Chapter 14
Mora
“Mora,” Castellan whispered to the flask, eyes darting over the shadows between the trees to be sure they were alone. He held the bottle close, staring at the undulating mass of glittering smoke within. “Can you hear me, Princess? You can come out now.”
The lure of his call crawled through the bottleneck to curl with the onyx mist—Mora felt it. A demand, hooking itself to her soul and tugging until she was forced to follow. With an inward sigh, she obeyed, splashing against the ground at his feet.
A torrent of obsidian rose, lifted by the hands of a phantom breeze, buffeting his blond curls while frigid air nipped his cheeks. Then, the darkness slipped away to reveal her, eyes aglow. Strands of long, brown hair fluttering around her like a dark halo before they settled.
“Are you all right?” he asked, the storm in those eyes calming as they raked over her and found no harm. At least, not outwardly.
Mora suppressed a shiver, tugging at her bloodstained cloak until the fur lining brushed against her jaw.
“I’m fine,” she spat. Of course she was fine.
Dother had made it so nothing could ever take her from this world—from him.
Did he regret that now, while he rotted in whatever realm took the dead, unable to get his hands on his Treasure? Gods, she hoped so.
Tracing her throat, her skin perfectly soft and unmarred, Mora grimaced.
She remembered the sting of Jonah’s blade, warm, frothy blood flooding her mouth and enveloping her tongue in a bitter, coppery flavor.
Dribbling down her chin while she choked on air, desperate to fill her burning lungs. It was almost like before...
Shh, Dother cooed in her mind.
Mora gritted her teeth and ignored him, glaring up at Castellan instead. “You killed an innocent man.”
The guard crossed his arms. “I saved you.”
“From someone I knew, who was under some kind of spell. He needed our help, Castellan, not a blade to the stomach.”
Castellan’s quiet laugh was bitter. “Apologies. Next time you’re in peril I’ll be sure to ask your attacker if they need help before I protect you.
” He dragged his hands through his hair, staring up at the fading sun.
“He slit your throat, Mora. That innocent man you’re so concerned about intended to kill you. ”
“I can’t die,” she hissed.
Castellan threw his hands in the air. “You still feel pain! It is my duty to protect you.”
Her upper lip curled, but Mora bit her tongue.
What more could she say—from Castellan’s perspective, he had saved her.
Rushing in like a gallant knight to rescue the princess from a man with a blade.
Adding another senseless death to her conscience.
She couldn’t carry it. The crushing weight of everything—of all she’d lost—hung from her shoulders, a constant, heavy burden.
Mora was so tired.
It would have been better if Castellan had left her to bleed. If death could indeed tear her from this realm.
A wisp of wind slipped through her hair, carrying Dother’s taunts with it. Then we’d be together, Treasure, as it should be.
Dear gods, no!
Mora’s fingers ached as she squeezed them into fists, trembling at the sound of Dother’s voice.
She took a slow breath. Drank the frigid air like fresh water and looked around them, pretending the figment in her mind didn’t exist. One day she’d be rid of it—of the remnants of him—she simply needed time.
A well-traveled road peeked between the trees, the snow stained brown with dirt and gravel. Wherever they were, Castellan had freed her from Moldenna. Like he’d promised.
“How did you survive?” she asked, noting Castellan’s rumpled clothing. His fingers drummed on the hilt of his sword, bruises staining the back of his hand.
He smiled sadly. “I suppose you saved me too.”
Mora rolled her eyes. “Yes, I remember being incredibly heroic.”
“Your smoke caught them off guard. You gave me time to unbind myself and run; I’m in your debt, Princess.” Castellan looked over his shoulder, his grin disappearing. “They still have my gods damned bag though. We have no supplies. No food.”
“Worry about yourself. I don’t need anything.”
“You need to eat.”
Huffing a tired laugh, she tugged on the tether in her chest and exploded into mist. Powdered bits of ivory slipped from pine tree boughs, tumbling like snowflakes while Mora swooped over Castellan and landed at his back.
“The smoke takes it all away,” she said quietly, glittering bits of onyx still undulating over her skin.
More sorrow lacing her tone than she intended.
Castellan ducked under a branch and approached her, but she pulled away. “You deserve to feel human, Mora.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not sure I deserve anything anymore.”
The people of Moldenna agreed, the cacophony of shouts and chants celebrating the fall of the Crown telling enough. Their queen meant nothing to them. No matter how beloved Mora once was, no one cared now. Why should they?
Every piece of who she was lay dead in Castle Berwick, along with the rest of her family. Where it belonged.
No one will care for you again.
Mora winced at the thought.
You don’t think I love you? Dother’s Ghost breathed, his fingers dancing along her waist until they trailed over her pouch.
Her breath caught.
The pouch...
Supple leather met her palm—she traced the silver buckle, cool metal slipping over her skin. It was held in place by an all too familiar dark brown belt, its hand-carved daisies, branches, and leaves mocking her on its surface.
“No,” Mora whispered, covering her mouth with her trembling fingers. “No, no, no, no.”
“What’s wrong, Princess?” Castellan’s voice grew soft, face scrunching with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“He’ll never be gone,” she breathed, voice shaking. “I’ll never be free of him.”
“Who?”
“Is this what you meant, you fucking bastard?” Mora screamed at the darkness building among the trees, stumbling in the snow. “I’ll never be rid of you because you’ll force me to carry this reminder?”
When she swayed, Castellan’s calloused hands grabbed her shoulders, his touch gentle as he attempted to steady her.
Mora spun, shrieking while her fist connected with his chest. “Let me go!” She hit him again, the blow harder this time, but Castellan made no attempt to stop her. “Let me go, let me go, LET ME GO!”
Dother’s cruel laugh rang in her ears, the sound crawling free from her mind and twisting through the breeze. It was so loud. The loudest it had been since he’d died. As if he’d awoken and curled his arms around her waist, locking his fingers together where the belt buckled.
I told you, Treasure, Dother’s Ghost seethed with the howling winds, I will never let you go.
When her knees buckled, Castellan helped her to the ground while Mora cried against his chest until she could hardly breathe. Until no more tears would come. Until the only words spilling from her lips were, “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”