Chapter 66 #2
Imani’s battle cry rang behind her, the trees lurching as they tried to answer her dwindling power. Mora descended upon her prey like a goddess of fury come to devour the sun and plunge them into eternal darkness.
Tearing through them was easy, the crack of their bones in her grip a choir of triumph she wouldn’t soon forget. Arrows flew haphazardly before bows fell from their spasming hands, clattering against root clusters, their projectiles finding their homes in tree trunks and gods knew where else.
Until one hit Jade.
She screamed, stumbling through rotten leaves and yellowed ferns, racing toward Mora. Water rippled over her fists, droplets slipping free and crashing onto the earth, her face contorting in pain. An arrow protruding from her shoulder.
Jade fell, her knees cracking on the forest floor, the arrow jostling. Color drained from her face, her radiant, bronze complexion suddenly cold when she pressed her hands to her wound. Her body swayed and she nearly toppled over.
There was a gash in her upper lip, bruising blooming on her left cheek. Jade squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in the air between her teeth, while the man chasing her fucking laughed.
He slowed, not looking up at the cloud of gold-flecked obsidian as he raised his sword.
“Submit yourself to the judgment of the Gods,” he seethed at her back, his bright green eyes narrowing.
“Imani!” Jade called out, sobbing so loudly the whole camp must have heard. “Imani, where are you?” She flicked her hand, a whip of water snapping up toward her attacker, but it only splashed his chest. Water coating his leathers, darkening its color, and her attacker laughed harder.
Mora sped toward him and his head snapped in her direction, a gasp on his lips before she punched through his ribcage. He gagged, staggering backward, moaning pitifully while his body filled with smoke.
“What madness is this?” he muttered, black mist and sanguine dribbling down his chin.
When the space grew too small, the press of her mist against flesh nearly unbearable, Mora tugged on the tether in her center.
As smoke wove itself back into flesh and bone, an agonized yowl bounced between the trees.
Muscles tore, blood and gods knew what else erupting into the sky, bits of skin and organs raining down.
Catching on branches and splatting onto the ground all around them.
Mora stepped free, death coating every inch of her skin.
Glowing amber eyes shining brightly, stark against the crimson soaking her hair and sliding down her cheeks.
She stared at a young man, his brown tunic torn, a dagger clutched in his trembling fist. Green eyes wide, tears spilling over the rims.
Ah, this must be the bastard’s son.
“Boo,” Mora breathed, huffing a laugh when he flinched.
“What are you?” he asked, piss dribbling down his leg and soaking into his trousers.
“Your executioner, if you’d like to die like your father.
” Mora tilted her head, examining his face, and something squeezed her heart.
He was barely a man, his patchy beard peppering pale, round cheeks—he shouldn’t have been here.
What parent brought their child to not only witness death, but to force it upon the innocent?
Though his dagger was clean, not a speck of blood staining his clothes.
Perhaps he deserved to live.
“If you do exactly as I say, I’ll allow you to leave unharmed.
” Trickles of sanguine shifted course, slipping down her face—they rolled over her lips, the coppery scent of blood filling her lungs with every breath.
She dragged her fingers over a birch tree, staining the white bark in gore. “Can you do that for me?”
“Are you a Forbidden?” the young man asked, his teeth clattering. Body shaking. Dark blond hair fell over his eyes, the ends jagged, as if they’d been cut with crude scissors by his own hand.
“I’m Mora Althenis-Diera, Crowned Princess of Berwick, and I’d like you to deliver a message for me,” Mora said, moving to stand in front of him, close enough his father’s blood dripped from her curls and onto his worn brown shoes.
“The princess is a gods damned Forbidden,” he muttered to himself, a greenish tint overtaking his ashen skin when a piece of his father slipped from a branch and splattered on the ground.
“Halfling,” Mora growled. “And I will allow you to live if you run from these woods and share my words with the people.”
He swallowed hard. “What would you have me say?”
“Tell them their princess is back.” Mora lifted her chin and stood taller, adopting the posture of a royal.
Her curls were matted, Castellan’s cloak a bloody mess, crimson glittering on her skin, but pride still swelled in her chest. As she exhaled, Mora felt lighter.
Ready for whatever came next, even marrying someone she did not love and ascending a throne she never wanted.
“Tell them she stands with her fellow Halflings, and she is coming for her throne. Any who wish to live will lay down their arms.”