Chapter 17
Mordred was with Alden again. Whenever Lamorna saw them together, heat rushed over her, closing over her like a dreadful, tormenting wave. She was so tired of holding her head above that wave of fury, her lungs tight as she fought to breathe.
It didn’t make sense. There was no reason for her to feel this way, yet she did, and it was outside of her control.
Lamorna paused while collecting clothing from the floor, massaging her chest with a shaking hand.
Alden vexed her. She couldn’t stand to see him smile.
She hated his handsomeness and the way he would look at Mordred.
He’d claimed there was no competition between them, but he had lied.
Lamorna was consumed with the desire to be better than he was, to show Mordred that she was the one he could trust, that she was the one who loved him the most. That she was the one most worthy of him.
Her fingers tensed on one of his shirts.
But he came to bed late and was sometimes gone before she’d even opened her eyes, leaving her wondering if he’d slept beside her at all. She tried to stay awake each night, waiting for him, but she was so tired and sleep would claim her without her consent.
As the days passed, Lamorna was being devoured.
Her lack of control over the whole situation ate at her.
She could feel it lurking in her stomach when she crawled out of bed, and it sat and festered throughout the day like a living rot.
Mordred was still mourning his mother, she knew that, and part of her knew that he craved a link to Cruithea.
Alden was that link. Lamorna understood, but it didn’t make seeing him and Mordred together any easier, not when she knew what they once were to one another.
Lamorna found her anger directed at the late High Priestess at times. How dare Morgause die like that?
If it wasn’t Morgause she was angry at, Lamorna seethed internally at the syhren woman and her demands, her watchful eyes, her beautiful face.
It was easy to be angry at Andromache, but Lamorna had to be careful – the syhren was reporting back to Melodias, and Lamorna did not want to do anything to anger the God of the Seas, not for herself, but for Mordred.
If only Firestorm liked him and not her.
That would make things better. Her heart pinched at the thought – the dragon had come to mean something to her, something more than what Mordred wanted.
Lamorna snuck away at least once a day to visit the beast lying in his cavernous bedchamber beneath the castle.
She was certain Mordred knew, and if he asked, she’d say she was trying to make Firestorm want to help him.
But it would be a lie. Lamorna wanted the dragon for herself – she didn’t want to share him.
She didn’t want Mordred to use him as a weapon.
She had even spent time down there trying to work out how to let Firestorm out, to free him from this strange arrangement, but she wasn’t sure how he got in there in the first place, let alone how she’d let him out.
There was no opening she could find that was big enough to accommodate a dragon.
Beneath the bitterness of her envy lay another feeling that Lamorna was accustomed to – fear.
She was terrified she would lose Mordred as she had lost her sister, her home, her place in a world that, while broken and dripping with deceit, had made sense to her.
This new world was so confusing. People were always asking her too many questions, things she had no answers for, things she was expected to know.
Mordred had given her too many responsibilities and Lamorna was drowning in them.
The Cruitheans had begun to treat her with disdain hidden beneath a thin veil of respect, and she wondered if they thought as the High Priestess had – that it was her fault Mordred had left his home and his people to come here.
It was laughable surely. Mordred did what he wanted.
There was no possible way that Lamorna had influenced any of his actions or his decisions.
If anything, he had influenced hers. He’d turned her life upside down.
She wouldn’t change it, she knew that, but sometimes she wanted everything to stop.
She smiled and did what was expected of her, all that Mordred had not explicitly asked her to do but she knew needed to be done.
She worked so hard, and every time Mordred walked into a room with Alden on his heels, Lamorna would bite her lip until she could feel the hot rush of rage and blood on her tongue.
She wasn’t sure who she was most angry with: Mordred, for leaving her to manage the daily operations of a castle and the people who were looking for answers and guidance, or Alden, for simply existing.
Lamorna had Calla, her aunt, and she had Elaine.
The Red Sister’s friendship surprised her, and Lamorna had been suspicious of her for many weeks, wondering whether she had an ulterior motive in befriending her.
In the end, Lamorna had decided there wasn’t.
Elaine was young, not much older than she was, and she’d come here to a strange place with strange people, like Lamorna had when she’d fled Kernou for Cruithea.
She was grateful for Elaine. While Calla was there whenever Lamorna needed her, it was Elaine she could talk to about the important things.
Like gods and Treasures and the shape of the world to come.
Those things weighed on Lamorna’s shoulders as well.
She was terribly worried about everything.
A war was being planned that she had no part in, and Mordred would not listen to her.
He locked himself away with Alden and the men and made plans.
Lamorna had the dreadful feeling it would all end in death and destruction.
Elaine shared her concerns. One night, they sat together in Lamorna’s room, a steaming pot of herbal tea between them, Lamorna dropped all pretence and begged Elaine to help Mordred.
If he could accomplish what he had set out to do quicker, then they could get on with their lives.
Everything would be normal again, and Lamorna would not have to live with the horrible fear gnawing at her insides.
‘I cannot help him,’ the Red Sister said.
‘Understand this, Lamorna. He came to us many years ago, when he was not much more than a boy just become a man. Angry and upset, feeling betrayed by the world and seeking vengeance. He didn’t say he wanted to learn what we knew, but we knew why he was really there – for power.
We didn’t want to teach him. We sent him away, but he would always return.
Mordred, as you would know, is persistent and has a way of making others see what he wants them to see.
But such power is not meant for men – men bleed, yes, but not like we do. Blood is our power, Lamorna.’
Lamorna swallowed. ‘If you didn’t teach him—’
‘We did, eventually. The Red One told us to. It was a test. She hoped that maybe Mordred would be the one to help her out of the shadows and back into the Light. But we were worried. We did as she asked, though. Now we see she was wrong. Mordred has failed her test.’
Familiar fear crawled along Lamorna’s spine and made her palms sweaty. She wiped them on her skirt and balled her hands into fists to hide in her lap. ‘What was he supposed to do?’
‘Find balance in the Word and help restore it. But he is just a man, and like many men, the call of power was louder than the call of reason. I came here in the chance I could save him.’ Elaine lifted her milky eyes to Lamorna’s. ‘I cannot.’
The breath fled Lamorna’s lungs. She clutched at her chest. ‘He’s going to die?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Elaine asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Lamorna whispered. ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Elaine said softly.
Lamorna shook her head. She blinked the tears from her eyes, curling her burning hands into fists and pressing her nails into her palms. ‘I won’t let it happen.’
‘Your dedication to him is admirable,’ Elaine said. ‘But it won’t be enough to save him. When the White Dragon defeats the Red, it will all be over for him. It doesn’t have to be over for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When he is gone, what will you have left to tie you to this place?’
‘I…’
‘The Red One will leave this world, and we shall return to the Ossuary. You could come with us.’
Lamorna said nothing.
‘Think on it,’ Elaine said. ‘You’ve followed the Red One your whole life, only you didn’t know it. She knows it. She would want you to be safe. You will be safe with us.’
It was late when Lamorna left Elaine’s room, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Her mind was a blur. She wandered the castle mindlessly until she found herself outside Calla’s door. She swallowed and knocked. When Calla answered, Lamorna rushed in, then froze.
Calla wasn’t alone. Arwen, Bronny and Naidiene were with her, sitting on the floor in a circle. Lamorna found she couldn’t speak.
Calla touched her arm. ‘Come and sit, Lamorna. I’ll get you some tea.’
Lamorna let herself be led across the small room.
She sat, joining the others. No one spoke while Calla poured from the brewing iron pot.
When Calla was seated again, the women resumed chatting, and Lamorna realised she had no idea what the conversation was about.
It made her uncomfortable. This wasn’t what she needed.
This had been a mistake. She set her tea aside and stood. Conversation ceased immediately.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered and hurried towards the door.
‘Wait,’ Calla said.
‘I can’t.’
‘Lamorna, stop.’
Lamorna turned, cheeks hot. Calla stood outside the group circle, her face conflicted. The others seemed worried.
‘I don’t know how to do this,’ Lamorna admitted. She felt close to tears.
‘Do what?’ Calla asked gently.
Lamorna wrung her hands. ‘Be friends,’ she cried. ‘I don’t know how to be friends with you all. I’ve never had friends and… I don’t know how to do it.’