Chapter 23
Mora
“What the fuck?” Mora meant to snarl the words, but they were barely a whisper. The world spun, her knees buckling. Strength waning. An excruciating sting twisted in her ribcage, climbing into her lungs and blooming until it burned.
Roots tore through the ground, overturning stone and churning up the frozen dirt beneath them while the ash tree reached for the Aegist, the dead limbs of the elderly man swaying as it moved. “What is your gods forsaken problem?” Imani shouted, her arborous shackles wrapping around his ankles.
The dagger clattered on cobblestones. He made no attempt to escape, his posture so straight it must have been agony. “The Crown hath fallen,” he said, voice a dull rasp.
Still, he looked at no one. Spoke to no one. His hollow words a gift to the winds and nothing more.
Mora’s eyes narrowed, the furious glow in her glare so potent Imani inched further away.
The man with deep blue eyes stared at her, lips pursing. “The Crown?”
“Something isn’t right with this one, Arlen,” another rebel called out. Boots shuffled, the crowd shifting while the newcomer came closer, muttering about ending things before there were more dead.
Mora ignored them, searching the spaces between brick buildings.
Staring into the shadows. Her vision blurred, nausea churning in her stomach until she was certain she’d vomit.
She attempted to blink away the sea of black spots.
Blinked again when she noticed someone leaning against a distant wall. Safe from the carnage.
Elodie blew her a kiss before Silas pulled her away.
“What does she want with me?” Mora mumbled.
At the same time, Arlen said, “I know who you are... Princess.”
“The fucking princess?” Imani ground out, ash tree creaking as roots curled around the Aegist’s legs. Her upper lip curled, pulling at an old scar, eyes trained on Mora’s power, pooling beneath her in a vaporous puddle. “I should let him stab you again.”
“Imani!” Jade scolded.
Every wheezed breath was agony, yet Mora pressed her hand to her wound and forced herself to withstand it. For now. The Halflings needed to know she was on their side before she gave herself to the smoke.
Would they cower? Run along with the people who intended to kill them? It wouldn’t stop her from saving them, but she didn’t want them to fear her.
“I’m one of you,” she breathed. “I came to help.”
Her legs gave out. Mora’s sharp cry echoed around them as her knees slammed into stone, bits of gravel piercing her skin in spite of her breeches. Arlen and his cohorts’ laughter fluttering around with her agony.
“Help?” Bitterness coated Imani’s tone. “All of this is because of your damned family.”
The pouch pressed against Mora’s stomach, soft leather squeaking the same way it had in Dother’s grip when she’d attempted to refuse his gift over a year ago. She could still hear the anger in his voice.
Our people suffered and died because of laws that were overturned to spare you.
He was right, and she hated it.
“Fuck you,” she snarled under her breath, the words meant for a ghost. Though they would never find his ears.
Imani scowled, assuming Mora spoke to her. “So much for being one of us.”
“Is she truly the princess?” Jade asked.
It became harder to keep her eyes open. Blood soaked through her ivory cloak, the sullied material sticking to her side while winter’s breath sank into the wet fabric.
Mora couldn’t help but shiver. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to feel empowered—it wasn’t Dother’s death enveloping her, shielding her in an armor she wished she could don for eternity.
No. This was Mora’s end lingering on her skin. Without the relief of a final breath.
She could barely hold herself together.
“That’s me,” she said, words barely escaping her lips.
Death dragged His cold hand over her soul, but Dother’s curse wouldn’t allow him to take her. As Mora swayed, smoke spilled down her arms like a river of darkness.
Arlen’s blue eyes flared—gods, she wished she could gouge them out of his ugly face—and he called to the townsfolk at his back. “The princess is a fucking Forbidden with some ungodly dark power. Can you believe it? It’s a shame we can’t collect the reward for finding her.”
His friend toed the gathering onyx mist, face paling. “I’ve never heard of power like this.”
Arlen shrugged. “I’m not worried; she’s bleeding out.” He crouched down and pressed the flat side of his cleaver under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Would you like to join your family in the next realm?”
Mora gasped, drowning under the weight of his words and the incessant drips of her blood on the cold, hard ground.
For a moment, she was back at the castle.
Choking on the pungent taste of burning flesh.
Staring at a mess of brown hair and blood dribbling from a severed neck, muscle, bone and gods knew what else peeking out from an uneven wound.
The one solace was the cool embrace of her vapors, the growing wisps caressing her skin. Plucking her from the darkest depths of her mind. She sank into their touch, shrouding herself in a numb haven until all she felt was an endless, fiery rage.
“I’d rather you did,” she snarled before collapsing into a pile of glittering obsidian.
“What the—”
A ferocious wave of shadows slammed into his chest while he swiped his cleaver upward. It was clumsy. Desperate. The blade tearing her in half and tossing tendrils to the breeze. His shoulders sagged, tension easing as he let out a long breath.
Mora wished she could laugh—his relief was short-lived.
Tufts of onyx coalesced once again into a dark cloud, looming over him. Nearing as panic flooded his expression, blood draining from his once-red cheeks.
The cleaver slipped from his fingers, lips falling open as he stood, frozen, staring up at Mora’s undulating form. Behind him, screams erupted, a choir of horror seeping into the air.
Chaos consumed the square once more.
A snow-kissed wind howled while feet slammed on the ground, the smartest among the crowd fleeing to safety. Others raised their makeshift weapons, rushing the two Halflings. Giving Mora a wide berth.
The ash tree groaned, shaking as it moved, following the whims of the Naturalist. Releasing its captives.
A heap of flesh slapped against frozen cobbles, and the Aegist’s feet dragged as he meandered away aimlessly, free from his arborous shackles.
Branches thickened, bark cracking as they slammed into anyone who drew near, joined by a spray of Jade’s water.
Droplets cutting through Mora’s mist and splashing on Arlen’s face.
It wasn’t enough.
Mora moved to gather them in her vaporous embrace and take them away, but the wish disagreed. Her smoke jerked, pulled by the threads Dother had woven so carefully around her soul—she could only take them somewhere Castellan deemed safe, and he hadn’t named a place.
Perhaps she should have waited...
It was too late for regrets.
Onyx smoke came together into the shape of a woman, an amber glow penetrating the darkness. Arlen yelped, scrambling over bodies and debris, attempting to escape her. She almost felt bad, until wide blue eyes slammed into her own, eliciting more visions of azure.
Ethereal arms wrapped around his center, dragging him back while he shrieked, twisting in her grip and reaching desperately for something, anything, to hold on to. He snagged the old man’s pitchfork, the scrape of the prongs on stone joining the chorus of shouts.
It was fruitless—Mora shook him until he dropped it. He cried when it landed on a twisting pile of roots, the writhing mass curling around the farm tool and snapping its wooden handle before pulling it beneath them.
Mora lifted him higher. He squirmed, feet kicking uselessly against an unyielding mass of smoke. Until tendrils broke away, their ends twisting into sharp claws.
It summoned memories of him. Of their last night together.
What are you up to, Treasure?
She glared at her prey. I’m ending this.
Mora plunged her claws into his chest, burrowing through flesh until she met bone.
“Gods divine,” he bellowed, head tilting back, a hiss slipping between his gritted teeth. “Help! Please! Someone...”
His friend broke from the mob, speeding toward the sound of Arlen’s voice. He ducked under branches and jumped over roots, careful not to step on the fallen. Racing ahead... until he saw them.
Stopping dead in his tracks, his eyes darted between Arlen and Mora.
“Do something!” Arlen begged. “Brandon, please!”
The man gulped, a broken bottle clutched in his shaky hand. “L-leave him,” he begged, raising the glass. It slid from his shaky grip, bouncing on snow before shattering on a pile of ice. A gift from the water Elementalist, Mora assumed.
Smoke pulled back until Mora stepped free, amber eyes aglow. What remained of her dark power drifted from her fingertips to root in Arlen’s chest, the metallic scent of his blood seeping into her lungs.
“You’re just like the rest of them,” Arlen said quietly, blood dribbling down his chin. Blue stare growing dull. “You deserve to be kept in a cage.”
Dother’s voice followed, a deadly, quiet mutter.
Or bound to that flask for eternity, right, Treasure?
“And you belong in hell,” she shot back at Arlen, ignoring the ghost haunting her mind. A cruel smile that didn’t meet her eyes twisted on her face, her glare narrowing on Arlen’s friend. “Would anyone like to join him?”
She held his stare and pushed harder on her magic, her smoke crawling deeper into Arlen’s ribcage. There was resistance, but she persisted until a dark tendril shot through his back.
Arlen made what Mora assumed was a gargled plea. Blood rained down on her face, warm droplets slipping over her cheeks and dribbling down her chin. Enveloping her in death. A new suit of armor to carry her through the storm.
Faces paled and throats bobbed, the square growing quiet while everyone watched. Some stood stock-still, trapped in silent horror. Others slowly backed away.
All the while, the wish purred in her chest—Imani and Jade stood together, cuddled within the ash tree’s frost-coated branches. Alive. Protected. Their ordeal nearly over.
Mora pulled her prey closer. “I doubt you imagined your blood on the snow tonight,” she said with quiet menace, tracing around one of the smoky tendrils piercing his chest. His lifeblood smeared her fingertips, slipping over her skin as she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.
Lifting it so Arlen could see. “It doesn’t look any different from a Halfling’s, now, does it?
” His body sagged, his weight pulling on her smoke until he bobbed in her hold.
Mora opened her mouth to say something more when a fresh wave of warm liquid sprayed her face, a salty, metallic tang splashing on her tongue.
She gagged on blood, smoke shrinking back to gather on her flesh. The crowd dispersed as Arlen fell, their shrill screams consuming the square while his body landed with a wet thud beside his freshly cut head.
Castellan stood tall, blood gleaming on his sword. The shadows of his hood hid his curls, darkness covering most of his face, but Mora didn’t miss the way his brows lowered over a stormy gaze.
At his side was another King’s Guard, the royal blue uniform a perfect contrast to his brown eyes. The color so deep they were nearly black. They flicked from Castellan to Mora, awe painting his handsome face.
A coy smile played on his lips when his focus settled on her. “So, this beautiful, vicious thing must be the princess?” he asked, brushing dark hair away from his brow.
Castellan ignored him, grip tightening on his sword’s hilt. “What the hell is wrong with you?”