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Chapter 26

Morgana

L eon hasn’t come out of his cabin for hours, leaving me and his soldiers to hang around below deck. I’d be insulted by the sudden cold shoulder if he hadn’t still been blatantly flirting with me this morning. Whatever has gotten him in a distant mood must be one of the various mysterious things he won’t share with me.

I’m not sure if that’s much better.

While Phaia tucks herself up in a hammock to sleep, Stratton produces a pack of cards and entices Alastor and Damia to play with him.

“And what about you, Your Highness? Ever played a round of four-man blind?”

I furrow my eyebrows, as if thinking hard. “Maybe, I’m not sure.”

“That’s alright, I’ll explain the rules to you as we go,” he says, offering me one of his bright smiles.

Ten minutes later, I’m laying down my cards with a triumphant grin.

“King’s hand—I win.”

Stratton gapes, but Damia raises an eyebrow at me.

“Why do I doubt this is beginner’s luck?” she says.

I shrug, collecting the cards and reshuffling them.

“Do you remember where you first learned four-man blind, Stratton?” I ask mildly.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Here, in Trova. Some of Palquir’s men taught me it when we were stationed outside Mistwell.”

“So maybe they mentioned back then that four-man blind is played in just about every pub in the land,” I say, dealing the cards. “Not much has changed in eighty years.”

Tira and Kit knew the game better than anyone after years of watching their parents’ customers play it, and they passed their tips and tricks on to me.

“Well done, Stratton,” Alastor says. “You’ve invited a shark to our game.”

I laugh, and we play another round.

“Did you all fight in the War of the Laurels then?” I ask.

“We three did, and Eryx, though he wasn’t in our unit back then,” Alastor explains. “Phaia and Hyllus joined later.”

“How come?” I ask.

Barb, Damia’s serpent, slithers out from beneath her collar and slowly winds her way down her arm. Even though her scaled head is only about the size of a large coin, I shift my hands away, remembering the punctures in the security guard’s skin. But the snake just coils herself up on the corner of the table, her beady black eyes glinting in the lamplight.

“They weren’t overqualified misfits like us, so they were late to the party,” Stratton says.

Damia rolls her eyes. “Overqualified I’ll take, but misfit? Speak for yourself, pretty boy.”

Stratton holds out his hands in defense. “Look, there was a reason the rest of the army wasn’t lining up to claim us in their ranks. Alastor was the best interrogator they had, but no one could stand his rudeness.”

“Fair,” Alastor says. “And Stratton’s an excellent fighter, but he can’t keep his dick in his pants long enough to swing a sword.”

Stratton shakes his head. “You show a couple of general’s daughters a good time, and suddenly you’re persona non grata.”

“And a niece,” Damia adds.

“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about Serena,” Stratton says, a lascivious smile telling me he’s reliving fond memories.

“And you?” I ask Damia.

“Oh, well, obviously Damia’s death on two legs,” Alastor says. “But no one wanted anything to do with her because of her family.”

Barb raises her head and exposes her fangs, hissing.

“But, er, that’s a story for another time,” Alastor says, picking up his cards.

The snake settles back down, and Damia gives her a fond pet on the head. My eyes drift to the closed door of Leon’s cabin.

He might be ruthless in some ways, but not when it comes to the people he chooses to trust. Each of these fae found a place in his unit when others rejected them. Their pasts and flaws didn’t matter to him. He was willing to give them a chance to prove themselves, and that’s obviously stood him in good stead over the years. I’ve seen the way the group are around him—they might grumble at him, but they’d follow him anywhere.

Days pass, and I don’t see much more of Leon. He appears at mealtimes but says little and slinks away again. I end up sleeping in a hammock in a shared cabin with Phaia and Damia, which leads to much grumbling on Alastor’s part about having to share a cabin with the others.

It’s hard not to feel the sting of rejection at Leon’s behavior. But I tell myself there’s no point in caring about what’s consuming him. Soon we’ll be parting ways, and his problems will be no concern of mine.

Instead, I try to focus on the task ahead of me—getting safely to Gullert on my own. I ask the soldiers to teach me more combat moves, and they gladly oblige. It helps with their boredom too, as they take it in turns to see who can teach me the deadliest move.

I even win Eryx over a little when I show him I’ve got pretty good aim—though all I get is a grunt of approval after I manage to land a knife in an apple from across the room.

I practice with my magic too, conjuring sun beams in tiny rays that fit in my hand, then extinguishing them again. I don’t dare try to produce anything bigger on a highly flammable wooden boat, so mostly I focus on my orbital power.

Somewhere between Hallowbane and here, I’ve managed to find it again, concentrating on that sensation of being drawn to something, just like Leon suggested. I sit below deck and pull objects into my sphere, watching them rotate before dropping them again.

“You know, most people won’t recognize that for what it is,” Alastor says one day, watching as I make Stratton’s deck of cards dance in a circle around me. I concentrate on pulling them closer to me and then loosening my hold, making them pulse in and out like dancers swirling around a ballroom floor.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“People wouldn’t look at that and know it’s celestial. You could pass yourself off as an aesteri.”

“Except she’d need to be careful around other aesteri,” Hyllus says quietly. I jump. Despite his size, I’d not noticed the fae sitting in the corner, reading a book.

“They’d be able to tell?” I ask. I know by now Hyllus’s terrial power allows him great hearing—it’s how he could confirm how much security Corrin had with him in Hallowbane—but his observation makes me realize it must be aesteri magic.

“They might try to counteract your magic,” Hyllus says. “When they find they can’t, they might guess you aren’t using air to move things.”

“That’s your invitation to stay away from nosy aesteri like Hyllus then,” Alastor says to me with a wink.

Hyllus wears a small smile too. “You snore so badly, Alastor, I’ve been praying for the gods to take away my hearing for the past week.”

His answer is so softly spoken yet so unexpectedly savage that I choke back a laugh. Alastor makes a rude gesture at Hyllus, and I refocus on the playing cards that had dropped to the floor, making them orbit again.

“I suppose I could get away with using a little magic here and there,” I say, hope lifting my voice as I plan my cover story for when I go to stay with Will. I’ll be a low-skilled aesteri. Lots of people only have a little bit of magic—enough for a single trick on par with a sleight of hand. This trick would fit nicely…and it would be a lot more believable than saying I have no magic at all.

The dryad in Hallowbane told me I could have access to lots of power, if I wanted it—but do I? What use is my magic to me in Trova? It can’t bring great wealth or power, and those things don’t mean much to me anyway. I don’t want anything more than to be safe and cared about.

“How do the solari live in Filusia?” I ask Alastor. “Do they really use their magic, just like anyone else?”

“So I’ve heard. I can’t say I’ve met many. Even in Filusia, they’re rare. Some become priests, because their power is meant to be so closely linked to the gods—in our eyes, that means they were blessed.”

“So they’re celebrated instead of condemned,” I say, imagining how that must feel.

“Yes.” He gives me a sad smile, aware of the irony.

I try to concentrate on my orbital magic. It ultimately doesn’t matter how well the solari live in Filusia. It’s not as if I can go there. The fae kingdom isn’t allowed to accept any solari refugees from Trova. To do so would be to risk a serious conflict.

“You’ve gotten much better.”

I look up to see Leon in the doorway, watching us. There are dark shadows under his eyes, which suggest he hasn’t slept much despite spending so much time in his cabin.

“I found my orbital power,” I say simply. Probably none of this would have been possible without Leon. I don’t know if I would’ve ever learned to control my magic and call on it at will without his advice. More likely, I’d have ended up accidentally exposing my celestial magic and heading straight to my death.

He nods thoughtfully. “The dryad in Hallowbane talked about the depth of your power. I’ve seen it too, when I was in your mind. It made me wonder if there are more abilities you’ve yet to unlock.”

“ More ?” I look around at Alastor and Hyllus, expecting to see the doubt I feel written on their faces, but they don’t meet my eye. “You think I’m more than twin-blessed? Is that even possible?”

“Solari operate on different rules,” Leon says. “There are some old stories…”

I see a flicker of an unusual emotion in his face as he speaks, but I know I must look skeptical. Recognizing my expression, he shrugs.

“But they’re just old stories. What’s important is that you’ve mastered the basics now.” He turns as if to head back into his cabin.

“Wait,” I say, and he stops, surprised.

It’s not long now until we reach our destination. Our time together is running out. I don’t want it to end with this strange distance between us.

“Can I have a word?” I ask.

“Of course.” He stands back to allow me into his cabin. I close the door behind us.

“Are you avoiding me?” I ask so abruptly I surprise myself.

He weighs his answer.

“It’s a yes or no question, Leon,” I prompt.

“Yes,” he answers eventually, looking frustrated. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“And I couldn’t possibly relate to that, what with the murdered parents and finding out I’m a solari and being hunted by my own people.” I shake my head. “Gosh, what must it be like to have so much going on?”

“It’s not that I don’t think you would understand,” he says, turning away to stare at the cabin wall.

“Then what is it?” I ask. I hear my voice rising, but I’m too exasperated to keep it steady.

“It’s that it’s too damn distracting to be around you,” he blurts out, rounding on me. “Every time we’re in the same room, all I can think about is the way you taste, the way it feels to be inside you. All I can imagine is ripping your clothes off and taking you again and again as I listen to your cries of pleasure.”

I feel the flush rising up my neck and a familiar heat pooling in my stomach.

“So why don’t you?” I ask.

He groans, spinning away from me again. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know what’s going on, Leon,” I say.

“And what is that?” he shoots back.

I move toward him. “I’ve been…distracted by this thing between us too. But also by the knowledge that we’ll be going our separate ways soon. Sometimes it’s easier, cutting yourself off before the goodbye.”

I reach up and run my hand across his cheek, tangling my fingers in his hair. He closes his eyes and sighs, a noise full of yearning.

“Ana, when we get to the border…”

“Let’s not talk about that,” I say. “I don’t even want to think about it. Let’s just feel.”

I push myself up onto my tip toes, pressing my lips against his. There’s the slightest moment of hesitation, and then he relents and takes over. His mouth urges mine open, claiming it with a force that pulls a delighted noise from me. His hands pull me in closer, pressing me against him so I can feel the hardening length of him.

“Gods forgive me,” he murmurs against my lips as he scoops me up and carries me to his bed. “But I can’t resist you.”

He spins us around, then lowers us to the mattress so I’m seated on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. His hands are everywhere, skimming over my ass, dancing up my spine. I grind against him, enjoying the friction of our bodies and the noises it forces from him.

“Where’s the fun in resistance?” I say, sitting back on my heels so I can slide my hand beneath his waistband. My fingers find the hard length of his cock and begin to stroke. There’s something intoxicating about it, having all that power in my hands. If possible, it grows even thicker under my attentions, and the deep recesses of me ache at the thought of taking it.

I kiss along Leon’s jaw as he groans to my strokes, each feral noise heightening my own hunger.

“Leon, I need you,” I say breathlessly. “Now.”

His eyes meet mine, their usual gray shining bright with pleasure, but he’s not so mesmerized he doesn’t understand me. What I’m asking for. His hands slide beneath my skirts, finding my hips. He looks at me in surprise that I’m not wearing any underwear, and I shrug. “You ripped them, remember?” He pinches my ass in response, and I can’t help smiling. At the same time, I release him from his pants.

I want to take a moment to admire him, but my impatience bites at me. I hike up my skirts, climbing back into his lap, only to inhale sharply as our bodies touch, my clit grazing against the slick head of him. He silences my gasp with his mouth, and we rock there for a moment, letting skin caress skin, until I rise up on my knees, silently telling him I’m ready.

His tongue strokes mine into submission as he guides the tip of himself into me. I hover for a moment, then my desire wins over. I sink down onto his cock, taking the full length of it in one smooth movement.

Fuck me.

I have to bury my head into his shoulder, biting hard enough to make him jump as I take a moment to adjust. He feels so big in this position, the fit so deep, that my muscles immediately clench around him. I have to concentrate to ease the tension in my body as his hand strokes gentle circles at the base of my neck.

“Fuck, Ana,” he curses lightly, taking my chin so he can lift my face to his. “If you’re not careful, you’ll destroy me.”

I don’t have the breath to tell him that it’s him who’s destroying me. Even as our bodies are connected in a way that claims the deepest corners of me, I want more. And part of me wonders if this feeling will ever stop. What if I can’t get over this hunger I have for Leon? What if he’s ruined me for anyone else?

I have to find a way to banish the thoughts. Luckily, all it takes is a slight circle of my hips, sending a bolt of raw pleasure through me.

“Do that again,” Leon growls.

I’m only too happy to obey, rolling my hips against him. With each undulation, he reaches deeper within me. As I build momentum, he joins the rhythm, thrusting up into me as my body descends to meet his. My hands grip his shoulders, fingernails leaving grooves in his flesh. I tilt my tailbone slightly, and his cock hits a tight bundle of nerves right at my core.

The sudden explosion of sensation rips a cry from my throat, and Leon keeps me there, hitting the same spot over and over, making my whole body quiver. It’s not rough and raw-edged like before. Instead, he takes me slow and sure. There’s a kind of certainty to our movements, like we could stay here forever. Our bodies locked in perpetual ecstasy, worshipping each other.

Maybe that’s it—neither of us want this to end because we may never find anything like this again.

At the thought, I bring my lips to his, drinking in the taste of him, inhaling his scent. My hands run over his shoulders, savoring the lines of his body, committing them to memory. There’s an edge of fear to my exploration, as if I’m trying to hold onto the beauty and power of him, feeling it slip through my fingers.

But I can’t fight the building pleasure. Can’t run from the sparks dancing through my body. They engulf me like a wave on a stormy sea, sweeping me into my climax. I feel the warmth of Leon spilling inside me.

I ride him until we’re both utterly spent.

And when I fall against his chest, catching my breath, I know I’ve probably made a terrible mistake. He brushes my hair from my face, but I can’t meet his eyes. I wanted to just feel with Leon, but now I’m afraid I feel too much.

Instead of clearing my head, I’ve only made things even murkier.

After that night, Leon stops avoiding me. But I think we’re both too aware that with every touch, we’re saying goodbye.

It’s hard to be near him in a whole different way, kicking up confusing emotions as we eat and talk together. I’m almost glad when Ravesley interrupts our meal the next evening.

“We have to make a stop,” the captain announces.

“Why?” Leon asks, setting his cup down.

“We have to pick up some goods at the next port. I’ll take you where you want to go, just like Mr. Wadestaff asked, but I can’t just ignore my other business in the meantime.”

“Fine,” Leon says neutrally. “But you seem on edge, Ravesley. Why would that be, if your papers are as good as you claim?”

I’m surprised at Leon’s assessment, but when I think about it, the captain does seem more tense now than when we came on board three days ago.

Ravesley sniffs. “Deerfell’s got heavier security than most. Some port authority nonsense on behalf of the crown. I’m friends with the port manager’s clerk, but his bosses still might need to come on board. Just in case, you’ll have to stay hidden.” He pauses, waiting for us to object, but when we don’t, he presses on. “I can’t pass you off as crew; there’s no need for a riverboat like ours to carry so many sailors. But I have a suitable spot where you can stay during an inspection.”

“Very well,” Leon says. “When we get near the port, we’ll make sure to conceal ourselves.”

When Ravesley’s gone, Stratton leans over to me. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have a word with the crown and ask them not to search us?”

“ She’s probably the reason for the searches,” Phaia says, like Stratton’s an idiot.

“We don’t know that,” Leon says sternly.

But I can’t concentrate on what they’re saying since the name of the port has already caught my attention.

I know Deerfell. Otscold is only a day or two from there.

I hadn’t paid much attention to our route, and it’s a shock to learn we’re so close to the place that used to be my home. Especially when so much has changed. Maybe one day I’ll go back. I plan to send Tira a letter as soon as it’s safe. For now, however, I need to focus on reaching the safe, quiet future I have planned for myself. One that doesn’t include a certain gray-eyed fae.

It’s early morning, before the sunrise, when Ravesley’s crew rouses us from our beds to tell us we’re approaching the port town. As we collect our weapons—me with the knife I’m allowed to permanently wear again—Leon and the soldiers seem confident enough. But Ravesley and his crew are nervous. The smugglers keep sliding looks at us as they move about the ship, preparing space to offload cargo and load on new goods.

“Follow me.” Ravesley escorts us deeper into the belly of the boat, to a section of the hold where crates are piled high. He pushes a few aside, and I see they’re shallower than the others, masking a slightly raised section of the hold. There, under some rushes, is the handle to a hatch.

It’s not exactly roomy, but we do all fit.

“See you soon,” Ravesley’s gravelly voice mutters as he closes the hatch on top of us, plunging us into darkness.

“Eryx, would you mind?” Leon murmurs.

A whisper of light appears, enough to show me the vague shape of the fae’s faces. I look down to see Eryx holding a small flame in his hand. It’s impressive for an incendi to be able to conjure fire from nothing, but this makes me uneasy.

“Is that wise?” I ask. “It smells like they’ve stored alcohol down here—and plenty of it spilled.”

“Don’t worry, he can’t conjure much more than that,” Stratton says smugly, then yelps. I see Eryx withdrawing his lit palm from Stratton’s hand, his eyes sparkling with more joy than I’ve ever seen on his grumpy face.

“Quiet,” Leon orders, and we fall silent. I listen to our breathing and the creaking of the boat for what feels like an age until scraping and banging noises rattle through the hull, and I assume we’re docking. A few minutes later, Hyllus whispers into the darkness.

“They’re coming aboard,” he says, and I know he must be using his superior hearing.

“Are they suspicious?” Leon murmurs back.

“The inspector sounds like he thinks Ravesley’s papers are real, but he’s a stickler for protocol, and at Deerfell, all boats over a certain size are checked.” He pauses for a beat, then continues. “They’re coming downstairs.”

A ripple of activity goes through the fae as they shift to better reach their weapons. This is why Ravesley’s crew were afraid and the soldiers weren’t: if the port security catches the smugglers, they have to run, but if the Deerfell inspectors find us, the fae will simply kill them.

I don’t want that to happen, but it may be out of my hands. I wait, watching the cracks of light filtering in around the hatch with a knot in my stomach. By now, I can hear the footsteps overhead, clunking against the floorboards. They get closer until they sound right above the hatch itself.

In the faint light, I feel more than I see Leon turn and tap Eryx on the shoulder. The flame in his hand extinguishes, and I assume Leon was just warning him to hide the light, but then, as if they’re taking it as their cue, the footsteps above us abruptly begin to retreat.

“They’re leaving,” Hyllus whispers. “Good job, Eryx.”

The older fae makes a faint noise of indifference, but I think he’s pleased with the praise.

“What did you do?” I ask, still keeping my voice quiet, just in case.

“Eryx’s sensic power makes people feel like they’ve forgotten something,” Phaia explains.

“You can take away their memories?” I ask. I’m a bit horrified at the implications.

“No,” Eryx says abruptly, as if the idea offends him. “It’s not like that.”

“He just makes people think they’ve forgotten something, but they can’t remember what,” Alastor clarifies. “You know that feeling when you walk into a room and can’t for the life of you recall why you came in? That’s what he does. It tends to make people turn around and rush off to try and figure out what they’ve forgotten to do.”

The hull of the boat creaks around us.

“We’re preparing to cast off again,” says Hyllus.

“Good,” Damia groans. “I’m getting a neck cramp hunching over in here.”

Scraping noises overhead hail the return of Ravesley, and he lifts the hatch with a sour expression on his face.

“Bloody port manager,” he grunts. “He wanted to stop and yap at us more than look at the boat.”

“I’m getting some fresh air,” Damia says as we climb out of the hidden compartment. Feeling claustrophobic myself, I follow Damia up to the deck. When I get there, she’s leaning against the side, looking out onto the dark waters.

The sun isn’t up yet and won’t be for another few hours at least. I try to pick out houses along the riverbank, searching for pinpricks of light, but I think most people are still asleep too. Some of the smugglers work around us, tying up ropes and loading the new cargo that’s come on board below deck.

“You shouldn’t get your hopes up, you know,” the dark-haired fae says. Her eyes are still on the water, so it takes a moment to realize she’s speaking to me.

“I’m sorry?”

“Leon. He can’t be what you want him to be.” She turns around, leaning back against the railing and meeting my gaze. I cross my arms, confused and a touch defensive by this unsolicited advice.

“And what is that?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Someone who can give you romance. Someone who can give you more . I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s a soldier, through and through. The mission always comes first. The rush of the fight and heat of battle is in his blood. He doesn’t know how to do anything else.”

“Who says I want him to?” I don’t know why I’m so riled by her words. It’s not as if I’m planning a future with Leon. We all know we’ll be parting ways soon. What do I care if he can’t give me more? I never asked for more from him, did I?

She tilts her head, her face still calm. “I’m just saying you should be careful. Manage your expectations.”

“Right, thanks for the tip,” I say, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from my voice.

The cool air blows through me, nipping at my bones, and I decide I’m done with the fresh air and Damia’s intrusive words of wisdom. I turn to retreat back below, passing Moss and the woman with gold teeth as I go. I catch a shred of their conversation—and a word that makes my heart jump in my chest.

Otscold.

I turn abruptly, wondering if I misheard.

“Did you say Otscold?” I ask. It’s clear I’ve startled them, but since we boarded Moss has been eager to stay on our good side, so he rushes to answer.

“Yes. Most of Deerfell’s buzzing about it.”

Maybe gossip has finally spread that the missing princess once lived there. Maybe there are rumors about Gallawing Manor being the scene of a grisly murder. But Moss’s face tells me it’s something worse.

“What are they saying?” I ask, fear already creeping up on me.

“They say the cleavers are headed there. There’s going to be a purge.”

My blood turns to ice in my veins.

“That can’t be true,” I say. Purges are only meant to happen to places with too many heretics. A tiny village like Otscold hardly produces one true heretic a decade. Certainly not enough to warrant a mass execution.

Moss shrugs. “It’s true. The port manager’s clerk had a word with the captain on the sly. There’s always money to be had in smuggling folks out when a purge comes to town, but he decided it wasn’t worth it.”

“Not worth it?” I choke out. “How could it not be worth it to save innocent people from murder?”

The woman looks unsympathetic. “We’ve already got enough human cargo,” she says. “Besides, there’s too much risk on a job like this. It’s not just a hoard of cleavers descending on that place, they’ve got a member of the Scarlet Order too.”

“Bearer Sophos, the rumors say,” Moss adds, sounding awed.

I don’t know anything about this Sophos, but the bearers who make up the Scarlet Order are the highest level of clerics in the Temple of Ethira, second only to the Grand Bearer himself. To send a bearer for a purge would suggest that the community had committed a truly heinous crime or was on the verge of collapsing into total debauchery.

It makes no sense. Even with the fear of a purge always hanging over our heads, no one I knew in Otscold actually expected one. It’s the harshest punishment of the Temple, a ruthless, bloody cleansing that targets everyone in a community who has just come of age.

There’s supposed to be a kind of logic to it. The Temple says heretical beliefs are usually spread by the youth of a community, and removing those just coming into adulthood sends a message to both the parents and children of a town: the gods will not show mercy to those who defy them.

There’s no trial. No chance to plead your case. No one to listen—or care—if you protest that you’ve never missed a prayer time or a holy day ritual in your life. In a few days, everyone aged between nineteen and twenty-one in Otscold will line up and prepare to be sent to the Eternal Realm or the Gloamlands, depending on how clean their souls are.

Everyone, including Tira.