Chapter 81
Mora
They entered Moldenna with the sun at their backs, dawn cresting over the horizon. The scent of smoked meats and sulfur thick in the air. Streamers and confetti were strewn over the cobbles—Mora had expected carnage, blood-soaked streets and chanting mobs—what were they celebrating?
It was quiet. Eerily so. The roads nearly empty, save for a few early risers who gawked as they passed, whispers dancing on the wind while word spread among them.
The princess was back.
Were they glad to see her? How had they fared while she was away?
“This is haunting,” Mora muttered, wide eyes grazing over pristine stone walls, clean of chalk and ash, violence melted away like winter snow.
Castellan shrugged a shoulder, his bright red tunic glimmering, her flask bouncing on his thigh with each clop of his horse’s hooves.
While a sword hung from his baldric, he hadn’t dressed for battle—Castellan had heeded her counsel, his top made of the finest silk, embroidered in gold. Fit for a king.
Ruffled sleeves tickled her shoulders, the ivory fabric bleeding to red at her waist, her dress’s long skirt spilling over her horse’s side to ripple in the wind. They weren’t a match, but they made a regal pair.
It was odd, knowing she’d be married in a matter of days, all in the name of claiming her birthright and fixing something that had always been broken.
“A lot can change with the seasons,” Castellan offered, his storm cloud eyes fixated on Castle Berwick.
She worried her bottom lip. “It hadn’t changed in Reverie, and there’s so little left of Galdon’s Crossing. I expected things to be worse in the capital.” Leather reins squeaked in her tightening grip. “We should ready ourselves for an ambush.”
“We should be ready for anything,” Castellan agreed.
There was a crash moments later, glass breaking followed by angry shouts.
A young man dashed out of a bakery, nearly colliding with Mora’s horse.
The mare snorted, jumping back, but Mora managed to stay on her saddle, transfixed by wide yellow-green eyes.
He stared at her for a moment, his chest rising and falling swiftly before he raced for the nearest alleyway.
“Someone stop him!” a woman shouted, waddling out from her shop, broom in hand. Flour stained her brown apron, the garment barely covering her pregnant belly.
Castellan slipped from his saddle, hand on his sword while he watched the runner. “What happened, my lady?”
A pink blush bloomed on her face, the color glowing on her light, dewy skin.
“He’s a damned Forbidden! I saw him warm his tea with his fingertip; the water boiled and everything.
I swatted him with my broom, and he dropped the teacup and ran, broke the damned thing too.
” She pressed a hand to her belly, sighing deeply.
“I can’t even bend over to clean it up.”
“I’m sure I could help.” Castellan made for the bakery, casting a look at Mora over his shoulder. He didn’t need to say a word—Mora knew what he wanted.
She jumped from her own saddle and ran her hands down her mare’s soft, ruddy neck, muttering her thanks before she took off. Knowing Castellan would guide their horses to the nearest hitching post.
Three steps into the alley her breath caught. Gray stone walls towered over her, the narrow path caging her in.
Give in and you’ll feel better, Treasure.
Pressing her hand against the wall, Mora willed her head to stop spinning. Begged her legs to stop shaking. Dother was gone, his voice a figment of her own mind. Her dreams nothing but imagined horrors.
“He’s dead,” she muttered. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.”
Her fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into the meat of her palms, a throbbing ache pulsing along with the frantic beat of her furious heart. Mora took a slow, deep breath, focusing on the sting. Willing it to pull her free from the darkness.
Part of her was tempted to find her way back to Castellan, knowing he’d help soothe the frantic beast pacing behind her chest, but they were no longer alone. No one could see her this way, not if she intended to take the Crown.
“It’s almost over,” she whispered to herself, wincing when Castellan’s wish tugged on a rib. It made her stumble, forcing her deeper into the alley’s maw. Light bleeding through shadow on the other side.
Flashes of long, black hair slipping free from a bun while sore feet slammed against the stone walkway flitted through her mind.
It had been a while since a wish showed her anything—all this time, she’d been in the midst of battles, watching the Halflings fight and die in front of her. Knowing exactly who she needed to save.
A new ache skittered through her ribs, the wish insisting she hurry.
“Fuck this,” she seethed, reaching for the tether in her chest and tearing it free.
Mora fell into the arms of her curse, a sea of obsidian splashing to the ground.
Glittering darkness spilling from the alley and onto the road.
Screams reverberated through the square, townsfolk running into the buildings, doors slamming behind them.
Mora didn’t balk; let them see what their princess was so those who stood against their new rulers and harmed Halflings knew what hell awaited.
Undulating smoke sped to the next alley, washing over the walls.
As if she were the Goddess of Night, fallen from the heavens, hunting down her prey.
The man she hunted sensed the oncoming cold, peeking over his shoulder, a screech slipping from his tongue.
He thought his end was near, but Mora would be his salvation.
They were past the central market square, careening down narrow roads toward a more run-down part of the city. Mora was curious where he’d lead her—she slowed, keeping her distance, chuckling inwardly when his pace grew punishing. There would be no outrunning her.
The Halfling skirted right, tripping over his feet as he all but dove on the nearest door, frantic hands slapping on half-rotted oak.
“Help!” he yelled, slamming his fist on the door, the wood rattling as if it might crumble.
A torrent of glittering onyx hit the ground at his back, tossing pebbles and dirt in the air. It parted slowly, glowing gems of amber peeking through the darkness as Mora walked free. “Did you really think a door would stop me?”
The Halfling stilled before he slowly turned to face her, a pallor washing over him. Cooling his warm beige skin until he almost looked sickly. “I’ve gone mad,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Gods on high, hear me from your thrones in the heavens. Save me from—”
“Spare me,” Mora muttered, meandering closer. “They don’t care about your prayers, and I’m here to help.”
He pounded on the door again, though his knocks were weaker this time. “P-please, don’t hurt me.”
Mora sighed, leaning against the rickety house’s wooden siding.
A sharp sting prickled in her arms, splinters nipping at her skin.
Pulling back, Mora plucked at small bits of wood, frowning at the blood welling there.
Knowing how much a single drop had damned her.
Her fingers curled, nails scraping her bicep.
“It’s almost funny.” Mora chuckled, her voice harsher than she intended. “Moments ago, you were running from people who feared you because of your power, and now you fear me for the same reason.”
“I was chased by darkness, and now a woman stands before me. This is madness.”
Mora smirked. “Want to hear the best part?”
His brows bunched, lips parting.
When he didn’t speak, Mora crouched so they were eye to eye. “I’m the answer to your prayers.”
“Wha—”
The door flew open, the Halfling falling into the entryway, crashing onto the floor so hard Mora felt the thud in her bones.
“I told you not to—” A woman blinked up at Mora, words dying on her tongue.
She’d wrapped a threadbare blanket around her tan shoulders, covering most of her nightdress from sight.
Mora watched a myriad of emotions play out on her face, each one pulling at her expression so noticeably she needn’t say a word.
She recognized the woman standing at her door.
“Princess,” she breathed, bowing her head.
Mora waved a hand in dismissal. “We don’t have time for formalities.”
The man groaned as he pushed off the floor, messy black hair sticking to his forehead. “You’re the princess? But you—”
“Yes.” Mora nodded, cutting him off. “I’m a Halfling.”
“And you—”
“Chased you from the market to the outskirts of Moldenna.”
He shifted until he could push off his knees and rise to his full height. Mora truly took him in for the first time, his gaunt cheeks and lanky limbs.
“I’m a fire Elementalist like you,” she said, offering a slight smile.
It dropped from her face when he backed up a single step, shaking his head. “Whatever you are, you’re nothing like me. You’re nothing like any of us.”
Mora took a long, slow breath. “What matters is I’m here to save you, and any Halfling that needs a safe place to stay until things calm down.”
“A safe place?” He bit his lip, looking to the woman he’d run to.
“We didn’t think such a thing existed,” she said, voice so full of hope.
“I can take you.” Mora offered a reassuring smile, tension bleeding from her frame. This she felt good about, even if she hated where they would go.
It’s temporary, she promised herself. Soon, Berwick would be safe for everyone, and everything would change.
“Are there any other Halflings in danger? Can you gather them?”
The man swallowed, his lips pursing, but his partner placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently, her brown eyes scanning Mora’s face. Assessing.
Whatever she saw, it was enough.
“Yes,” she said, stepping to the side and motioning for Mora to come in. “We can gather them all. Come have some tea, this may take a while.”
“Take as long as you need,” Mora offered, stepping over the threshold and onto a thin, faded blue carpet barely cushioning her feet. They led her into a small kitchen, offering her a seat at a well-worn table, raw wood peeking through the varnish.
Warmth radiated in her chest when they brought her a bowl of porridge, warm milk poured over oats with sliced apples and cinnamon.
Their kindness soothing a wound that had been gaping since Galdon’s Crossing.
Being the monster in Dother’s eyes gave Mora peace, but seeing that same fear reflected in everyone she’d saved... she detested it.
This trust meant the world.
Mora wouldn’t let them down.