castellan raised his hands and stepped back, the space between them a boon. She could almost breathe again, the maddening beat of her pulse in her ears slowing its pace.
Still, Mora laughed, a dry, humorless sound that barely felt human. “Promise?”
“Of course. I’ve pledged myself to your family.”
She couldn’t stop herself from shuddering. “There is no royal family to pledge yourself to. The Althenis line is dead.”
He looked down at her dress, taking in the bloodstains and torn fabric. There was no hunger on his face—his brows scrunched with worry—yet Mora curled her arms around her center and shifted further away.
“You’re still here,” he offered, his voice low. Gentle. The way one spoke to a spooked animal they intended to corral into an enclosure.
“Look closer,” she growled, tugging at the tether in her center.
Dark wisps of obsidian, speckled with gold glimmering like stars, dripped from her fingers and gathered in an undulating puddle at her feet.
Castellan sucked in a breath, instinctively reaching for his sword.
There was something calming in knowing she’d made him afraid.
The smoke faded and Mora flexed her fingers.
Marching past him to the rosewood dresser on the other side of the room, she tore open the top drawer.
It was sparsely filled with the garments Dother allowed.
“Why are you in the King’s Quarters?” she asked, her palm settling on a soft tunic as white as the snow looming outside.
She squeezed the fabric tight in her grip.
“Are we not going to speak of your strange power?” He meandered closer, bending down to pick up the dagger near the door, his brows furrowing.
Mora’s amber eyes flared at him over her shoulder.
Castellan pocketed the blade and cleared his throat. “I was on duty when the rioters swarmed the castle. My fellow guards, my friends… they…” He took a breath, shaking his head. “The details don’t matter. Despite our weapons and training, there weren’t enough of us to make a stand for long.”
That incessant dripping was back, haunting her mind. Mora gritted her teeth. “And you what? Ran and hid?” Had he abandoned her mother? Left her to face the rebels alone?
Castellan’s shoulders sagged. “When it was clear we were defeated, I found an abandoned room to hide in. I know I’ve failed you, Princess.
I failed your family, and I am not worthy of my title.
” He tore his helmet off and tossed it to the floor.
It clattered on the tiles, rolling to a stop in the mess of Dother’s things.
Mora followed its movement until she stared at the scattered papers and trinkets, littered with bits of broken glass.
Nowhere to be found was the gleam of sapphires and diamonds glinting on the sharp points of a crown that never should have been made.
Nor the dark brown leather of an enchanted pouch full of gods knew what.
She couldn’t decide if she was relieved or horrified to see them gone.
“Then something happened.” Castellan ran a hand through his sweat-matted curls, pushing them away from his face.
“Someone took a stand, and the rebels left on this floor are all dead. I think it scared off the rest of them. As soon as I knew I was safe, I came out to investigate.” He smiled softly. “Then I found you.”
She clutched the tunic to her chest, uncaring if it stained—carrying a piece of Dother’s end with her for a while longer felt like a gift. “Find me you did,” she breathed, knowing what came next.
“And you appeared in a cloud of onyx, with the oddest declarations on your tongue.”
Mora pressed her lips together and turned away, only to come face to face with her haunted self, staring through the ornate mirror above the dresser. “How well did you know the new king, Castellan?” she asked, examining the darkness looming behind her eyes.
Castellan was careful to avoid the rumpled sheets on the floor when he moved closer, his reflection joining hers.
Though he was kind enough to maintain the space between them.
He shrugged, his attention lingering on her in the mirror, before moving to Dother’s corpse.
“He had his preferred guards and didn’t pay the rest of us any mind. ”
Guards who were happy to watch the door and keep their mouths shut while Dother raped her. Mora’s upper lip curled. “What happened to those he favored?”
He shook his head. “I’m not certain.”