Chapter 51
Mora
It was haunting, that comforting scent. Mora rested beneath the furs Castellan laid out for her, hugging a woolen blanket graced with the faint aroma of the damned Fae—mint and summer rain splashed with hints of pine, remnants from last night’s dream.
She inhaled it greedily, savoring every soothing breath. Wishing she could somehow bottle it.
In her darkest moments, when she was suffocating on citrus, the thought of his scent embraced her and helped her through. Now she dreamt of it nightly. Of him. Mint and petrichor following her into the waking world.
This was madness.
It shouldn’t have surprised her, the loss of her mind. There were few pieces of her left to cling to; Mora hardly knew who she was anymore.
Or what she wanted.
Well... if she were being honest with herself, there was one thing she desired, but she was afraid.
All she could think of was Castellan’s advice—It’s okay to want someone.
What would he say if he knew she wanted the Fae who held a blade to her throat? A male who worked with the man who’d destroyed her? She doubted he’d encourage her then.
Would a night with Eris cleanse her mind? Could she...?
Would she?
Her dreams may not be real, but she wasn’t sure if exploring her desires with the Fae was a good idea. Eris was here. Handsome as all hells. And he hadn’t worked with the man who’d doomed her.
Mora rolled over so she could look at Castellan, resting soundly across from her, cocooned by thick furs and linen.
Blond curls splayed across his pillow, his chest rising and falling slowly.
He may have been lost in the clutches of sleep, but Mora knew he’d be by her side in an instant should she need him. Ever her gallant knight.
It was a blessing he’d found her flask—Castellan was a better Keeper than she imagined possible. A better companion than she deserved.
Would he make a good husband?
Mora cringed inwardly. She couldn’t help it.
Before Dother, she would have given anything to avoid being married off to some noble son she didn’t care for, all in the name of a gods damned crown, yet here she was.
Volunteering. Would her mother have approved if Castellan presented himself as a possible match? Would Mora have cared?
A quiet laugh slipped free—she knew what she would have done: run as fast and as far as she could until morning demanded she return. Castellan wasn’t the one who sang to her heart, but at least she was beginning to enjoy his company. To trust him. To...
Mora swallowed.
To need him.
That had to be enough. There was too much at stake to demand more from the Fates when so many depended on them. Mora hoped he’d protect her flask like he promised, even when no wishes remained.
Could he do such a thing? Was it too much to hope she’d ascend the throne and find a way to settle into the life she was meant to live?
Goosebumps rose on her flesh, a chill skittering up her arms.
“Don’t let me down, gallant knight,” she whispered.
His lashes fluttered and he mumbled something, but Mora could hardly make it out. Was it a name? Didi? Perhaps he dreamed about the tryst he’d mentioned earlier.
At least someone did what they wanted in their dreams. It must have been nice, to be so assured. To act as he wished, without the ghost of another’s wretched touch lingering on his skin, their cold fingers clinging to his soul and holding him still while his body revolted.
Rolling onto her back, Mora stared up at the tent’s roof, imagining a canopy of lush trees instead of the faded green material.
Branches swayed above, their shadows playing with the moonlight, the scrape of pine needles playing an eerie tune.
It calmed her. She wouldn’t find a world of brilliant viridian awaiting outside, however.
Not for a while yet, winter uneager to relinquish itself to spring.
Would they remain long enough to witness it?
Castellan had yet to convince the Halflings to hide in Cannamar’s cloisters, and Mora didn’t think he could.
They had no interest in his strategy, no matter how he presented it.
Besides, this would do for now. They were far from the roads, nestled among the trees, the river near enough that water Elementalists caught fish daily.
With the exception of their travels to the nearest villages to search for supplies and other Halflings in need, it was the safest Mora felt in... too long.
Have you learned to miss me, Treasure?
Mora’s breath hitched at the memory of Dother’s words. She traced her collarbone, nails digging into her skin until it hurt. Until the sting throbbed enough she could focus on something else. Anything else.
Would he be waiting when she closed her eyes, piercing azure slipping over her body while he chased her to the meadow? His hunts had grown less frequent, her mind often finding its way to the glowing tree the moment she drifted into oblivion... but she could still feel him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Patiently biding his time.
I will haunt your every breath if that’s what I must do to be with you.
Smug satisfaction swam in his voice. She knew exactly how he would smile, his lips tipping up in triumph while Mora cowered on his bed.
But this wasn’t his bed. And Mora was tired of Dother taking so many things.
It was time she took something for herself. Something that was more than a dream. With a man who hadn’t stood by Dother’s side, aiding in her downfall.
Slipping from her sheets, she was careful not to wake Castellan as she tiptoed to the tent door.
Fresh air filled her lungs, blending with the cool mint aroma lingering in her hair, a warm tug resonating in her chest as if the Fae longed to pull her back into bed so she could sleep and find her way to him.
She inhaled greedily, ignoring the way her fingers shook.
Tipping her head up to stare at the endless black sky and its glittering flecks of golden stars.
Be strong, Little Witch.
It was his voice. The voice she’d heard in her flask all those weeks ago when Castellan found her. Its soothing low tone tearing her mind free from the madness threatening to pull her into the ether.
“Why do you haunt me too, Fae?” Mora whispered to the night, but the night didn’t answer.
Tracing her fingers along a naked maple branch, she took the first slow step toward Eris’s tent. The tree bent with her, small buds that would one day unfurl into beautiful green leaves caressing her arm as she moved. Mora’s amber eyes widened. Was a Naturalist playing a trick?
Peeking around, she found no one. The night was quiet, the fires dimmed, the lute’s gentle tune carried away by the breeze—everyone retired to their beds. It must have been the breeze.
Gods, was she really doing this?
The space between Eris’s tent and Castellan’s was too small. Within a blink, Mora stood, staring at old, stained fabric held up by wooden poles, chewing on her nails.
Did she want this?
Could she do this?
Closing her eyes, she took a slow, deep breath.
The wind stirred, her dark curls tickling her cheeks in a gentle caress.
Oh, Treasure.
Mora swallowed her shriek, overwhelmed by a need to tear herself open and crawl out of her skin.
To find a blade and peel away all the parts of herself Dother had touched.
But what good would that do? The moment she gave herself to her smoke, Mora would return to the flesh she’d donned the day Dother cursed her, unmarred by all but his hands. Forever.
Her clenched fists shook, the thrum of her pulse near-deafening.
A thin layer of snow crunched beneath her boots, cool air soothing her heated cheeks while Mora paced in front of Eris’s tent, muttering a silent prayer to ruthless Gods.
May Eris be asleep. Unaware of the mad woman wearing a path in the earth mere feet from where he rested his head.
If he were awake, watching her shadow flit back and forth through worn blue fabric, the moon’s glow her unwitting spotlight, she’d return to her flask and never leave.
“Not that Castellan would allow it,” she muttered, lips tipping up at the thought. Despite her best efforts, that stubborn man had become dear to her.
He was a friend. The friend she needed.
And tonight Eris would be someone she needed as well. Someone who would help erase the memory of the way Dother’s fingerprints painted every inch of her gods forsaken skin, if only for a moment.
“Eris,” Mora whispered, letting herself into his tent, her touch lingering on rough canvas.
His breathing was slow. Steady. Body perfectly still beneath fawn-colored sheets.
She stepped closer, her foot tangling with one of Eris’s tunics, a quiet curse on her lips as she quickly righted herself.
This space was smaller than the one she and Castellan shared, and Mora had no interest in literally falling into Eris’s bed.
His musk surrounded her, a cool winter’s kiss caressed by cedar. Mora adjusted her oversized tunic, the ruddy brown garment too large for her frame, clinging to her thighs and hiding her curves from sight. A gift from Eris, among the clothing he’d given her at his farmhouse.
“Eris,” Mora whispered again, louder this time. Was it too loud? Would she wake every Halfling in the camp?
What in the hells was she doing?
“Mora?” Eris rolled over, blankets slipping down his body to reveal his naked chest.
Mora bit her lip, eyes roving over dark ink as he stretched, tattoos shifting while corded muscles flexed.
Black and white flowers covered every inch of his left bicep, delicate petals etched into his skin all the way to his pec.
Her gaze lingered on that steely arm a breath too long, before continuing its journey over ink—there was something else there.
Something weaving between roses and lilies, twisting up his arm until it sat above his heart.
Eris rubbed sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked through a yawn.
“Stop moving.”
“Why?”