Morgana
Duke Ribold cannot apologize enough for allowing us to almost be killed in our beds.
“On the contrary, sir,” Leon eventually says quite sternly. “It’s us who should apologize for bringing this danger to your home.”
The duke splutters out some halfhearted denial, but looks relieved to at last bid us a good night, saying he didn’t expect to see any of us at breakfast and that we should all sleep in.
But we don’t go to sleep. Not yet. When at last the grounds and the rest of the house have been swept for any remaining enemies, we gather in Damia’s room. Mine and Leon’s still has a huge hole in the door, making it less than ideal for conducting private meetings.
“How are you doing, Hyllus?” I ask, looking sympathetically at the sling cradling his large arm. The big fae he was fighting seems to have broken it.
Mal tuts, jumping in before Hyllus can answer. “Sorry I can’t do more. I’m no use with broken bones.”
“We’ll find a dryad on our way out of Filusia,” Leon promises.
“I’ll be fine, Your Highness. Thank you for asking,” Hyllus says gently, but there’s a strange look in his eyes—a lingering curiosity, I think.
In fact, when I look around at all our friends, I see it in their faces too. The atmosphere is strange, like there’s something everyone wants to say, even though no one is owning up. I think of the name our attackers gave me. Mithanas.
We all killed people today. We all took lives to defend ourselves and our friends. But I’m the only one who did it without lifting a finger. Do they view me differently because of that? Or am I just being paranoid? Do they see me like the dark-clothed fae did—as some kind of supernatural bringer of death?
“I discovered it when Respen hurt Alastor,” I say at last, feeling the need to offer some explanation. “I managed to…to suppress some of the life in him,” I say, trying to find words that don’t sound violent. “He was powerful, so there were limits to what I could do. But just now during the fight, I was able to go further, until every bit of life was gone.”
“Like the opposite of your healing power?” Tira asks.
I nod, looking around for signs of disgust or discomfort.
“Good timing,” Damia says with a curt nod. “We’d have beaten them in the end, but not without more injuries. Your magic helped us end it quickly. They were Morelium, by the way. I suspected when they first attacked, but I’m sure of it now.”
There’s a rustle of recognition through the room as she confirms my suspicions, though Mal and Lafia exchange confused glances, and Corrin frowns.
“They’re an extreme religious sect here in Filusia,” I explain. “They’re fae who worship Ethira.”
“And they’ve attacked us before,” Leon says grimly, turning to Damia. “What makes you sure it was them?”
“Aside from their ridiculous theatrics toward Morgana?” Damia says, crossing her arms. “I knew them. One of the fae she killed was a second cousin of mine.”
I freeze. “The one you were fighting?” I ask.
“Yes. I haven’t seen him for decades, but I recognized him after he shouted something at me during the fight—it was a nickname my family used to use for me. It threw me,” she says, visibly angry with herself for letting him distract her.
“I’m—”
Damia holds up her hand, stopping me from speaking. “Don’t say you’re sorry. He fucking deserved what he got. They all did. Not just because of their twisted beliefs, but because—as tonight’s attack shows—most of their cult has signed up to Team Caledon.”
“Caledon sending them does seem the likeliest scenario,” Alastor agrees.
“And that’s very bad news,” Damia says. “Because the Morelium will happily throw everything they have into fighting his holy war. And they’ve got very little to fear.”
She scoffs at the ridiculousness of it, shaking her head. “They’re all so convinced they’ll be rewarded in the Eternal Realm. That’s why your new party trick freaked them out so much,” she says, looking at me. “It must’ve looked like the gods themselves were striking down their friends.”
“Listen to Damia. You did the right thing,”Leon says, trying to soothe me across the mooring.“They would never have stopped trying to kill us all otherwise.”
I try to feel better about this, but the look in the Morelium’s eyes stays with me, even as we make our plans to rest until midday, at which point we’ll hit the road again.
Upon leaving Damia’s room, a helpful servant tells us the duke has found a new room for Leon and me. We clean ourselves up and prepare for bed as the first light of dawn already peeks from behind the curtains.
“Talk to me about it,” he says out loud as we climb under the blankets. “What did it feel like?”
