Chapter 41
Mora
“Mora?”
The barn door creaked open, a frigid cold slipping in behind it, the last dregs of daylight following. Accosting Mora’s eyes. She hissed out a breath, scowling at Eris from her nook by the stalls.
“Are you all right?” he asked, kicking the door shut and making his way toward her. A bag hung from his shoulder, jostling against his back with every step.
“Do I look all right?” Mora bowed her head, sick of the metallic, rusty scent of blood crowding her lungs. She could taste it. Feel it. Gore soaked through her clothing to coat her body, drying in every crevice. The damned tunic sticking to her skin.
“Castellan asked me to find you some clothes.” An easy grin pulled at his cheeks, those dark brown eyes glittering.
“He intended to bring them to you once he got everyone settled, but I didn’t think it was fair he keep you to himself.
” When Mora said nothing, his face softened.
Dirt and straw scratched the floor’s wooden slats as Eris lowered himself to the ground by her side.
He let the sack slip from his shoulder and stretched out his legs.
“I’d ask if the death staining your clothes—my clothes, actually, though I quite like them on you—is what’s bothering you, but I’ve seen you take a life without batting an eye. So... what is it, Vicious Thing?”
Mora sighed through her nose, eyes trained on her black leather boots. Sanguine gleamed on the soles, bloody chunks of gods knew what sticking to the treads. Screams rang in her ears, their echoes rising together until they blended into one voice. One sound. A horrified wail she’d never forget.
Her mother. Terror twisting on her face when she’d discovered Mora painted in Dother’s agony.
Aedlin’s last memory of her daughter.
“I killed them all,” she whispered. “Every last one.”
A frown pulled on Eris’s full bottom lip. “You saved people, Mora. They’re alive because of you.”
She smirked, though there was no joy in it. “And they fear me.”
“Because they don’t understand you.”
Mora huffed a quiet, bitter laugh. “No, Eris. They fear me because they understand me well. What you saw in Galdon’s Crossing was nothing. I am well and truly a monster.”
“You had no choice.”
“Oh, I most definitely had a choice.” Finally, Mora looked at him, her head resting on the old wooden boards making up the stall at her back.
“I could have let them run. I could have killed them cleanly. Instead, I hunted them down like animals and slaughtered them all, while the Halflings watched.”
Eris leaned back against the boards, angling his head so he could analyze her face. “And that bothers you?”
She pursed her lips. “It didn’t at the time.”
“And now?”
“Now indeed.” Closing her eyes, she inhaled the blood-coated, musty air, and grimaced.
It wasn’t simply the thick scent of death bothering her.
The barn pulled on threads of memories she’d rather keep buried.
Dother. The beginning of her end. The moment he decided she was his, no matter what he needed to twist her into to accomplish it.
If she could, she’d return to the fields outside Moldenna and burn whatever remained of that decrepit barn.
Perhaps Castellan would allow it if she...
took him up on his offer. Mora sighed. “I never wanted the throne.”
Eris blinked at her, eyes widening. “What would you have wanted instead?”
“I don’t know. I never knew anything different, though I tried to see what life was like outside the castle.
Much to my parents’ dismay.” As quickly as it rose, her smile died on her lips.
She missed who she used to be. Her rooms. The cozy chaise by the balcony where she’d curl up to read.
Her plush mattress and the frilly canopy she’d stare up at when she couldn’t sleep, counting the flowers stitched into its hem.
She missed sneaking into the kitchens with her father and sampling desserts while the cooks pretended not to notice.
She’d give anything to join her mother in the atrium and learn more about the rare flowers she’d had shipped from Eldenna.
Mora missed the life she once resented. The woman she was supposed to be.
“I wanted to pave my own path. To be more than a relic—a crown—someone could covet.” She brushed a stray curl away from her brow, the phantom weight of her tiara easy to remember.
“I made a vow to myself, actually. I had no intention of marrying any of the men who presented themselves as possible suitors. Until someone saw me—loved me—for more than the power I could offer them, I wouldn’t take a husband.
” With a slow shake of her head, she sighed, “It seems that’s all I was destined for. ”
His face softened. “That’s not—”
Mora flashed her teeth. “Don’t be na?ve, Eris. Castellan already used me to empower himself. I simply never thought the crown would play into his plans.”
“Castellan wants...” Eris’s lips thinned. “His story isn’t mine to share, Vicious Thing, but I promise you he wouldn’t take the throne if he saw another way.”
She nodded gravely. “And I am the relic that can grant his wish.”
“Is that why you’re hiding?”
“I came here because I can’t bear the looks on those Halflings’ faces.” She watched Eris with a tired apathy. “When I look at them, I see who I’ve become. What Dother twisted me into.”
What I twisted myself into, she thought bitterly, keeping that part to herself.
“I watched you stand toe to toe with Castellan in Galdon’s Crossing, Princess, and I saw your fire.
” Heat flushed on Mora’s cheeks—Eris stared with rapt attention, running his tongue along his teeth.
“No one can force you to become someone you don’t want to be.
So the question is, is this what you want? ”
“I don’t know anymore. I thought...” Dark curls fell around her face when she bowed her head, all those long nights flashing in her mind—tremors overtook her, and she was powerless to stop it.
Open those pretty legs, Dother’s Ghost taunted. I need to feel you.
Her breathing hitched, eyes flitting frantically around the room.
The rafters watched from their perch in the high ceiling, looming over her while wooden slats pressed against her back.
Had the barn grown smaller? The air thicker?
Wind howled outside, wisps slipping through the cracks in the wood to caress her.
She flinched, earning a look of pity from Eris, his lowered brows fueling the fury rising with her panic.
“I am who I need to be,” she finally answered, something easing inside her as she spoke the words.
Eris nodded, fiddling with his bag’s strap, his gaze growing distant. “We all do things we regret when life grants us little other choice. That doesn’t define you.”
“Oh?” There was something about his pained expression Mora recognized well—it carried the same seeds of resentment she saw in herself. “And what kind of monster are you?”
Eris snorted, that easy smile returning. Was it a mask she hadn’t bothered to notice until now? “What kind of monster would you like me to be?”
“Is that what it is?” Mora leaned closer, resting her arms on her knees. The closeness was odd—Eris didn’t smell like mint and petrichor wrapped in the boughs of a mighty pine, but his small resemblances to the Fae made him seem safer somehow.
Gods, she was a fool... but it felt good to be one.
He tipped his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
Mora mirrored him, cocking her head, the movement slow. Almost animalistic. “Is your sin that you’ll be whatever is asked of you, no matter how monstrous, so long as it serves your needs?”
The strong columns of his throat worked, a splash of red blooming on his cheeks. “And what do you think I need?”
Mora offered a serpentine smile. “I’m sure you’d tell me if I asked nicely.”
“I’m not sure asking nicely is your style, Vicious Thing.”
“Once it was. Now...” She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “We’ll see how curious I become, Eris. Or how easily you cave.”
Eris leaned closer. “For you, I could be easy,” he said, wicked promises in that low tone.
The door banged against the wall, Castellan walking in with a steaming bowl of soup on an old wooden tray, the liquid nearly spilling when he kicked the door closed behind him. “Is he bothering you, Princess?” he asked, quirking a blond brow.
“Me?” Pressing a hand to his chest, Eris feigned innocence. “I brought her a change of clothes, like you asked.”
“I asked you to gather her clothes. Sneaking away to steal a moment alone was all you.”
“Perhaps it was Mora’s plan. Perhaps she asked me to meet her here.”
Mora scoffed, but the rake only winked.
Steam wafted from the bowl in Castellan’s hand, the herby scents of summer savory, thyme, and basil curling under Mora’s nose. Her stomach growled, the beast so loud Castellan’s steps quickened.
“I’m not as skilled a chef as Eris, but I did my best,” he said, placing the tray at her feet.
Licking his lips, Eris looked up at Castellan. “Nothing for me?”
“Fuck off,” Castellan chuckled.
“And that’s my cue.” Eris rose, nudging the bag of clothing closer to Mora with his foot. “These belong to my sister, though I threw in one of my tunics and a cloak in case you prefer my clothing.”
“May the gods damn you.” Mora did her best to sound sinister, but the giggle on her lips and the blush on her cheeks foiled her attempt.
Picking up the spoon Castellan had so kindly provided, she poked a poorly cut chunk of carrot and watched it bob in yellow broth.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you both.”
“Of course.” Eris dipped his head, the ghost of a bow. “Cas, I’ll see you in the house? We have lots to discuss, I imagine.”
“I’ll return shortly,” Castellan offered, sitting by Mora’s side.
Eris hesitated, dark brown eyes trained on Mora, as if he were waiting.
But for what? She avoided his gaze until he left.
Focused on her meal, her cheeks too warm.
The flutter in her heart unbearable. Nausea clawed up her throat as swiftly as the desire curling in her center...
this wasn’t a dream. And these feelings weren’t safe.
“You can go now, gallant knight,” Mora grumbled, examining a spoonful of Castellan’s soup. It was mainly broth, the vegetables few and far between, but he’d seasoned it well. At least, if her nose could be trusted. “I can eat and change without you.”
“Did you need to talk?”
When she brought the spoon to her lips, Mora closed her eyes and hummed.
It wasn’t as decadent as the food she once enjoyed, but she’d barely eaten since the day Dother cursed her—being...
human... long enough to feel hunger so strongly her stomach growled was almost foreign.
Any flavor on her tongue was a gift. She’d likely slurp the entire bowl down—Mora could already imagine her mother’s horror if she witnessed such a thing.
“I can’t talk and eat,” she mumbled, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. Mushy potatoes and sweet carrots found her taste buds, a peppery, herby flavor flirting with her senses. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“So long as you’re satisfied.” Castellan offered her a gentle grin before he stood, but the room grew smaller as he moved away.
Was that the howl of the wind, or could she hear Dother laughing?
The spoon clattered on her bowl. “Castellan,” she murmured, so quiet she wondered if the knight heard.
His steps slowed. “Yes, Princess?” he asked, looking back at her.
Gods, she felt so fucking small. “I don’t want to go back to the house.”
The knight’s gaze softened. “Then you won’t.”
“But...” Mora swallowed. “I don’t want to sleep alone either.”
“I assumed I was in for a cold night.” The guard rested his hand over his heart, as if he were making an oath. “I’ll be by your side for as long as you need me.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he breathed. “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll bring us bedding. We can make the best of this.”
Mora couldn’t meet his eyes, but she nodded. “Okay.”
Without a tray in his hand, Castellan was able to close the door quietly.
Mora stirred her soup, staring into the murky liquid, her mind elsewhere, considering Eris’s question.
She’d killed. Four times now. Despite her hesitation and the fear holding her in its maw like a wild beast, Mora reveled in revenge.
At least, until she saw her reflection in the eyes of those who’d witnessed her retribution.
She knew who she needed to be... but was this what she wanted? More importantly, was this what Berwick needed?
Tapping her spoon on the bowl, Mora thought of her life at the castle. Of the etiquette lessons. The history classes. The mask her mother had tried so hard to teach her to wear and wield as a weapon.
Most of all, Mora thought of what Dother had said over and over again. Together, we will make an incredible difference for our people.
It was impossible not to shudder at the sound of his voice haunting her mind, but...
“The fucking bastard was right,” Mora whispered to the empty space, hating what that meant.