Chapter 73
Mora
“Mora!” Castellan called, gravel crunching under his boots as he rounded the red-bricked dormitories that once belonged to the guards, a letter clutched in his fist.
She ignored him, watching the ripples in the water’s current, rushing out toward the Northwrenn Strait. They splashed over algae-laden rocks and tugged on the curved trees growing on the riverbank, broken branches bobbing in the distance.
“Mora!” he called again, but the roar of the river drowned out his voice.
The stone balustrade cooled Mora’s forearms, her curls tumbling over its side, swaying lazily in the wind. It was tempting, the desire to throw herself off the bridge and into the water’s arms. To be claimed by its dark depths or washed away to Eldennan shores. Completely at its mercy.
Not that the flask would allow it.
“Mora, I’ve been—”
“I won’t help you destroy Cannamar bridge, Castellan.” She hadn’t bothered looking up—they’d been over this too many times since they’d arrived. She already knew his argument by heart.
We need assurances we’ll be safe.
If we destroy the bridge, no one can ambush us again.
He was convinced isolating the Halflings on this forsaken islet was the only way to protect them. But there was no fighting here to save them from, the bridge serving no threats that stoked the wish’s ire—Castellan was unable to force her hand... unless he wanted to use his final wish.
“That’s not what I’m here for.” He waved the letter, paper crinkling in his grip, his face grim when she finally lifted her head. “Did you tell someone you planned to take the throne and would kill anyone who stood against you?”
Mora turned to properly face him, crossing her arms and leaning against stone, sparks churning behind her shadowed eyes. “Only if they were a threat to the Halflings.”
His face paled, freckles standing out starkly on sun-kissed skin while he stared at her a moment too long.
“I’d hoped it wasn’t true.” Castellan shoved the letter into his pocket, uncaring when the parchment crinkled, a corner tearing, though not before Mora noticed the Briar crest stamped in red ink.
Was it from his sister? Had Eris found her? Were they waiting in Moldenna already?
Mora was almost afraid to ask. Part of her longed to find Eris and beg for forgiveness. To somehow experience the same solace in his arms she’d created with the Fae in her dreams. The rest of her preferred to never feel the warmth of his dark stare again. It weighed too heavy on her weary heart.
Castellan came to rest by her side, his elbows propped on the flat stone surface of the balustrade, facing the river. “The people were already on edge, and now you’ve given them reason to fear you,” he muttered, rubbing at his brow.
She glanced at him sidelong. “I’ve given them plenty of reasons to fear me since our journey began.”
“But few lived to spread rumors, and that’s all they were. Now Moldenna knows you’re coming for your crown, and that you stand with the Halflings. That you are one yourself.” Blond curls grazed his square jaw while he stared into the watery depths below.
“Is that not the point? You said we’d make them accept me.”
“Yes, after we take the throne...” Castellan shook his head, muscles feathering in his cheeks. “At least I know. Give me time and I’ll come up with a plan.”
With a sigh, Mora pushed away from the bridge, knowing he’d follow. “I’m sure you will, gallant knight.”
His lips quirked, a smile lighting up his face for the first time since they’d arrived on Cannamar. Since everything went wrong back at their camp. “It’s been a while since you’ve called me that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, jostling Mora’s flask, the ornate bottle hanging from his belt.
They walked in comfortable silence, back toward the old guard dormitories they now called home.
Ivy clung to the brick facade, curtaining the windows.
Adorning the building as if the small rooms inside were worthy of such beauty.
They didn’t touch the long halls attached to the central structure, however, as if nature itself avoided the old bricks that once caged the Halflings.
A pebble lodged itself in the sole of Mora’s shoe, denting the leather and pricking her heel. She hissed at the bite of pain. “I’ll need better footwear if I’m to march into Moldenna and reclaim Castle Berwick,” Mora seethed, lifting her foot and flicking the tiny rock away.
Surprise flared in Castellan’s gray eyes. “Are you asking for armor?”
Mora scoffed. “Armor won’t matter.” She swiped her hands down the simple cream dress he’d found her, a gift from his last lone visit to Reverie.
The buttery fabric was nicer than anything she’d worn in months; if joy didn’t feel like a sin, she would have loved it.
“A dress would do, though I suggest something more extravagant than this one. If we’re to take the Crown, we need to look the part. ”
He nodded, his focus never once leaving Mora’s face. She hated the weight of it. The knowing look she’d find if she met his stare.
“What?” Mora asked, kicking an errant stone off the path. It rolled through old, dry weeds left behind from winter, green bits of new growth poking up between the rot.
Castellan inched closer, until their arms nearly touched. “Tell me how I can fix this.”
“Take us somewhere else.” The words spilled out without thought, an agonizing flutter pulsing behind her ribcage as they tore themselves free—she already knew his answer.
Pity softened his face. “You know I can’t do that.” He reached for her, but Mora pulled away, the rise and fall of her chest quickening. “We tried to create a safe haven out there, Princess, but it didn’t work. We can’t risk more lives.”
Dirt puffed in the air as she spun on her feet, glaring up at him with fire in her eyes. “It isn’t safe for them here either, Castellan!”
He shook his head, lips flattening into a thin line. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
An ache thrummed in her palm, her nails cutting through the skin. “Imani would never have allowed this.”
“Imani’s gone.”
The words slammed through Mora’s chest, splitting her open and burrowing into her bones. She staggered back, gripping the cream fabric above her sternum. “I’m well aware of whose fault that is,” she snarled, turning from Castellan. Hating herself so fiercely she could hardly breathe.
“Mora, wait!”
With each swift step, puffs of dirt clouded the air, gravel digging into her soles—they hadn’t bothered paving the roads on Cannamar, because who the fuck cared, apparently.
She rounded the first cloister and swung open a heavy wooden door, hinges creaking from years of disuse.
Mora slipped inside before Castellan could see, praying he’d leave her until she was ready to face him again. To face her shame again.
It was hard enough being here at all. Knowing Imani cursed her from the next realm for taking Jade to the one place she wished to protect her from.
Must hung in the damp air, coating Mora’s lungs.
She nearly gagged, her upper lip curling, but the thick aroma wasn’t enough to stop her from moving deeper into the building.
If it weren’t for the footsteps lining the dust-laden hardwood, she would have assumed no one had walked this hallway in years.
“Is someone there?” Mora whispered, certain Castellan would somehow hear her if she spoke too loudly. The man was determined, she’d give him that. If he didn’t track her down before the evening, he’d make sure they spoke before they slept.
Mora couldn’t fault him for it.
Where else could they go? Cannamar was the last place anyone would expect and...
A lump formed in Mora’s throat but she forced herself to swallow past it.
Castellan was right. If they took out the bridge, no one could ambush them again. Yet, Mora couldn’t stand by him in this. She’d failed Imani enough already.
Someone shrieked, an agonized sound echoing through the empty hall, followed by a loud crash. Mora held her breath. Waiting. Listening. Wondering who was behind the final door before the stairwell.
“Why can’t I find anything!” they cried.
Guilt wrenched its way through Mora’s gut—it was Jade. She stepped back, looking over her shoulder toward the exit, half tempted to run back to Castellan.
Imani’s death had left a festering wound on her soul, and she’d avoided Jade ever since, knowing looking at her would only mean facing her grief. Mora was a gods damned coward.
And the Fates were wicked.
When she turned to leave, the wood floor creaked, and Jade drew in a sharp breath.
“H-hello?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Mora swallowed back the sour bile burning on her tongue, her feet refusing to move.
Hinges creaked, the patter of footsteps echoing through the hallway. “Mora?” Jade asked.
Mora’s throat worked, but she forced herself to turn, her face cautiously blank. She already knew what she’d find.
Shadows stained the skin beneath Jade’s eyes, her shoulder-length hair tied back in a loose bun, dark brown strands hanging free around her face. A gauntness to her ashen cheeks, the warmth drained from her complexion.
A chill swept over Mora, chasing the heat away; she suppressed a shiver, hugging herself tightly and trying to think of something—anything—to say. No words crawled to the surface.
What could she say?
There was nothing Mora could do to make this right. No apologies she could utter that would bring Imani back.
Each breath felt stale, the dust coating her lungs so thick she wondered if she inhaled anything at all.
Mora dipped her chin, her amber eyes trained on the floor. Was it beautiful once? Did they polish it to a shine? Or were the cloisters meant to be drab and lifeless? “Hi,” she breathed, knowing it was pathetic, but all she could manage.