Chapter 31
Mora
“I am not a pawn in your games, Castellan!” Mora shrieked, standing so swiftly her chair toppled.
Her fists slammed on the table, a clatter joining the loud slap as her bowl overturned.
Steaming broth splashing her hands. Scalding her skin.
The sharp pain clambering over her knuckles and sinking beneath her flesh. “Fuck,” she hissed, kicking her chair.
“Of course you’re not.” Castellan stepped closer, hands outstretched as if he intended to help, but the wrath emanating from her glowing eyes made him still. “You are my queen, Mora. Never a pawn.”
Those words summoned memories of him.
Say you’ll be my queen and this ends now.
A bitter laugh slipped free. Mora clutched her throbbing hands to her chest, boiled vegetables squishing beneath her feet as she backed away, the room suddenly too small.
Walls shrinking in as if they’d corral her into Castellan’s arms. Eris kept his mouth tightly shut, his steps quiet as he fetched a rag.
“Do you know how many people asked for my hand, all in a bid to gain the power of a crown I never asked for?” she growled, voice full of venom. “Do you have any idea what my birthright cost me?”
“Of course I do, I—”
“You know nothing!” she screamed, wisps of onyx slipping through her pores. They dripped down her face like tears, the pressure beneath her skin too furious to hold back.
Why was this always the answer? A life chained to someone she did not love, trapped on a throne she did not want... or deserve. Saying no once had cost her everything. What would the Fates demand of her this time?
Under her breath, Imani muttered, “Like I’d trust an Althenis to save us.”
Mora bared her teeth, black smoke spilling over her lips. “Say that again.”
“I think we should retire to our room, Mani.” Jade tugged gently at her lover’s sleeve, but the Naturalist shook her head before wrapping an arm around Jade’s middle and pulling her closer.
They couldn’t make it to the stairs without passing Mora—Imani must have felt it best to keep a table between them.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Castellan glanced to Eris for help.
Eris sighed, tossing an old towel on Mora’s mess. “I know this is a lot to take in, Vicious Thing, but hear us out.”
“No,” she spat. Broth and water soaked into her woolen socks when she moved closer to her boots, the snow she’d tracked in now a cool puddle on the floor. How quickly could she pull them on and run out the door?
A metallic aroma blended with the savory herbs slipping between the cracks in the hardwood—Mora’s cloak hung by her side, the wet fabric too sullied to be of any use... but Castellan’s was a fine option.
The gallant knight righted her chair, wiping the moisture from the seat with his sleeve. “Sit and I’ll explain. Please.” The flask bobbed against his thigh, golden filigree glinting. Mocking her.
What use was running? She had no choice but to stay...
“I’d rather stand,” she seethed, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, wishing she could flee and lose herself in Moldenna like she used to when the burden of the Crown became too much. There would be no escape. Dother had made certain of that.
When Castellan studied her face, he gave up, hand dropping from the back of her chair.
After a heavy exhale, he spoke. “What you’ve witnessed in Moldenna and Galdon’s Crossing is happening across Berwick, Mora.
There are two camps. Those who wish to return to the old ways, and those who are Halflings or who sympathize with them.
With no royals or guards to keep the fighting in check, things will continue until one side emerges victorious, and they will inevitably declare a new leader.
One who agrees with them and enforces their wants.
We either act now, gathering as many Halflings as we can, or we watch Berwick burn.
” He moved to stand in front of her, his broad frame blocking the Halflings and Eris from view, as if he could make it so it was just the two of them.
“Then we’ll have to live with the consequences of our inaction. ”
“And what will you do with the Halflings you gather?” Imani worked her jaw, stretching the scar on her upper lip. Fingers drumming endlessly on the table. “Form an army?”
The continuous tap, tap, tap raced against Mora’s tempestuous heart—she struggled to keep her breathing steady, each hurried inhale nearly joining in the furious tempo.
Castellan kept his back to Imani, eyes locked on Mora. Full of pleading.
It was Eris who answered. “Exactly,” he said, scrubbing Mora’s mess from the table. Chunks of vegetables ran from the hurried swipes of his rag, splatting on the floor and earning a sigh from the guard before he lowered himself to his knees. As if wasted food was their biggest problem.
“There aren’t enough of us!” Jade’s voice cracked. “We won’t survive a war.”
“With Mora at the helm, we can take on anything.” Eris winked up at Mora from his position on the floor, Castellan’s legs unable to block him from view. “Besides, we only need Moldenna; if we can take the capital and the Crown, we’ll win.”
The ache in Mora’s hands faded, her being slowly dissipating into mist, wide amber eyes fixating on her flask.
“Eyes on me, Princess,” Castellan whispered. “You’re safe. So long as we’re together, I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”
“And what of my curse? Did your plans account for a queen whose hand could be so easily forced?” As darkness pooled around her feet, all Mora could think of was the feel of warm vomit slipping between her fingers and soaking into her cloak while she crawled to Philip’s body.
Who else would she be made to kill in the name of courtly games?
“I can’t ascend the throne, Castellan. I won’t. ”
“What the fuck are you two scheming about?” Imani’s curt voice sliced through Mora’s murky thoughts like a blade.
She whimpered, curling what remained of her arms around her fading body. Unable to hold herself together.
“I’ll protect you,” Castellan breathed, ignoring the Naturalist. “We’ll hide your flask somewhere no one would find it. Together, we’d create balance; you could rule over the Halflings while I manage the rest of Berwick.”
Her smoke slowed, undulating shadows gently caressing what skin remained. “I never thought you’d want the crown,” she muttered, her voice so very quiet. Each word weighed down by an ache that ran to the depths of her soul.
“I want a safe Berwick,” Castellan reasoned, “no matter what I need to do to make it happen.”
Finally, she met his stare, a clash of bright amber burning into thunderous clouds, streaks of ice churning in their stormy depths. “I won’t marry someone I do not love.”
“We’d be married on paper only, Princess. Two friends who’d rule as one. Could you not do this for the sake of your country? Your people?”
Our people need help now, Treasure.
Mora’s breath caught. Had Dother been right? Would her ascension to the throne pave the way to a better world?
What would Berwick think of a cursed, Halfling queen?
She shook her head, obsidian vapors snaking through the air as she moved. Already, she knew the answer. “Even if I could stomach marrying a man I do not love, they’d never accept me.”
“You’ll make them accept you.”
“Because that worked so well for Dother, didn’t it?”
Castellan ran a hand down his face, a tired growl rumbling under his breath. “We’ll discuss this more when you’re ready.” Looking back to the Halflings cuddled on their end of the table, he added, “Too many things need to fall into place before we worry about the Crown.”
Jade’s frown deepened, her grip tightening on Imani’s arm. “I have so many questions.”
“Such as?” Eris asked, soiled rag dangling between his long fingers.
“For starters, what kind of Halfling is she?”
“We’ve never seen power like this,” Imani agreed.
It was as if she weren’t there, the three of them discussing her plight like one discussed the fucking weather. Mora couldn’t stand it.
Thin, glittering vapors clambered up Castellan’s leg to curl around the flask’s cork, pressing at the edges of the gilded wood—he frowned as he watched.
“We can discuss the nature of Mora’s predicament later,” he said firmly, his hand coming to rest against Mora’s smoke as if he could hold her back.
She shuddered, the feel of his touch no different than if it were on her flesh.
“Why don’t you retire to your room and rest, Princess?
I’ll bring you more food if you’d like.”
Imani rolled her eyes. “I have to hand it to you, King’s Guard, you’ve imagined a grand fucking future for yourself.”
“For all of us,” Eris corrected, returning to his seat. Gone was the steam emanating from his soup; he pouted as he picked up his spoon, stirring the broth.
Jade’s free hand rested on the table, nails tracing the natural grooves in the wood. “What of the Halflings who are too young or have little to no power? Not everyone can fight.”
It was a noble who turned to face them. A king. Castellan stood taller, lifting his chin and speaking with regal authority, gold-glinted darkness huddled against the wall at his back. “We take them to the last place anyone would anticipate. Somewhere we can easily fortify and protect.”
Imani’s head snapped up, a frown on her lips. “And where might that be?”
Dark eyes surveyed the Halflings from the head of the table, Eris’s body tensing, his spoon clattering against the bowl while he gave up on his meal and waited.
He and Castellan shared a look, an entire conversation between them occurring in an instant.
They nodded in agreement before Castellan finally spoke.
“There’s one place with a tactical advantage, ample housing, and room for supplies,” he declared.
A rage Mora understood all too well bloomed on Imani’s face, a silver flush darkening her ebony cheeks. “I swear, if you say what I think you’re about to say...”
Eris nodded gravely. “The only place that makes sense is Cannamar.”