Flames of the River

Chapter 3

Mora wasn't sure how they'd reached home. She wasn't sure how they'd been that far in the sky, above the trees so they could go as fast as possible, and she hadn't vomited the bland school lunch. She wasn't sure what she'd said to her best friends after San ordered them to go to the shoemaker's shop near where they'd stopped to wait for another carriage to come for them. She wasn't sure what San had said to her after she'd shakily told him that she couldn't feel the man's pulse anymore as soon as the carriage's wheels had touched palace ground. Mora had never seen a dead man before. She'd never held a dead man in her arms until that day. 

Everything had happened so fast yet so secretively. San had landed the carriage in the backyard, far away from any eyes. He'd pulled down the red and gold hood to cover Mora and the man. His body. His cold, heavy body. Luna's mother had been the first person to yank the hood of the carriage up, her heart shaped face paler than usual even before her eyes dropped from the shaken Mora to the dead man in the tattered clothes. She had stepped aside and Phillip and San had grabbed the man by his feet and shoulders and carried him into the palace walls. Dalia, Luna's mother, had turned to face her again. Her face had regained some of its color, and she gave her a steady smile that didn't quite look like a Dalia smile, and helped her out of the carriage. 

"Luna is with Didi." Mora remembered explaining with a hoarse voice, her lower lip trembling as her widened eyes stared at nothing in particular. "They're waiting. We need to send a carriage for them."

Mora imagined how worse they must have been feeling. She was in the safety of her home, her parents, two of the most powerful beings alive only meters away, her hands held by a witch strong enough to serve the king and queen. Her best friends were alone somewhere in the shop of a shoemaker, after seeing a bloodied man who they'd definitely known would soon die. 

"We have to send a carriage for them." She had repeated and Dalia had nodded. The rising and heavy falling of her chest visible even under her loose fitting red cloak. Mora had noticed it then. The cloak with the symbol of a crescent moon with tiny flames around it in place of stars, embroidered in silver on her left breast. Dalia, like the four other witches that served the royal family, only ever wore the cloak when they held council meetings or embarked on important journeys. When they went to the outskirts. To the borders. To strengthen them and keep the world out there, out. 

"Mom said to come sit with you." Mora looked up from the middle of her spacious bed, half startled, and found Cal standing by the door. She hadn't even heard it open. 

She forced on a smile and nodded her head. "Come in." 

"Mom sent me to come keep you company." Cal repeated as he sat on the edge of the bed. Clearly he didn't want his older sister thinking he was back to the boy of ten years who had clung to her skirt and never wanted to part ways with her, claiming she was the most interesting person in their world. 

"Of course." Mora nodded, another ghostly smile on her lips. 

"You look lovely." Cal remarked after a moment of silence passed between them. 

Mora looked down at the red dress she's been put in. Dalia had left her outside the palace and when Mora had walked in a minute later with her, there had been no royal guard or servant in sight. The hallways had been empty, all the way to her bedroom on the third floor. Once there, Dalia had taken off her red blazer, green skirt, and white shirt with swiftness and precision. Mora had stood there, still paralyzed by shock. Only when Dalia had told her she would run her bath, and that she had to wear only an undergown until Lorelai and Avre arrived to help her get dressed did she pay attention.

"You will run my bath?" Only three people had run Mora's baths in her life, her nanny Lisbet, and Lorelai and Avre. 

"Look." Dalia's response had been to trace her fingers lightly over Mora's palms and hands that had been dyed red by the blood of the dead man. She'd held up the handheld gold framed mirror to show her the blood smearing her cheek and neck. Mora knew the answer then. They couldn't have anyone asking questions. Whatever had happened to the man, even his identity, was clearly a secret meant to stay as such. That was why San had warned her friends not to say anything, why he'd landed the carriage so far away from the palace doors yet not close enough to the walls to be noticed by guards or passersby. The uneasiness Mora felt had stayed with her until Lorelai and Avre had walked in carrying a dress so exquisite it would've made her tears moist had the red not reminded her of the man. There was too much red in her life.