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“Mistress!” Varus fired off arrow after crystalline arrow as battle raged around them. “We must hurry!”
Morgana rushed past him, gasping with effort as she tried to keep the sleeping boy in her arms from slipping. She saw a swordsman lunge toward Varus with his blade raised, his eyes glowing brightly behind his mask, and she cried out as she threw out a hand in alarm. A pale shield of magic formed around Varus, and his attacker’s sword bounced off it harmlessly. Morgana grit her teeth and clenched her hand, and ethereal chains rose from the ground to ensnare the swordsman. “Let’s go,” she said, touching Varus’ shoulder before turning to run once more.
Between Varus’ cover fire and Morgana’s magic, the two of them and the sleeping boy were able to swiftly make it through the temple of the Blood Moon. Another of Varus’ arrows knocked a sword from the hand of a warrior advancing on their getaway carriage, and he took the boy from Morgana’s arms to deposit him inside before offering her a hand to help her inside, too.
Morgana sighed deeply, all but collapsing onto the bench as Varus signalled to the driver and slammed the door shut. She cringed as she contorted her wings, trying to fit into the tight space, and glanced at the boy, still sleeping peacefully as he lay slumped over on the bench across from her. “Remind me to listen to Illaoi next time she tells me to stay out of something,” she said wryly, lightly touching Varus’ arm with her fingertips as he sat down beside her.
“I have never seen you use your magic in that way,” Varus said. Though Morgana was still catching her breath, the archer hadn’t even broken a sweat. “You are more powerful than I could have ever imagined.”
The exorcist smiled tiredly to herself. “Yes, well, I’ve always had a way with demons.”
“I don’t understand, though,” Varus said, frowning at the sleeping boy. “Why take one of them?”
“Because he is not yet one of them.” Morgana watched the boy’s chest rise and fall as he slept peacefully, unaware of the chaos that had just passed. Morgana knew the Blood Moon cult inducted members in their youth, but she’d been stunned when she’d pulled the boy from the water, little more than a child. “We interrupted the trial in which Blood Moon cultists bind their souls to a demon.” She reached across the carriage to brush a tuft of dark hair from the boy’s face. “He’s just a boy. He can still be saved.”
Varus narrowed his eyes, but didn’t argue. “I should have killed that cultist when I had the chance,” he muttered. “I had a clean shot at his heart.” Varus had his qualms with the Blood Moon cult, and for good reason—Morgana knew the deaths of his friends were still fresh in his mind, and in his heart. His icy glare faltered as he glanced at Morgana’s hand on his arm, though. “His pet demon would’ve killed you if I had, though.”
“And I can’t thank you enough for keeping that from happening,” Morgana said softly.
There had been a moment, when she’d stood in the sacred pool below the temple of the Blood Moon, Varus’ bow levelled at the Blood Moon’s master of ceremonies and the knife of the cultist’s sworn demon pointed straight at her, where she’d feared Varus would fire his arrow. The demon had hissed at her as she’d summoned ethereal chains to restrain him. Still, he’d kept his blade trained on her as he threatened to pierce her heart with it, and Morgana, who’d sensed the bond between him and the master of ceremonies as soon as the demon had materialised in a curl of red smoke, decided to make a very dangerous gamble.
“He,” she’d said to the demon as she’d gestured to Varus, his knuckles taut around his bow, “would hit your host’s just as fast as you did.” The demon had appeared when his host was threatened, and she had prayed to every spirit that served the Snow Moon that the demon’s host meant enough to him to keep him alive, and that Varus’ vow to protect her would stay his hand just the same.
She’d been right. No arrow was fired, no knife was thrown. It was a risky play, one she could hardly believe to have worked. The Order of the Snow Moon taught to act with cold surety, never such brashness. She was glad she’d sworn Varus to secrecy of their venture below the Blood Moon temple—the rest of the Order would surely be appalled by her actions.
“Of course, Mistress,” Varus said, shaking Morgana from the memory. “You saved my life by giving me direction.” He put a hand on hers, and she looked down at it, startled. His fingers were cold. “Nothing I do could repay that.”
Morgana looked up to meet his pale blue eyes. “Varus....” As each Moon passed since she’d met him, she grew close to the archer, perhaps closer than the Order would deem acceptable. Emotions and connections were a liability. Each member of the Order had to be a weapon, cold and sharp as ice, against the wicked machinations of demons and those who worshipped them, and as a high priestess and chief exorcist of the Order, Morgana was expected to be the perfect example of this—cold and sharp as ice, acting with deadly surety. But in Varus, she’d found something else. Something....
The carriage jerked suddenly, and Morgana jumped, bracing herself against the carriage’s walls as Varus nearly fell into her lap. The archer scowled and cursed under his breath as he righted himself, glancing over his shoulder towards the carriage’s driver, though he couldn’t see the driver through the wall. “Would it kill him to drive straight?” he snapped. His bow had fallen over, and he swiped it from the floor, setting it back against the door.
“You remember how rough the ride was on the way here,” Morgana said, reaching across the carriage to make sure the boy was still secure—amazingly, he was still deep in slumber, having only shifted slightly toward the edge of the bench. “The Blood Moon temple is in a valley, after all.” She coaxed Varus’ face away from the front of the carriage with her hand, and hesitated as their eyes met. “It isn’t his.... fault....”
Varus closed his hand around her wrist. His left arm had been enchanted with purifying magic so he could manifest the crystalline arrows he used to cull the heretical and demonic, and it glowed softly, the magic now coursing beneath his skin making his arm appear ghostly and pale blue. “Morgana?” His skin was cold and soft as fresh snow.
The exorcist bit the inside of her cheek, her wings curling around her. She was still unused to hearing her name spoken by anyone other than Ahri. But she’d asked Varus—practically begged him—to call her Morgana, not Mistress, when they were alone. He spoke her name the way one would hold a crystal, as if he were afraid he might drop it, that it might shatter into a thousand pieces if he did.
When Varus had confessed to her that Ahri hadn’t taken all of his emotions, he’d said what was left was pain, rage. She’d seen the torment in his eyes. But there was none of that now as he held her wrist. Only calm snow.
Morgana quickly withdrew her hand, unable to meet Varus’ eyes. “You understand then why I wanted you by my side tonight?” She thought of the demon’s voice, a harsh, venomous hissing, and shuddered. “Because you stayed your arrow?”
Varus frowned at her, seeming confused, then his eyes widened. “You are the most important member of this Order,” he said harshly. “You think the others would— barter your life like livestock?”
“As sweet as that is, I’m not the most important member of this Order, Varus,” Morgana said, smiling despite herself. She glanced across the carriage at the boy. “I can be replaced.” She folded her hands in her lap, deep red weaving with pale blue as she laced her fingers together. “And many may think that a worthy trade.”
“How could anyone compare you to scum like that?” Varus seethed, and Morgana saw his hand drift in the direction of his bow again. She wondered if it was subconscious, a reflex or instinct.
Morgana unlaced her fingers and gently drew Varus’ hand from his bow, feeling something tug at her heart as she saw that rage flicker in his eyes once more. Varus wasn’t like the others, and that was what made this—this thing between them—dangerous.
But that didn’t make it any less enticing.
“We.... we have other matters to attend to,” Morgana said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She glanced again at the sleeping boy, and an uneasy laugh rose unbidden from her chest. “Speaking of my replacements.”
The archer followed her gaze across the carriage. His blue eyes narrowed as they landed on the young acolyte of the Blood Moon. “What do you mean?”
“Did you see the boy’s eyes?” Morgana reached over again to tuck a tuft of dark hair behind the boy’s ear. Though his eyes were still closed, heavy with the enchanted slumber she’d placed him in, she could see those eyes in her mind, clear as crystal. “They’re like mine,” she explained quietly. “One red, and one blue.” She cradled the boy’s face in her hand. “He shares my gift.”
“Your gift,” repeated Varus.
“My connection to the mirror realm,” Morgana said, and had to keep herself from cringing as she said it. Her words sounded all too much like that of the Blood Moon’s master of ceremonies, in that deep, dark room, his eyes boring into her—one bright blue, one bloodred.
Morgana’s hand lingered on the boy’s jaw before she drew back, avoiding the boy’s closed eyes and Varus’ open ones. “The Order expects me to find an heir,” she murmured. “My mother is lucky to have had me before she disappeared, but I don’t—I’m not—” She blushed. “I don’t have a child. Obviously. And I don’t—plan to bear one. Not—anytime soon, I mean. Or—” She cut herself off, sealing her lips shut. The wings on her shoulders curled around to hide how red in the face she was. She really shouldn’t be discussing bearing children with Varus.
If Varus had a reaction to the topic, he didn’t show it. “And this young man,” he said, “could fulfil that role?”
“It’s what the Order would want.” Morgana closed her eyes, drawing her wings in. It’s what the Order had wanted for her from the moment of her birth, when she opened her eyes for the first time and greeted the world in shades of blue and red. It’s what the Order had wanted for her when her mother had disappeared during her childhood, suddenly left with too much to learn about her purpose and no one left to teach her.
“I’d like to offer him a choice,” she said quietly, “and I will. My role is not an easy one. But there may come a time when it isn’t his choice to make.”
“Don’t speak of such things,” Varus urged, grabbing her hand. “Your time has far yet to come.”
The exorcist offered him a small smile, but meeting her end wasn’t what worried her. To serve the Order of the Snow Moon wasn’t to make and offer choice. It was to be cold, unfeeling. It was to be a weapon, an instrument, a tool for the Snow Moon. There was no room for compassion, for doubt, for....
Morgana laced her fingers with Varus’ and watched their fingers intertwine, the crystalline blue of his hand mingling with the bloodred of her own. Against her better judgement, Morgana leaned over and placed a swift kiss on Varus’ cheek, then quickly turned away. “It’s been a long night,” she announced, leaning against him as she draped a wing around his shoulders. “Why don’t we both get some rest?”
“If our mad driver will allow it,” muttered Varus, though he squeezed her hand back and nestled into her side. The furs of his robes were soft and inviting. Calm snow.
Morgana glanced at the boy one last time before closing her eyes again, Varus’ hand in hers, welcoming the darkness even though she knew rest was beyond her reach.