Chapter 80
Mora
Mora envied the sun dipping over the horizon, its decadent orange and pink rays stretching through the sky one final time as it readied itself for rest. Castellan had no interest in such things, relentlessly pushing them toward Moldenna.
It was an effort to convince her eyes to stay open, her head bobbing with every clop of her reddish-brown mare’s hooves. “I hope you know I hate you,” she muttered, bristling when Castellan had the nerve to chuckle.
“It’s almost over.”
She scoffed, knowing they’d push ahead until they were swathed in darkness, only to rest in the embrace of the nearest thicket.
Then he’d tear her from sleep the moment the sun rose, stealing her away from her Fae and his insatiable tongue.
She hated Castellan for that. Dreams were the one shred of peace Mora had.
“Can I return to my flask for a while?” she whined.
“Rid myself of this exhaustion?” She had half a mind to dissipate, her smoke enough to revitalize her in a blink, but her horse might spook, and Castellan was in no mood to wrangle a frightened animal.
It would be easier if he’d take the time to dismount and allow her a break.
“Savor these moments, Mora,” he drawled over his shoulder, directing his dark bay mare around a bend in the road.
“Why on earth would I savor being dragged halfway across Berwick with little rest?”
“Because, one day, in your long life, you may look back and miss these human moments.”
Mora adjusted her grip on her reins and gently squeezed her horse’s sides with her calves, signaling her to move faster. A cloud of dust trailed behind them while they made their way to Castellan’s side, dirt gathering on Mora’s navy tunic. “I will be as human as I wish once we are crowned.”
“And today you’ll be as human as the rest of us.” He kept his eyes on the horizon, Castle Berwick’s gray towers peeking over the hill. If he kept pace, they’d find themselves in Moldenna tomorrow.
“As you wish,” she sighed, slowing to a stop and slipping from her saddle. Gravel crunched under her shoes while she ventured toward an unkempt field, a handful of trees waiting to offer her some shelter. It would do.
“Where are you going?” Castellan barked, joining her on the ground.
“I’m tired and I’ve lost interest in your mad dash to Moldenna.” She yawned, stretching her arms overhead, soothing the throbbing ache in her back. “If you won’t let me rest in my flask, then I’m retiring for the night.”
“But—”
She clicked her tongue. “No wish forces me to remain awake, Castellan, so, unless you’d like to make one, I suggest you set up camp or leave me behind.”
“You’ll be the death of my sanity,” he growled, returning for the horses, and the tent he’d packed in their saddlebags.
Mora grinned in triumph. “One can dream.”
Branches reached for Mora as she ran, leaves brushing against her skin. Each breath wheezing through her lips. Citrus swathed with a sour blend of herbs saturating her airways until she wondered if she’d ever escape that wretched scent.
Mora slipped on wet earth, her hands hitting the ground, rocks and broken twigs cutting into her palms. The thrash of her pulse careening through her veins was so overbearing, she hardly felt the sting.
Barely noticed the warm blood dripping from the wound, a golden daisy crawling through the soil in its wake.
She scrambled to her feet, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs.
Everywhere she looked, an aura of sage and viridian swallowed her whole, toadstools and wildflowers lining each dizzying path.
There was no melodious call to the meadow, no pull tugging her toward her Fae.
Where was he? Why was she back in the forest, running through dense brush, knowing who followed in an unyielding chase?
She felt it when he neared. Knew he stood at her back, the weight of his presence slipping over her weary bones until her limbs shook.
“Treasure,” Dother cooed.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Mora muttered, “This isn’t real.” Yet she couldn’t convince her body to move, her knees locked in place.
“Isn’t it?” he asked, slipping his hand down her back, his warmth bleeding through her navy tunic. The feeling visceral.
Mora whimpered, searching the tree line, nearly sagging when her eyes landed on a wall of thorny bramble she knew would lead her home. Gold glittering on the other side.
“Please,” she breathed, looking for any sign of the Fae, knowing he’d protect her. All she needed to do was make it to their meadow and bury herself in his arms, then Dother would disappear into the shadows. “Please...”
“Are you looking for him, Treasure?” He gathered her curls and moved them away from her neck, his breath feathering her skin. “Have you realized?”
Mora cringed away from him, her lips trembling as she whispered, “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead...” But the breeze chilling her cheeks felt too real.
A familiar bite of pain shot through her scalp when he tugged on her curls, her head snapping back. Amber drowning in an azure sea. There was no kindness in his brutal stare—Dother looked at her as if she were an object he owned. Something he treasured like one treasured a crown.
“There will be no other, Mora. I am your destiny. You are intrinsically, irrevocably mine. Even in death. Even if the Fates disagree.” He leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. “What did you think of my little gift?”
Mora released a shuddering breath. “What gift?”
“Oh, Treasure, don’t be coy.” His free hand slid down her side to trace over her belt, following the hand-carved daisies and branches decorating the leather, until he fisted her pouch.
His bitter voice dipping lower. “The one you tossed so carelessly on my corpse. It wasn’t enough to bind you to that bottle once I realized we may be separated for a time, I needed you to carry a piece of me.
A reminder I’ll never let you go. So I improved my enchantment—like me, the pouch will always return to you. ”
The world grew quiet. Too quiet. All she could hear was the endless pounding of her pulse in her ears, her eyes locked on shuddering bramble. Praying for her dream to shift. For the Fae to appear and chase her demons away.
One breath.
Shadows moved between the trees.
Two breaths.
Branches leaned closer, crowding her, slithering over her shoulders.
Three breaths.
The wind grew furious, shaking the leaves, pine needles and acorns raining down to plunk onto the forest floor.
Four breaths.
Nothing watched from the meadow, no sign of starlit eyes waiting for her on the other side… He wasn’t coming.
“I asked you a question, Treasure,” Dother snarled.
Mora’s fingers curled, dirt caking beneath her fingernails. “I made myself a promise when I killed you.”
“Oh?” Dother’s grip on her hair eased, his thumb caressing the back of her head. “And what might that be?”
“Anyone who tries to use me will bleed.” Mora reared, flinging her head back until it cracked against Dother’s nose, pain splintering through her skull.
“Fuck!” Dother screamed, releasing her hair, branches slipping between them and pushing him away while he pressed his hand to his face. Blood welled through the cracks in his fingers, raining down to poison the earth.
Bile surged up her throat, black spots crowding her vision, but Mora forced herself to move, her body swaying as she ran. Glowing amber trained on a path appearing between the brambles.
“You’ll never touch me again, you fucking bastard,” she snarled, stumbling past the tree line. Dother shouted something in return, crushing saplings and ferns as he gave chase, but she couldn’t make out his words. Couldn’t be bothered to try.
She was almost there, thorns scraping her fingers when Dother tackled her to the ground, her knees slamming on something hard. Bloodied hands slapping on black tile. The cold floor so polished she found her wide-eyed reflection staring back up at her.
“No,” she breathed. “No, no, no, no.”
“It’s exactly as I remember it,” Dother declared, his arms curling around her waist. Pulling her against him. “Exactly as it should be.”
They were encased by stone walls, but for a single window above a writing desk, the twinkling stars so very far away.
Moonlight casting its eye on a red leather journal, left open on a page depicting a giant tree, and two Fae embracing before it.
The male stared at Mora with dark eyes, like he could see her.
A single phrase written beneath them—Keepers of Arcadia.
Was this a dream? Or... Mora sobbed when she noticed the bed, black silk sheets and rumpled furs half-strewn on the floor.
Perhaps this was her reality and Castellan was the dream, a story she’d told herself during the endless hours in her flask.
Perhaps she was well and truly broken, and Dother had won.
I’ll always be your monster. And you will always be mine.
It was his voice she heard. His low, threatening tone invading her mind. Yet...
Mora clenched her teeth and forced herself to look up at him, unflinching when she met his wild eyes. He stared down at her, blood crusting on his face, his nostrils flared. A divot appearing on his left cheek.
He hadn’t spoken—those words were so clear, but it was all in Mora’s head.
“Is this real?” Her voice trembled, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“I made you a promise, didn’t I, Treasure?” Dother pressed his lips to her crown, cupping her face, the warm metal of his ring digging into her cheek. His touch was gentle. So at odds with the threat in his tone. “You’ll never be rid of me. That, I swear to you, is very real.”
Mora slapped his hand away and screamed, the sound one of sorrow and fury. Promising to make the world bleed. It was the song of her soul, but the melody did not move him. No matter how hard she fought. No matter what threats she uttered. No matter how much she pleaded.
Dother didn’t care.
Mora’s eyes snapped open, her fingers clenching her soft sheets so tightly her bones ached, the blankets tangled with her legs.
Sweat coated every inch of her skin, citrus burning her windpipe.
She gasped for breath, pressing her fists against her chest as if, somehow, that would hold her together—it felt as if her ribs were collapsing, sharp shards of bone slamming through her hammering heart.
Her flesh burned, every inch of her marred by Dother’s hands—she could still feel him...
“It’s not real,” she sobbed. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Castellan mumbled. He turned, his blanket slipping off his bare chest.
Outside, one of their horses nickered. The sound made Mora jerk, wild eyes darting to the crack in the tent flaps. The space was too small, the green material shifting to stone and back every time she blinked.
“It’s not real,” she repeated, her breath sawing in and out of her chest.
Sitting up, Castellan watched her for a moment before hurrying closer. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a nightmare. I hoped...” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mora, what do you need?”
A harsh, hollow laugh was all she could offer, the strangled sound escaping between hurried breaths. She sat up, hugging her knees. “I want to be in my flask.”
“Mora, breathe with me.”
“I can still feel him, Castellan!” she shrieked, squeezing her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don’t want to feel anything anymore. Please.”
Castellan worried his lip, considering her request, but Mora didn’t wait—obsidian mist pushed through her skin, its frigid touch peeling away every aching remnant of Dother’s bruising grip.
It spilled down her face like tears, dripping over her body as she tipped her head back and allowed herself to come undone.
“Okay,” Castellan breathed. “Remain in your flask for a while. I’ll call you back when we leave for Moldenna.”
“Thank you,” she said, a whisper on a blackened wind as the last parts of her pulled away.
An endless sea of darkness splashed on the tent floor—Mora slid around Castellan, cold tendrils slipping over his lower back as she made for her flask.
It was by his pillow, nestled with his tunic in the corner.
She slipped past the cork, tumbling down into the bottle’s glass belly.
Curling inward and savoring the weightlessness—there was bliss to be found in feeling nothing at all.
If only her mind would quiet.