Chapter 46
Mora
Mora jerked awake, screaming, the agonized sound dancing in the rafters of the barn.
Pigeons jumped from their roost, wings flapping against frigid air, the little creatures cooing their displeasure while she scrambled upward.
Breath quickening. The musty scent of old straw and half-rotten wood flooding her lungs.
It was too much like before... Too much like her first night with Dother.
“It was a dream,” she muttered between panicked breaths, curling her arms around her knees. “None of it was real.”
Morning sun spilled through cracks in the old roof, offering what little warmth there was to be found in the dead of winter.
It wasn’t a comfort. Mora’s skin crawled, the weight of Dother’s stare still lingering on her flesh...
and something else. Glints of gold, sharp teeth, and someone’s hand against her mouth.
Flashes of dread flitted through her mind faster than she could comprehend, nausea clawing at her throat while sour bile blended with burnt sugar assaulted her tongue.
She doubled over and retched, hiccupping between gags.
Mora couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t suck in enough air against the phantom pressure of an unwanted touch pressing against her lips. An unwanted look crawling over her skin.
Castellan’s eyes snapped open. “What’s happening?”
He sat up, pawing for his sword while he blinked the sleep from his eyes. When Mora gagged again, Castellan tossed his blankets aside and stood, rushing to her side. “Another nightmare?”
She nodded, gasping for air, her mind spinning. There was no stopping the trembling overtaking her, no balm to soothe her furious heart. Even her smoke seemed eager to escape, the building pressure unbearable, as if it wanted to crack open her bones and crawl free from its cage.
Castellan reached for her but Mora flinched away, whimpering.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. His eyes bored into her own, bursts of ice churning within that stormy gaze. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re safe.”
Mora shook her head, nails slicing through her palms when she curled her shaking hands into tight fists. She’d never be safe. Never be free.
Not truly.
Lowering himself to the dusty floor, Castellan sat in front of her, careful to keep a fair amount of space between them. “You need to calm your breathing.”
His sturdy gaze never left her as he inhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once to encourage her to join him. It was difficult, taking one steady breath. After a few tries, Mora managed. Her heart slowed a fraction, that crushing feeling easing as she exhaled through her mouth with him.
“Again,” Castellan said quietly, a small smile gracing his handsome face.
Together, they breathed through the panic, one shaky inhale at a time, until Mora’s fists uncurled on their own, her body sagging. Goosebumps pinpricked her skin, shivers slithering along her spine. She tugged at her blankets, hugging them to her chest, but the cold refused to flee.
“I’m sorry,” Mora offered, forcing herself to look back at Castellan. A burst of heat flooded her cheeks, painting her skin with her shame. She hated that he saw her like that. Weak. Vulnerable. She couldn’t afford for him, or anyone, to see her in that light.
No matter how it felt to withstand the Halflings’ judgment, Mora had to be the monster if she had any hopes of surviving.
Though... Castellan showed her time and time again he was no Dother.
Perhaps...
Could she truly trust him?
“Please, don’t be sorry.” Castellan stood and dusted the straw from his faded brown trousers. “I used to panic like that when I was young.”
Mora rolled her eyes. “You are young.”
“You don’t know my age.”
“No, I suppose I don’t.” She sighed, flexing her aching fingers.
The flood of panic hadn’t completely ebbed, the kiss of winter air on her sensitive skin feeding the tremors.
At least she could breathe, thanks to the gallant knight.
How odd for him to propose marriage without her knowing something as simple as his age. “How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-seven, hardly a child.” Castellan eyed Mora for a moment before turning away and walking to their bags. “This was when I was younger.”
“Was it the stress of being a noble son that got to you?”
“No.” Blond curls tumbled over his forehead while he rummaged through his things, hiding his expression.
“I was terrified for my sister.” He shook his head, heaving a sigh through his nose, then turned to face her.
“Since her first bleeding, she’s been ill.
But we are a noble family, and gods forbid a Briar be weak.
My parents never presented her to society, happy to let her rot in our manor for embarrassing them with her frailty.
” His jaw worked, thunder brewing in those gray eyes.
“It fell to me to protect her. To care for her. To give her everything I could while keeping her hidden. I was only a child myself, and I feared I would fail her.”
Mora’s face softened. Noble games were a cruel charade of half-truths and pretty lies.
Her mother—gods damn the tears welling up behind her eyes—had warned Mora about the games of court and how she’d need to learn to wear a carefully constructed mask if she had any hopes of survival as their queen.
Baring one’s soul led to a swift downfall.
But to force a child to hold such a secret, burdened to carry their sibling’s safety...
that was a cruelty Mora couldn’t fathom.
The silence between them stretched too thin, yet no wise words rose on her tongue. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, knowing it wasn’t enough.
Castellan shrugged, kneeling in front of her once again. “It’s not your fault.” He held out a pair of fur-lined gloves. “For the cold.”
Mora thumbed the plush material. “Thank you.” They were too big, the pristine, black leather cut to fit to Castellan’s hands, but they soothed the frigid throb in her fingertips.
She savored the warmth, resting her head on the wooden slats, her eyes drooping while exhaustion beckoned her back into sleep’s embrace.
But Mora had no interest in her dreams...
unless the Fae she shouldn’t think of was there, keeping the demons at bay.
Castellan gave her a knowing look. “It will get better soon.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be better.” She huffed out a heavy breath, changing the subject. “My parents overturned the Laws to spare me, but they still hid my true nature, lest I endanger the Crown.”
Nodding slowly, he grimaced. “I gathered as much when we met.”
She diverted her gaze, shame coating her skin like oil slipping over a lake’s surface. “And they did nothing for the rest of the Halflings.”
“No.” Castellan’s fingers curled in his lap. “No, they didn’t.”
Wisps of onyx danced behind the glow of her amber eyes. “Althenis sins aside, I understand what it’s like to carry a secret and fear for your family.”
“Was it always ominous black smoke?” he asked, settling on the dusty floor.
Bits of straw caught on his linen poet shirt, the lacing at the collar loose enough to reveal his muscled chest. He must have been freezing without his blankets, but he didn’t mutter a word of displeasure, his focus trained on Mora’s face.
Her voice was thick when she offered up another piece of herself.
A frigid, broken memory of the woman she once was, and would never be again.
“My power was different... before. A flame I rarely called upon, for fear of being caught. I knew what would happen if anyone discovered the truth, but I only thought of myself. I was...” Mora bowed her head.
“I was selfish, Castellan. I’m sure I still am.
It wasn’t until I met—” She hesitated, a pounding thrum rushing through her veins while her heart raced, azure flashing in her mind.
Pressing her hand against her chest, she took a shuddering breath and made herself say it.
“Dother was adamant I see the truth and face what my family had done. I will never praise that man, but among all the things he forced upon me, he made me consider the world outside Castle Berwick. A world I had no interest in ruling or even seeing. Not properly. I’m sure I would have turned my eyes away until my dying breath if I could have. ”
Castellan’s brows furrowed. “What your grandparents did was deplorable. Your parents changing the Laws with no consideration for anyone but you was another sin.”
Mora swallowed. “I know.”
“It isn’t right, but...” He rested a hand on her blanket, careful not to touch her. “They must have loved you very much.”
A sad smile rose on her face, images of her parents sweeping through her mind like a bittersweet whirlwind she wished to be devoured by. “They did.” Tears gathered on her lashes, but Mora blinked them away.
“Perhaps I would do the same in their shoes.”
“You?”
Muscles tensed in Castellan’s square jaw as he nodded, his expression set with a determination that told her he meant it. Or, at least, thought he did.
She arched a brow. “The gallant knight forsaking all others for the ones he loves... I can’t see it.”
His fingers sprawled over the furs, accidentally brushing Mora’s knee.
For once, she didn’t flinch away. “We don’t know what we’re capable of until life demands it of us,” he said grimly.
“You may see me as gallant, Princess, and that’s what I would prefer to be, but I will be monstrous if I must. If it means those I care for most are safe. ”
“You’d truly debase yourself for your sister?”
Those gray eyes bored into her own, searching for something. Mora couldn’t be certain if he found what he wanted, but his chin dipped. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
She leaned closer. “What did you do?”
Castellan pulled away, his attention drifting to the rafters. “What wouldn’t I do? She’s my little sister, Mora. All but disowned by our family, sentenced to rot in Briar Manor with nothing but the guards and the maids for company. If I don’t protect her, who will?”
His shoulders drooped, color draining from his freckled cheeks, consuming the light tan he’d developed during their travels. Mora realized her gallant knight was haunted. But by what exactly?
“That’s not what I asked.” She kept her voice low, craving answers and the closeness that came with sharing secrets.
It was odd, the way her throat burned and her hands shook, all while her heart warmed.
Trust felt foreign. Yet... the more time she spent with Castellan, the more she wished to trust him.
To be his friend. Flickers of hope ignited in her soul and Mora couldn’t decide if she should smother them or let them linger.
Castellan’s gaze grew distant. “The moment I came of age, I began searching for help. For a cure. She wanted more—deserved more—than to be a shameful family secret, and I wanted that for her too.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to search for help while keeping the reason hidden? The nobility were useless. I gave up quickly and became well acquainted with Moldenna’s underbelly, its taverns and alleys, until I stumbled upon a man who made so many promises. ”
He laughed quietly, a sneer sullying his noble features.
“I should have known it was too good to be true. My contact delivered on his pledge to help my sister, and things improved bit by bit. I hoped...” He sighed, shoulders slumping.
“It doesn’t matter what I hoped for. Eventually he demanded repayment, my family’s secret his leverage.
I abandoned my birthright soon thereafter, trying yet again to protect my family, though this mess was one of my own making. ”
“And you went on to become a King’s Guard?” Mora asked.
“Decent pay, free lodgings, power and connections.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. I simply pray it wasn’t all for nothing.”
Mora hugged her blankets close, curling her arms around herself in the process. Castellan loved his sister more than anything and had given so much to protect her. “Don’t say that. Of course it wasn’t.”
“I’ve sacrificed everything. Debased myself”—his pointed stare flitted to Mora’s face— “as I dreamed of a better future for her. Now I don’t know if there will be a Berwick left at the end of all of this, or if any of us will survive it.
” His tone softened, hope and fear churning in his determined gaze.
“I’m trying to save it, Mora. As best I can. ”
Could they save Berwick? Everywhere they turned, the island burned, a ravenous hunt for Halflings staining every street while nobles watched on, joyously fanning the flames.
Oh, Treasure. Dother’s voice slithered around her, clutching her in a crushing grip. Are you ready to save our people? To rule Berwick as one, side by side, as we’re meant to be.
Mora’s breathing hitched, the damned belt too tight, Dother’s pouch pressing uncomfortably against her hipbone. She swore she heard him chuckle, that low, threatening sound rumbling, promising to make her obey.
A wave of cold swam through her blood, tremors shaking her bones. Castellan saw it and inched closer without question, holding his hand out in offering.
For the first time, Mora took it, his calloused fingers curling around the leather glove and swiping slowly back and forth.
A soothing warmth soaking through the leather.
“Breathe, Mora,” he whispered, giving her fingers a light squeeze and taking a slow breath like he had earlier.
Like he’d done every time she’d panicked in his presence.
Mora clung to Castellan like a lifeline. Like he tethered her to this world. They stayed like that until she crawled free from the darkness, the crushing feeling in her ribs unweaving itself much quicker, slain by the gallant knight’s gentle hands.
Dother may have taken his last breath, his blackened soul rotting in the next realm, but Mora was beginning to believe his dying words.
There was no escaping him—he’d stained her soul too thoroughly, the echo of his grip etched into her skin.
But maybe... Could she find a glimmer in the madness? What if Castellan was right?
“I’ll do it,” Mora breathed, her voice raw.
Castellan’s hand stilled. “Do what?”
Gods, she hated herself for this, but Castellan proved himself to be a good man, and Mora owed it to her country, her family, her... people.
Running from fate led her into the arms of destruction; it was time she accepted her destiny.
Mora held Castellan’s stare, lifting her chin and schooling her features, as Aedlin had taught her. “I’ll help you save Berwick as your queen.”