Chapter 29
Mora
Frost gathered on Mora’s cloak, ice crystals glittering along the surface and highlighting the fine streaks of gold marring her blood.
Cold sank through the soaked, woolen fabric.
Burrowing into flesh until it found bone.
Pinpricks of pain stabbing at her limbs as if winter sank its frigid teeth into her flesh.
She shivered, rubbing her arms and watching Castellan march ahead, hand on his sword’s gleaming, silver pommel.
Back perfectly straight. Powerful muscles in his shoulders visible beneath his charcoal cloak.
There had been no words spoken between them since they’d left the square, the guard content to hold his head high and stare at the horizon.
Did he expect an army to be waiting on the other side of the hill? Perhaps a wolf, eager to devour them whole?
Or...
“Have you tired of me already?” Mora asked, plucking a twig from her cloak and flicking it into the snowbank. Pretending she didn’t care.
When had she come to care?
Castellan didn’t bother to look back. “Why would you say such a thing?”
She shrugged, clumps of stained fur brushing against her cheek, painting a line of blood on her skin. “You made your displeasure known.”
“We’ve both said our piece, Princess. There’s nothing more to say on the matter.”
Mora pursed her lips. “You could apologize.”
His steps faltered, shoulders shaking with a quiet chuckle. “So could you.”
Silence swept over them once more, carried in the arms of a frosty gust. She forced her frozen limbs to move faster, eyes trained on a thick, thatched roof in the distance, dull, yellow paint peeling from the farmhouse’s facade.
Was that Eris’s home? Gods, she hoped so.
A warm hearth and a change of clothes would be a boon—she could barely feel her nose, a prickling ache throbbing in her cheeks.
Amber eyes roved over her flask, the bottle resting on Castellan’s thigh.
Glass glinting when the low-hanging sun’s rays slipped over its surface.
Taunting her. Reminding her of the... well, not warmth, but complete unfeeling she’d find inside.
There was no sense in returning to it, however—Castellan wouldn’t allow it. Damning her instead to trudge through a narrow path framed by waist-high snowbanks, carved by the footfalls of those who came before.
“I know I went too far,” Mora offered, a tightness cinching in her throat. “But—”
“Buts don’t make for good apologies.” Castellan’s tone was light, though she knew he meant it. It was in the quick way he spoke the words—how he busied his hand, tracing the leather along his sword’s handle.
“But,” she said again, narrowing her eyes at Castellan’s back, “we’ve both studied enough history to know the path you’ve chosen will grow bloody.”
An ice-coated branch whined, as if nature itself grew weary. Mora flexed her fingers. Because of the cold or the ceaseless buzzing beneath her skin, she couldn’t be sure.
Blond curls traced the sharp lines of Castellan’s jaw as he shook his head. “That doesn’t mean I believe in needless cruelty.”
Needless.
She clicked her tongue. “How quickly you assume I had no reason.”
“I know what I witnessed.”
“And I know what you didn’t.” Mora loosed a frustrated sigh, jealous of the mist escaping her lips and blending with the cool air. “You took no issue killing the man who slit my throat. What’s the difference?”
He slowed, head tipping over his shoulder enough that Mora could see his swollen cheek, tender skin marked by a deep, red bruise.
“I took an oath to protect you when I became a King’s Guard, Mora.
I will hold true to that. Even when I dislike it.
Even when I’m saving you from yourself.” The weight of his stormy gray eyes fell upon her—he turned, granting her his full attention for the first time since they’d left.
“But I need you to be better than the violence that’s destroying Berwick. Otherwise, we can never fix this.”
Her heart sank. “I’m sorry,” she said, wrapping her arms more tightly around her body as if, somehow, she could cage the beast burgeoning within. She thought she’d made peace with herself in the square, but...
Was she no better than those who had ended her mother?
No better than the man who had cursed her?
His sharp stare roved over her face, features softening. “You can make it up to me next time. Take lives if you must, but don’t take any pride in it.”
A quiet laugh slipped free, the sound so utterly broken. “I’m not sure if I can promise that,” she said, fists bunching in her cloak, the sting of her nails scraping against her ribs oddly calming. Then, she whispered, “He ruined me.”
I made you perfect, Dother taunted.
Mora gritted her teeth and shook her head, but it did nothing to silence the echo of that horrifying voice. “I don’t know what I am anymore, Castellan, but it isn’t something good.”
“You are whatever you choose to be,” he said, his gentle smile stretching his bruised cheek. “For what it’s worth, I see the good in you.”
The corners of her lips twitched in return. How he could find good in her after everything she’d done—everything he’d witnessed and abhorred—Mora didn’t know... but, somehow, it meant the world. “Of course you do, gallant knight.”
Castellan huffed an amused breath through his nose. “One of us has to.”
When he turned away, Mora reached for his cloak, surprising even herself. Its warmth soaked into her aching palm, his body heat radiating through the fabric, burning her skin. She dropped it, clutching her hand to her chest and backing away.
Staring at where she’d grabbed him with furrowed brows, Castellan asked, “Did you need something?”
“I—” Mora examined his swollen face, mulling over her thoughts. Praying she wasn’t a fool. “I could heal you.”
Gray eyes went wide. “Are you referring to a wish?”
She nodded, already weaving the words in her mind. While it wasn’t her fault Castellan was hurt, she hadn’t been kind... and he deserved better. She could be better to those who were good to her, regardless of how monstrous she needed to become.
Castellan held her stare until Mora looked away. “I thought you were unwilling to help with wishes?”
“Like you said, this grants me some control over what happens, and...” She swallowed past the lump building in her throat, shaking her boot and watching bits of snow tumble free. “I’d like to help you, and the Halflings, if possible.”
“That’s very kind of you. We’d need to be careful—if you’re required to heal all Halflings, that could cause an issue if we need to defend ourselves against one who refuses to see reason.” He paused, rubbing his jaw. “Could you also promise to never cause me harm?”
Her expression turned wary. “You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not that.” Shaking his head, he glanced over Mora’s shoulder, back toward the ravaged market they’d abandoned. “I saw what you did to that man in Galdon’s Crossing and, unlike Eris, it’s given me pause.”
Mora scoffed. Was he afraid of her? “I thought you saw the good in me.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m foolish enough not to be cautious.”
Muscles ticked in her jaw, but Mora nodded. “If you ask that I never cause your injuries and that I heal your wounds and the wounds of any Halflings you ask me to aid, then I will be able to help whenever you need me.”
“Thank you, Princess,” he said with a reverence she’d nearly forgotten, dipping his head. The shadow of a bow.
When he repeated her words, the demand twisted around Mora’s bones, but the frigid pain was a welcome intrusion.
For the first time since Dother cursed her, she didn’t cringe when she heard the words I wish.