Chapter 3
Mora
The call was jarring, peeling Mora from her shroud of quiet apathy. It started with a tug, the feeling a familiar one, though duller than before. Less insistent. Less like him. Then, icy tendrils slipped through Mora’s smoke, winding around her and yanking until she spilled from the flask.
There was an audible gasp as a cloud of glittering obsidian settled on the black tiled floor.
The torrent curled in place before shrinking back to reveal Mora, fury burning in her amber eyes.
She glared up at her new Keeper, a tall, thin man with gaunt cheeks and graying hair that fell past his chin.
The morning light slid through the window, illuminating him as if he were an angel.
Mora knew better. She wasn’t na?ve enough to expect a hero.
“What the hell are you?” he whispered, color draining from his weathered face.
There was a sharp jerk in her chest, pulling at her bones. A magical thrall demanding she greet her new Keeper. She’d felt this once before, when Dother first forced her from her flask and made her face what he’d done.
Say the words, Treasure, and the pain will ease, he’d said in a gentle voice, cupping her cheek while she trembled on his bed. Tell me you belong to me. That I get to Keep you.
Dother’s voice was so clear—she could have sworn he’d whispered in her ear, the heat of his breath twisting through her dark curls.
The ache in her ribcage intensified. Though it wasn’t the curse holding her in a vice-like grip—Mora was ensnared by azure, haunted by the rough drag of calloused fingers over her skin.
Drowning in the scent of citrus, and something else.
Something thicker. It flooded her tongue, a metallic flavor coating her taste buds.
He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead—she repeated the words in her mind, clinging to them as she took a slow breath.
“Keeper of the flask,” Mora said, the pace of her heart near-frantic when she spotted the dark silk sheets half torn from the bed. They spilled onto the floor, rumpled and stained with a sea of crusted blood.
“Keeper?” the man muttered, his focus bouncing between her and the bottle he held in a tight grip. He moved closer, stepping over the dark bedding and revealing what hid behind his back.
Despite the insistence of Dother’s curse, words refused to leave her mouth—she clenched her teeth, hands trembling as she forced herself to look.
Dother’s corpse lay sprawled on crimson-soaked silks and furs.
Carnage stained his skin—their last night together was painted across his ghostly flesh, enunciated by the crater in his chest. She waited on bated breath, half expecting him to move.
To jump from the bed and crowd her, demanding she give in to him.
Say yes, Treasure.
His eyes never opened, stiff limbs perfectly still, but something moved.
Were those his fingers twitching? Mora clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, and backed away until she bumped into something hard.
Wood squeaked over tiles—Dother’s writing desk shifted, followed by the racket of his things tumbling to the floor.
All the while, an endless stare watched her from the bed.
Gods damn her, it was his ring. The horrific, pitch-black void bored into her soul, locking onto her face—Mora was eager to be rid of it. To free herself from Dother’s shackles and never see any of his things again. She pressed her palm against her chest, willing her heart to slow.
“Answer me, woman,” her new Keeper spat.
A muscle flexed in Mora’s jaw, her attention flicking to her flask, the gold filigree glimmering with each shake of the man’s fist. “My power is yours to command,” she seethed, barely noticing the relief that came with those words.
“Are you a Forbidden? I’ve never heard of one like you.
” He ran his free hand over the gray stubble peppering his chin, his oily stare roving over Mora until he settled on the tear Dother had left in her dress.
Blood-soaked velvet hung awkwardly, revealing most of Mora’s side and stomach.
It was her belt, she realized, maintaining a smidge of her modesty.
All while securing Dother’s pouch in place.
She hugged herself, her nails scraping over the supple leather as she covered her exposed skin. Even now, a part of Dother clung to her, as if he caged her in his arms—the belt felt too tight, pressing into her waist until it was all she knew.
“He’s dead,” she muttered, crushing her pouch in a steely grip.
Her Keeper took a single step closer, his shadow stretching and blending with hers. “I asked you a question.”
Mora’s body tensed at his nearness. Her limbs shook, adrenaline coursing through her veins as her body begged her to run.
To flee from the suffocating scent of citrus and decay, and those gods damned black sheets.
She could still feel them sliding over her clammy skin.
Her own cries echoed in her ears, as if they’d crawled out from the cracks in the stone walls—part of her would never leave here, forever haunting this place.
Whatever pieces she could salvage were at the mercy of the man looming over her, his faded blue tunic torn and stained, much like her dress.
What will he want from me? And why is he in the castle?
Mora didn’t recognize him as a cook or servant, and his garb was too drab for a guard.
The sour scent of his sweat blended with the suffocating air, and she could hardly stand another breath.
If she could, she’d sprint to her mother’s rooms—how she longed to see her—and seek solace in her embrace.
Even if part of her feared all her mother would see was the monster Dother had crafted from smoke and misery.
It hardly mattered. Running was pointless—Mora could never escape her flask. So she lifted her chin, prepared to speak, but her Keeper spoke first.
“Wait...” He leaned closer, recognition flashing in his light brown eyes. “Are you the princess?”
Mora hesitated, words trapped on her tongue.
Was she still the princess? A lifetime ago, that title was akin to a second name.
A mantle she’d been born to bear. Now, the word felt strange, the Princess of Berwick a woman who’d died in her room while a triumphant Dother watched.
Whatever she was now, she wasn’t fit to wear a crown.
Titles had power, however, and Mora would wield this one like a blade if she must.
Her palms pressed into the desk as she pushed away, shifting her shoulders and standing taller, despite the tremor in her legs. “The proper way to address me is Your Highness.”
He scoffed. “If I’m your Keeper, whatever that means, I don’t imagine I need to call you that.” His gaze flicked to the door at Mora’s back. “Hey, Edmund, look what I found.”
As he shifted on his feet, Mora caught a glance of the mess she’d made when she hit the desk.
Amidst a pile of papers and trinkets cluttering the floor was a crown.
One she knew well. Those sapphires and diamonds shimmered, sharp points gleaming like they had every night she’d stared at them, dreaming of slamming them into Dother’s throat.
A pouch matching hers lay by its side, a few stray bits of pickled egg sticking to the fabric...
though there was no sign of his red, leather-bound journal.
Good riddance.
Kicking the headpiece, Mora smirked as it clanged on the floor. At least Dother would never wear it again. A small piece of her calmed, reveling in the fact that she’d won. She’d rid herself of him—whatever came next, she would survive it.
“Oi, anything useful?” a man—Mora assumed Edmund—asked as he rounded the doorway, kicking a dagger aside. Sapphires glinted on the silver pommel—it belonged to a King’s Guard. He whistled when he took Mora in, pushing his long red hair behind his ears. “Who is this beautiful specimen?”
Mora ground her teeth. “A monster.”
He snorted, adjusting the knapsack hanging off his broad shoulder.
There was a stain on the bottom, something dark soaking into his charcoal-gray tunic.
“I’m sure we’ll teach you some manners, beauty.
” After an apathetic once-over, he decided Mora wasn’t a threat and turned to face his friend.
Scrunching his nose, he said, “We gotta do something about the body, Sev. The king will start to stink soon enough.”
“Did you get the queen?”
Mora’s heart stuttered when Edmund grinned. “Of course. The pathetic thing was hiding in her bedroom, begging us to spare her. She was dressed in one of them fancy nightgowns but kept screaming we had the wrong woman. I took care of it.”
He waltzed closer, clapping Sev on the shoulder as Mora flinched, a pallor spreading over her warm brown cheeks. There was a ringing in her ears, the incessant buzz growing louder by the second with each quickened breath.
Edmund slid his bag from his shoulder, huffing a laugh when it slipped off his arm and smacked against the floor.
“It wasn’t clean,” he said, undoing the bag’s ties.
“That sword we took off the wall wasn’t sharp enough to get the job done well.
Guess all those jewels shoulda clued us in—it wasn’t meant to be used.
” He shrugged before slipping his hand into the navy blue sack.
“Either way, guess the Gods had no interest in saving the queen.”
All Mora saw when he pulled his hand free was a mass of light brown hair, and blood dripping from a severed neck.
It splashed against the floor, the sound cutting her like a knife.
Drip.
Mora’s knees buckled, but she managed not to collapse.
Drip.
A puddle of sanguine formed at Edmund’s feet, bits spattering his worn leather shoes. His smile widened as he shook her mother’s head, laughing at something Sev said, but Mora couldn’t make out their words—everything was muffled, except for one incessant sound.
Drip.
With shaking fingers, Mora slipped her pouch’s buckle free.
Drip.
The constant slam of her heart against her ribs was overwhelming as she reached inside. Tears burned in her eyes. How she’d managed to keep her wail trapped in the confines of her throat, she had no idea.
The memory of Aedlin’s scream rang in her mind.
A shrill, horrified sound she’d never forget.
The last moment she’d had with her mother, until Dother’s curse forced her away.
She’d abandoned her to face death alone.
Mora’s teeth chattered, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs so quickly the room began to spin.
Drip.
Her fingers caressed glass, the delicate thing cuddled in the curve of her palm.
“I found the princess,” Sev declared. “Apparently we get to keep her.” He wrapped his hand around Mora’s forearm, tugging until she stumbled to his side.
Bile clawed up her throat, her skin crawling under his touch.
Mora’s upper lip twitched, a glow burning through her amber gaze as she glared up at him... but all she saw was azure.
It was Dother who held her, glaring down at her, his citrus and herb musk flooding her lungs.
You know this isn’t what I wanted, Treasure.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” Mora spat.
Someone clicked their tongue and Dother faded away, replaced by Sev’s weathered face. “That’s too bad, Princess. Your family’s dead and it looks like you’re Forbidden filth. You’re about to learn how little your wants matter.”
A bitter, broken laugh slipped free, the sound quiet and unsettling. “I’m not sure how you managed to get this far, Sev, but I’m afraid this is where your journey ends.”
Edmund chuckled. “What is this bitch on about?”
“I don’t know. Should we cut her head off as well? Or keep her as our Indentured? The nobles will have to share after what we did. Plus, she already called me Keeper. Seems like she wants this.” Sev’s fingers tightened into a bruising grip, pain thrumming like a pulse under her skin.
The dam broke. Tears slid down Mora’s cheeks, a scream bursting from her lungs and crashing against the stone walls to join the rest of her agony.
She tore one of Dother’s fire sprites free from her pouch and swung, slamming the glass into Sev’s jaw.
Shards erupted, sharp bits embedding themselves in her palm, but Mora felt none of it.
Not as she watched Sev blink and stumble back.
He was too stunned to react as the sprite clambered up his face.
Within one startled inhale, her Keeper’s head was engulfed in flames. He howled then, skin bubbling and melting while the sprite made its way to his hair. The creature’s body flickered within the fire’s orange glow as it dove in and out of the growing blaze. Giving in to Mora’s desire to end him.
Edmund’s eyes bulged, his mouth falling open as he stumbled back a step, her mother’s head slipping from his fingers. “What the f—”
Mora roared, a guttural, anguished cry, and launched herself at Edmund.
He managed to stay upright, thick arms curling around her as they crashed into the wall, his lips parting on a raspy inhale while Mora struggled in his grip.
She clawed at his chest, working to slip her right hand back toward her belt.
Thick gray smoke wafted in the air, along with the sickening aroma of burnt hair and boiling flesh. Sev’s cries quieted, the room silent but for Mora and Edmund’s labored breaths.
“What have you done!” Edmund cried, fisting Mora’s long, dark curls.
A sharp pain pulsed in her scalp and she stilled, peeking up to make sure it wasn’t Dother who clutched her in an iron grip.
Tears glistened on her face, chest heaving as she sneered, “Why don’t I show you?” She ripped her hand from her pouch and smashed a glass sphere against Edmund’s stomach. Fire enveloped his tunic, the sprite clawing its way up the rough-spun fabric.
His grip loosened, sending Mora crashing to the ground at his feet. She inched away while Edmund shrieked, slamming his hands against the growing embers in a feeble attempt to staunch them. All it did was enrage the tiny creature, sparks drifting off its fluttering wings.
She envied its freedom.
Mora couldn’t unleash herself, not without a wish.
With no Keeper claiming her flask, she could barely hold herself together.
The bottle called, an incessant pull building in her center until she winced...
but she wasn’t ready. Dother had gifted her a handful of sprites, and it was time she set them free.
Something snagged her dress as she stepped over Edmund, heading for the door. There was nothing but wrath on her face when she stared down at the burning man, his blistering fingers gripping the fabric.
“P-please,” he rasped, flames curling in the air with his breath.
Mora’s face hardened further. Stomping on his hand, her lips tipped up when bones cracked. “You and your kin will find no mercy in me.”