Chapter 73 #2
Jade cleared her throat and wiped her tears on her forearm, water glistening on her sleeve.
Her navy wool top too thick for the changing season.
It hung off her small frame, a stain splashed on the fabric reminding Mora of the stew they often ate at camp.
Could it be Imani’s? Had she worn it before she died, her scent still clinging to the fabric?
When Jade brought her sleeve to her nose and inhaled deeply, fresh tears sliding slowly down her cheeks, Mora had her answer.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Mora said softly, inching back a step. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait!” Jade lunged, grabbing Mora’s forearm and pulling her closer.
“Please, don’t go.” Her grip stung, but Mora endured it, curling her fists.
Still, Jade let go and backed away. “Sorry. It’s just...
I...” Jade pressed her palms against her eyes and took a shaky breath.
“I’m not a ghost, please don’t treat me like one. ”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Mora said softly, flexing her fingers in a failed attempt to ease the tension squeezing her muscles. She made herself look Jade in the eye, her throat tightening when she added, “I’m the reason you’re here. Alone.”
“Did you invite a bunch of Halfling-hating brutes to attack our camp?”
“Of course not.”
Jade offered a wobbly smile. “Then it isn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t do enough to stop it. I panicked. I saw...”
You saw me, Treasure, Dother’s voice murmured.
Mora pushed her fingers through her hair, pulling at the roots. “I’ve lost my mind.”
“Join the club.” Jade chuckled, a low, broken sound, then she turned away, moving back toward the half-open door at the end of the hall. “Come with me.”
The quiet was an eerie thing, their breaths and the groan of the hardwood the only sounds permeating the cloister.
They passed dozens of iron doorways, rusted bars covering the small windows cut into the metal.
Mora trailed her fingers over the faded gray wall, peeling paint catching beneath her nails until they slipped over the final doorframe, the grooves in the wood tickling her fingertips.
Vines and flowers carved into its surface, little fairies etched between them.
“I think those are pixies.” Jade moved closer, admiring the design, her smirk tired. “I remember some of the older Halflings telling tales about them. It wouldn’t surprise me if a Naturalist made this.”
“Why would they want fairies on their door?” Mora asked, running her thumb over one of the pixies’ wings. It reminded her of the ones from her dreams, darting through the forest while Dother chased her to the meadow... But how could she imagine something she’d never seen in person before?
“Why not?” Jade slipped past, something crunching beneath her shoes when she crossed the threshold. “Tiny fairies who carry secrets and whisper words only the oldest within the Forbidden Forest can understand? That’s the greatest power of all.”
Mora kept her eyes locked on the design a moment longer, pursing her lips. “Secrets?”
“Knowledge,” Jade corrected, moving aside so Mora could follow.
The square window in the back swathed the room in sunlight, illuminating the dust particles fluttering through the air like snow. It was a mess—a mahogany cabinet lay broken on the floor, cracked wood and bits of glass peppering the blue tiles. Old parchments scattered.
Jade stepped over the mess as if it were nothing.
Mora frowned. “What happened here?”
“I believe there’s a reason they made a Halfling decorate this doorframe with pixies,” Jade said, ignoring Mora’s question.
Shards of glass cracked under Mora’s shoes, and she cursed the worn leather, praying nothing would slice through to her heel. “And why might that be?”
“This is the records room.” Jade flicked her hand toward the cabinets lining the wall, an old desk at the back covered with aged books and papers. “It’s where the guards kept all their secrets.”
“And what secrets are you hoping to gather?”
“Honestly?” Jade’s voice cracked. “I was hoping to find records of Imani. Anything at all. Any piece of her I could cling to.”
“Did you?” Mora asked, voice thick.
“No.” Jade’s answer was a quiet, barely audible breath, yet somehow it crashed into Mora like a wave, stirring her own grief.
She bent down, careful to avoid the sharp bits of glass when she grabbed a page. “I can help.”
With a shake of her head, Jade moved to the wall, throwing open a drawer on another cabinet. A new vortex of dust twisting through the air. “I’ve been looking for days, Mora, I don’t think we’ll find much. She’s probably a single name listed in an intake journal somewhere.”
“Then we’ll find it.” Mora turned the page in her hand, eyes darting over faded ink. It was dated seven years prior, before the Laws were overturned. Signed by Lord Emmett Briar.
“This was written by Castellan’s father,” Mora gasped, tilting the time-worn, yellowed paper so Jade could see.
Clearing her throat, she read it aloud. “I am writing you to request an Indentured to join my household. Specifically, we require an Enchanter. Are any available and, if so, when could one be delivered to Moldenna?” She scoffed, crushing the letter in a tight fist. “To request an Indentured as casually as one requests a cup of tea; I can’t imagine having the audacity. ”
Thank the gods Castellan was nothing like his father.
A grimace wrinkled Jade’s face. “It was denied, if that helps. I doubt they had an Enchanter to offer. I’ve never met one.” She pulled a brown leather journal from the drawer and flipped through the pages, her brows scrunched.
“I have,” Mora seethed, staring at the ball of paper in her fist. “I’m glad they’re rarely found. That power in the wrong hands is...” Her breath shook. “...devastating.”
Jade’s hazel eyes softened when they flicked to Mora’s trembling grip, nails digging into the old parchment. “You can let it go,” she said, and Mora wasn’t sure if she meant the old note or all of the pain staining her soul.
One by one, her fingers opened until the missive tumbled to the ground.
Mora stared at it as it rolled over glittering bits of glass and splinters of mahogany, settling among the other discarded letters.
Simply another part of the mess. Nothing worth noting.
A piece of disaster blending into a wider frame of madness, like a single brushstroke spread out over a large canvas.
Perhaps, one day, Mora could feel this way about what had happened, her memories of Dother drifting into the background, like a dark splotch on an otherwise colorful life.
One she might sometimes struggle to ignore, yes, but the stain would no longer consume everything until all she knew was darkness.
Looking back up at Jade, she offered a small smile. “I really hope someday I can.”