Chapter 22
Mora
Smoke prickled Mora’s nose, the bitter, acrid aroma coating her throat. Up ahead, Galdon’s Crossing burned, thatched roofs in its center falling to vicious flames, screams rattling in Mora’s ears.
“Gods be damned,” Castellan breathed, stopping abruptly to watch flashes of blue spark above the village. They glimmered through gray skies, dancing among the snowflakes before fading away. “That’s Aegist magic, and it doesn’t look like things are going well. We need to do something.”
Mora slowed by his side. Snow gathered around her ankles, the bite of the crisp winter air making her shiver—she glanced sidelong at her flask dangling from his belt. “And what do you propose we do?” she asked, eyes trailing along the bottle before her glowing stare rose back to Castellan’s face.
He couldn’t hold her gaze. Castellan sighed, jaw working as the sounds of fighting grew louder. “I suppose it’s time I make a wish…”
“And so it begins,” she muttered.
Tension wrapped around Mora in coils, its suffocating grip curling around her lungs. She kept her face stony, sipping on air and praying it would be enough.
Even the gallant knight would use her. Did it matter if his intentions were good?
Were his intentions good?
Castellan moved closer, hand hovering over the flask. He was too near, his sea salt and sage musk wafting over her. Mora’s heart galloped in her chest, the memory of citrus invading her lungs until she held her breath and inched away.
“Could I make a wish that would help any Halflings we come across?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.
A bitter laugh slipped free. “You’re a fool if you think I’d help you force my will.”
He looked back so he could scan Mora’s face, frowning at whatever he found there. “I expected you to care.”
“And I expected you to understand. You hold a great deal of power over me, Guard. I am not willing to give you more. Make your wishes.” Her eyes darkened. “See if you like what comes of it.”
“You are not the woman I thought you were.” Castellan shook his head, his fingers working the leather strip tethering her flask to his belt.
“What were you expecting? Someone who’d let you walk all over her?”
“I assumed the Princess of Berwick cared about her people.”
Mora flinched. Sparks erupted once more, blue light cutting through smoke like glowing streaks of lightning. She did care. But she couldn’t allow herself to help—to trust—anyone.
Especially her Keeper.
Castellan clutched the flask, his thumb sweeping over the gilded wood on its neck. “I’m giving you the chance to have some control over what happens, Mora. We could do something meaningful together.”
Those stormy gray eyes glinted, glimpses of cold blue churning within them.
Our people need us, Treasure.
The howling wind became Dother’s voice, its icy touch his rapacious fingers. It tickled her neck, washing over her flushed skin before rushing away.
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “I—”
Cheers erupted from the village. Mora watched, waiting for more hints of magic, but none came.
Fuck.
The Aegist was doomed. Were they alone? Were they protecting others?
… Was Mora monstrous enough to abandon them?
“Fine,” she hissed, hating herself for it. “If you wish for me to save any Halflings we come across, I should be able to use my abilities to help them, regardless of how much time passes.”
“Okay.” Castellan nodded, the tension draining from his shoulders. Clearing his throat, he spoke quickly, words spilling from his tongue. “I wish for you to help me save the Halflings we find from the fighting across Berwick and to bring them somewhere I deem safe.”
The wish crawled over Mora’s spine, sinking its teeth into the marrow. Its frigid bite duller than expected. The pain weaker than when Dother uttered his demands.
Castellan stiffened. “Curse the gods, what was that?”
“Penance,” Mora muttered, a deep, rumbling voice slipping through her mind. Saying the word with her. She shook her head, as if she could dislodge the Fae from her memories. “If you’d like to play hero along with me, I suggest you hurry.”
Wisps of glittering obsidian dripped from her fingers, the undulating mass pooling around her. Her head tipped back—she reveled in its cool embrace, ready to fall apart.
“Wait!” Castellan shouted, reaching for Mora’s cloak.
Whatever he wanted, she didn’t care. There was an ache in her ribs, his wish curling around her bones, demanding she do as he’d asked; she had no interest in enduring.
A plague of darkness rose where she once stood, slipping through Castellan’s fingers and careening toward Galdon’s Crossing.
It wasn’t the spatters of soot and blood soaking into the snow-covered cobblestones that first caught Mora’s eye. Instead, her gaze fixed on an alley, snagging on a ruby cloak, its silky train stark against the ivory ground.
Elodie’s grin was wild, pink staining her lightly-freckled cheeks. She covered her lips, giggling behind her hand at the carnage in the main square. Something rippling over her fingers; the same sanguineous rings as before.
She failed to notice the furious tempest of obsidian descending upon her until it crashed onto the earth. An eruption of dark, wispy tendrils and white powder followed, Elodie falling to the ground along with them.
“Sweetling!” Silas cried, pushing away from his perch against the brick wall. He rushed through the darkness, goosebumps pebbling his skin as Mora’s frigid smoke slipped over him. Castellan’s royal blue bag jostling on his shoulder along with the rest of his things. “Are you all right?”
Onyx mist rose, twisting like a wrathful torrent before Mora stepped free from its hold. The shouts behind her barely registered—Mora’s pounding pulse crowded her senses, the pressure in her chest near-maddening. “What in the name of the gods are you doing here?”
Her knuckles cracked, clenched hands shaking, Jonah’s blank stare flashing in her mind. And his blood. So much fucking blood.
Drips echoed in her ears—Mora wasn’t sure if she flinched along with them.
Elodie sighed dramatically, swiping bits of snow from her clothes while Silas helped her stand. Mora gave the man a once-over, delighted to see he’d shaved half his head, hiding the bald patch she’d created.
“There was a time I dreamed of being your friend,” Elodie said, pouting. The winds shifted, pulling back like a tide and whipping strands of strawberry blonde hair around her face. “You’re less fun than I imagined.”
“Are you mad?” Mora seethed, ignoring the snow pelting her legs as it followed the tug of the breeze.
Elodie offered a toothy grin. “My father certainly thinks so.” Her smile faltered. “That’s why you and I never met.”
Silas’s navy eyes went wide. He wrapped his thick, muscular arms around Elodie, turning them swiftly. Mora barely had a moment to blink. A wave crashed onto the ground at the mouth of the alley, water droplets splattering the walls and raining down on Mora’s face. A cold burn prickling her cheeks.
There was a loud oof when it made impact, a startled breath panted through parted lips before a scream was wrenched from someone’s throat.
Mora’s heart raced when a woman stumbled into view, water crawling up her neck toward her lips.
It slipped over her mouth and into her nostrils before it froze, cutting off her shriek.
Her frost-coated fingers spasmed, a shovel slipping from her grip and clanging on the ground, the woman desperately clawing at the thickening layer of ice.
“Have fun,” Elodie cooed, further down the alley than Mora realized.
She spun on her feet, but all she caught was Elodie’s hand waving, crimson twirling around her fingers in an endless parade. Then, she was gone, along with her beastly man, hidden by the curving alleyway.
“Fuck,” Mora hissed. She made one step, intent on following, but the tug in her chest grew more insistent, a sharp ache brewing beneath the surface. She faltered. A pained wheeze slipped free while fissures skittered along her ribs. The wish demanding she act. Now.
Mora ground her teeth.
Damn you, Castellan.
Squeezing her fists, she attempted to savor a breath before forcing herself to move toward the carnage, nearly choking on an acrid blend of smoke and death. Shadows embraced her as she neared the edge of the alley.
“You won’t last without that dang shield,” an old man shouted. He stepped over the suffocating woman writhing on the ground, shaking a bloodstained pitchfork.
An orange haze rippled around him, the flames casting an eerie spell.
Did the God of Death walk among them? It was an odd avatar for such a being, but Mora couldn’t unsee it.
Puddles shuddered, water rippling over the surface.
Elegant fingers stretched toward them, droplets rising to kiss each digit like dew on a summer leaf—an Elementalist, simply bound by water instead of fire, like Mora was...
before. Though, when she focused, she could still feel those embers crackling beneath whatever Dother had forced into her chest.
“We never wanted a fight,” a low, feminine voice pleaded. Her breathing was harsh, sawing in and out of her chest too quickly.
The water Elementalist stepped forward, her bruised hand shaking.
Blood streamed from a gash in her forehead, staining her warm, bronze skin, and soaking into strands of sweat-matted, dark mahogany hair.
She swayed on her feet, what little water she’d gathered slipping from her grip and tumbling to the ground.
Unlike Mora, she didn’t have an endless well of power—had she pushed herself too hard with the wave?
The elderly man snarled, “Your Aegist attacked unprovoked.”
A crowd of rebels inched closer, coalescing like a voracious beast, framed by the fire consuming the shops at the back end of the square. As if they were all one. White-knuckled hands gripped makeshift weapons, bottles, spades, and kitchen knives at the ready.