Chapter 11 #2
“I’m Elodie, and the beautiful man you’ve so impolitely assaulted is Silas.
We have another friend I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting as well.
” Elodie lifted her hand and crooked her finger in a come-hither motion.
Something slithered over them, slipping around each digit like a set of sanguineous rings.
Moving as if they were alive. “Come and introduce yourself, pet.”
Someone stepped out from the shadows and Mora stilled, swallowing her scream.
“Jonah?” she whispered, blood rushing from her face. What had they done to him?
The royal carriage driver looked past her, at... nothing. No life in his glazed eyes. Dried blood plastered his forehead, ashen skin swollen and bruised. If not for his royal blue coat, the silver-embroidered shoulder piece half torn on the right side, Mora may not have recognized him.
“You know each other?” Elodie cocked her head to the side, a hailstorm brewing in her icy stare. “Silas, do you think...?”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, adjusting his hold on Mora so they were eye to eye. “The crowned princess herself. Are you a lost little lamb, wandering the streets alone?”
Mora bared her teeth. “I’m a king killer.
” She struck, fisting his long hair and yanking as hard as she could.
Silas yowled when chestnut strands tore free, releasing Mora from his grip.
Something cracked when she crashed onto the frozen, uneven ground, air rushing from her lungs while an ache pulsed in her side.
With each hurried breath, the pain grew worse, the pressure against her ribcage unbearable.
“You bitch!” Silas growled, clutching the bald patch on the side of his head.
Dother’s furious voice joined in, flashes of azure flitting through her mind. She cringed, scurrying back before she realized he wasn’t there.
He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead. The words were like a prayer; she repeated them over and over, hoping one day she’d believe.
Elodie threw Silas an admonishing look. “Language!” She crossed her arms, and shook her head, more concerned with the words on his lips than the vision of wrath painting his face.
As Silas approached, Mora gripped her side, laughing quietly and forcing herself to sit up. “I’ve been told that a time or two. I’m beginning to think it’s a compliment.”
“Silas,” Elodie cooed. “Don’t get your hands dirty. We have Jonah for a reason.”
“Sweetling, I can fight my own battles.”
“We aren’t in the woods tonight, Si. The wrong person could see, and...” She closed her eyes, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I can’t go back. My beloved won’t be near to protect me anymore.”
Silas paused, glaring down at Mora, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger.
They stared at one another, clumps of his hair still clenched in Mora’s fist, before he nodded and turned back.
“I won’t let that happen,” he said, pulling Elodie into his arms. His touch was soft, gentle fingers slipping through her hair. “Let Jonah handle it.”
She sniffled, her face pressed into the wolf pelt on Silas’s shoulder. “Jonah, teach the princess a lesson with Silas’s dagger.”
The carriage driver shambled forward, his movements painfully stiff. Silas passed him the blade before wrapping his arm around Elodie’s waist, holding her tighter. “Once we have the crown, we’ll make everything better, my lady.”
“It’s my greatest wish,” she muttered, weeping onto gray fur.
Mora’s aching bones screamed as she shimmied away. “Jonah, you don’t have to do this.”
He didn’t react—didn’t blink—his feet barely lifting off the ground as he approached.
There was no sense in enduring this any longer. Mora was no fool—they wanted the crown, and she was the heir. It would be fruitless for them to attempt to kill her, but Mora had no interest in experiencing the pain of their efforts.
She reached for the tether in her chest, ready to find her way back to her flask—to Castellan—when a voice crashed through the square.
“No!” Castellan darted toward Mora. “You will not touch her!” he declared, tearing his sword free from its sheath as he ran. He swiped the blade upward, its sharp point slicing through Jonah’s stomach, blue fabric splitting along with flesh as blood rained down.
There was no pain or fear on Jonah’s face when he stumbled, dagger clattering on the ice at his feet. Castellan shoved past him, adjusting his grip on his weapon.
“Jonah!” Mora cried, scrambling toward him.
The carriage driver’s breath wheezed, his body giving out, but Mora broke his fall, grunting under his weight.
The sharp pain in her side pulsed along with her heart, but she did her best to ignore it.
It was so much like a wish curling around her bones, the magic twisting each rib until cracks skittered up their length.
A feeling Mora detested but was growing used to.
“What happened to you?” she muttered, pressing her hand against his abdomen.
Blood coated her fingers, seeping into the cracks of her broken nails.
She pushed harder. Tried her best to staunch the bleeding.
Then, something hot and slippery poked through the gash, squishing beneath her palm.
Oh gods… were those his intestines? Acid crawled up her throat, coating her tongue, and Mora heaved, turning in time to vomit in the snow at her side.
“Mora,” Castellan called over his shoulder, crimson dripping from his sword. He stood with his back to her, chest heaving as he stared Silas down. “Get in your flask.”
The demand of his words slammed into her, frigid tendrils clambering up her spine.
She hissed out a breath, a small cry on her lips as the agony surged.
Glittering wisps of onyx slipped through her flesh, pooling on her palms, its frigid kiss making her shiver, but she refused to dissipate.
“I won’t leave him,” Mora spat, her hold on Jonah tightening.
Jonah’s lips parted and Mora leaned closer, wondering if he’d speak. There was a rattling in his throat, his breathing coming out in short bursts as he twisted in Mora’s lap.
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed, bowing her head, a sinking feeling in her gut.
Castellan yelped, but Silas’s booming voice was muffled, as if he were far away. Mora couldn’t bring herself to look—the guard wouldn’t survive the day, her flask destined for Elodie’s hands. Keeper or not, Castellan didn’t deserve to die. Nor did Jonah. Or Philip, or her parents…
She was a stain on the world, woven by Dother’s hand. Cursed to suffer the whims of any who found her flask, and to damn those who cared for her to a brutal end.
“I don’t know what to—"
Something scraped over ice-coated cobblestone and Jonah shifted, swiping his arm in an upward motion.
Mora heard the whistle in the air before she felt the sting of his blade.
It happened so quickly. The dagger tore through her throat, splitting the skin and sinking into her windpipe, her breath wheezing through the gaping wound. Warm blood spilling down her front.
Mora pressed her hand to her throat, but it did nothing.
Blood slipped between her fingers to splatter onto her cloak when she tried to scream; all she could manage was a panicked gargling noise, the sound so dreadfully quiet.
She doubted Castellan heard. Frothy, pink saliva dripped down her chin, joining the growing stain on her chest.
A small part of her wanted to laugh—she nearly matched Elodie now.
“Mora!” Castellan bellowed. She forced herself to look, her eyes an amber sunset crashing into a thundercloud.
He was on his knees, bound by a strange weapon made of a long cord and two heavy, round stones, with an odd torrent of vicious, red liquid curling around them.
Too much like the living rings on Elodie’s fingers.
The cord wrapped around his center, shackling his arms to his side, his sword and knapsack abandoned on the ground.
Elodie’s lips quirked up, but she shook her head. “Don’t grow too attached,” she said, her icy stare stealing Mora’s focus. Was she warning Mora… or Castellan? Did they intend to do to him what they’d done to Jonah?
Spots danced in Mora’s vision, her body swaying, lungs screaming for air. She could barely hold herself together. Smoke churned beneath her skin, more and more slipping down her arms as it burrowed free.
Elodie grabbed Castellan’s bag, swinging it over her shoulder, before wandering back to Silas’s side. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve brought me,” she cooed, patting Castellan on the head.
The muscles in his jaw feathered, lips pressing into a thin line, and Mora had had enough. Whatever they intended to do to him, she didn’t want to see. Couldn’t bring herself to witness. Mora gave in to Castellan’s demand, releasing Jonah from her grip as she unraveled.
A cloud of endless darkness exploded from her chest, consuming Mora whole as it rose over Elodie, blotting out the sunlight and burying her in shadows.
The color drained from the noblewoman’s face, her lips falling open as she gasped.
Mora laughed inwardly when Elodie backed away, slow steps over slick winter ground, her trembling legs uncoordinated.
Glittering obsidian crashed down on Elodie, buffeting her red cloak.
The noblewoman fell, yowling when her ass hit the cobblestone, frigid tendrils whirling around her.
If only they could do more than sow fear.
Her screams blocked the noise, the chants of the villagers fading away as Mora curled into her flask on Castellan’s belt. Clinging hopelessly to the silence.