28. 27 #3
She froze for a heartbeat, gaze sweeping over the blood, the broken necklace, Mabel crumpled on the floor clutching a raven’s body. Her voice was tight with fear when she finally spoke. “The carriage—it’s passing through the gates. You have to hurry. Now.”
The words struck like thunder through the silence, setting the room and everything in it suddenly, violently, into motion.
Auor reached for her, hands trembling as she gripped Mabel’s arms—but the girl recoiled with a choked sob, curling protectively around Whisper’s lifeless body. “No—please,” Mabel wept, voice raw, eyes wide with agony. “I can’t—I can’t leave him.”
Auor’s own voice cracked, urgency and heartbreak tangled in every word. “Mabel, listen to me—we have no time.” Her grip tightened, firm but not cruel. “This is your only chance. If we don’t go now, everything you’ve endured—it’ll be for nothing.”
She tugged again, and this time, Mabel’s resistance wavered. Her limbs moved like broken glass as Auor pulled her to her feet, Whisper still held tight in her trembling hands.
Auor moved swiftly to the dresser, hands flying to the top drawer. She yanked it open and pulled out a weather-worn satchel—its seams reinforced, its shape slightly overstuffed. She’d packed it days ago, ready for when this moment came.
Bandages, dried rations, a flask of water. Clothes. A vial of salve she’d made herself. Anything she could think of that might help her daughter survive what lay beyond the walls of Moorthwyn.
She grabbed a pair of boots and placed them at Mabel’s feet. Mabel winced, fumbling to tug them on with trembling hands, one still clutching her raven.
Auor didn’t wait.
She snatched the thick, fur-lined coat from the nearby hook and wrapped it around her daughter’s shoulders, fastening it with quick, practiced motions. The scent of pine and earth still clung to the fabric—home, if only for a heartbeat longer.
Then she slung the satchel across her back and turned toward the door, every muscle taut with urgency. “We have to go. Now.”
She grabbed Mabel’s arm, not unkindly, but with the firm grip of a woman who knew the stakes. Mabel stumbled, her legs still unsteady, breath coming shallow as she clutched Whisper to her chest like a lifeline.
They raced through the halls—Auor leading, Mabel trailing behind like a shadow consumed by grief. The torchlight blurred past them, casting long, fleeing silhouettes against the cold stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and nightfall and something else—fear.
The castle had begun to stir.
They reached the servant’s stairwell, spiraling and narrow, and Auor ushered her down first, glancing over her shoulder every few steps, like Cavric might already be behind them, just out of sight.
Outside, the wind bit through the cloister as they broke into the open courtyard. Hooves echoed somewhere beyond the outer gate—distant but drawing closer.
The stables came into view, dark and silent but for the shifting of hooves within. Mabel nearly collapsed as they reached the doors, but Auor caught her, steadying her for a breath that felt far too short.
“I have a horse ready,” she panted, pulling the stable door open. “He’s fast. He knows the road.”
“Come with me—please,” Mabel turned to her mother, eyes wide, voice unraveling. “I can’t do this alone.”
Auor cupped her face with both hands, steadying her. “Mabel, look at me.” Her thumbs brushed tears from her cheeks. “I will never escape him. Not truly. But you can. You still have a life to claim. You can do this—I know you can.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she didn’t look away.
Mabel shook her head, breaking, but Auor was already guiding her forward.
They reached the stallion—gray, battle-bred, its coat dappled like storm light. A warhorse trained for blood and thunder, now saddled in secret, its purpose rewritten.
Auor helped her up, gripping her arm with more strength than sorrow.
“This horse was built to run through hell,” she whispered. “And he’ll do just that.”
Auor reached forward, gently prying Whisper’s body from Mabel’s trembling arms.
“No—please—” Mabel protested, voice breaking, but her mother was quick, slipping him into the front pocket of her satchel.
“He stays with you,” Auor promised softly, though there was no time for reassurance.
Behind them, the castle’s rear doors crashed open. A roar of boots on stone thundered through the courtyard—armed guards spilling out in waves, Cavric striding coldly behind them, his presence palpable and poisonous.
Auor turned to Mabel, eyes bright with everything she wouldn’t get the time to say. “Go.” Her voice cracked with urgency. “I love you.”
She slapped the horse’s flank.
The stallion reared slightly, then lunged forward in a burst of motion, hooves pounding against the cobblestones as it carried Mabel into the dark. She clung to its mane, one arm around the satchel, wind and tears burning her face.
Shouts rang out behind her. Guards gave chase on foot—but they were too slow.
The stallion was made for war. Tonight, it ran for freedom.
Auor turned back, planting herself between Cavric and the vanishing trail of her daughter. She lifted her chin, fury in her breath. “She’s gone. You won’t catch her. She is free—from your spell, from your lies, from you.”
Cavric’s face darkened. No words. No theatrics.
With a flick of his hand and a muttered curse, he seized her throat in an unseen grip. She gasped, feet lifting inches off the ground as his magic curled tight around her.
Then, he hurled her like a broken thing across the courtyard.
Her body struck the stone wall with a sickening crack and crumpled beside it, unmoving.
Riding through the gate, Mabel looked back.
“Mother!” Her scream pierced the night, but the wind pulled it from her mouth as the castle disappeared behind her, and the road stretched out into the wild unknown.
The sound of hooves faded into the distance, swallowed by wind and darkness.
Behind her, the castle stood cold and looming, its towering walls no longer a prison—but a graveyard of the things she couldn’t save.
The torches flickered.
The gates shrank.
And Mabel rode on, clutching the satchel to her chest like it held the last piece of her heart.
The night closed in.
And the Mirewilde waited.