by L. L. McNeil
MORODA
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
First published in Great Britain in 2017
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Moroda © 2017 L. L. McNeil ISBN: 978-0-9957922-0-3
Cover by: Book Beaver
www.llmcneil.com
DEDICATION
For Pipkin, who brought me out of the darkness and gave me the confidence to follow my dreams.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank so many people for their unending support, patience, and help, but in particular: Ian, who was my alpha and beta reader, first editor, producer of fantastic ideas and greatest fan, and without whom this novel would not exist as it does; Eve and Michael, who offered me their unalloyed critique to help strengthen the book and my writing; and everyone in the Fab Marketing Team, for giving me the push when I wanted to procrastinate.
To anyone who purchases my book, I am eternally grateful. It would mean the world and more if you would be kind enough to review Moroda.
Chapter One
Morning dew flavoured her skin with the taste of autumn. Pale sunlight filtered through the steel barred window, and Moroda shivered in the dank cell of Rosecastle Dungeon. She shifted her position to ease the cramp developing in her aching back and legs. She was not in chains, thank Rhea, but it did not take away the fear and uncertainty which plagued her.
She wouldn’t be beheaded, surely? It had been an idle threat to keep the crowd from retaliating at her sudden arrest, hadn’t it?
Murderers were beheaded. Or traitors to the crown. Surely they wouldn’t kill a woman who had voiced an opinion?
Goose bumps rose on the flesh of her legs and arms after brushing the cold stone floor and she flinched, a light clink sounding within her skirt. Reaching carefully into the deep pocket, she grasped three coins. ‘I’d forgotten about you,’ she said, smiling down at the silver florins.
She did not have the chance to enjoy finding the forgotten money; the door to the dungeon rattled, and muffled shouting carried through from the other side along with grunts from the guard restraining a new, aggressive-sounding prisoner.
Eyes wide, Moroda looked for somewhere to hide her treasure. Surely if she put it back in her pocket, the coins would jingle when she moved. The window, perhaps? No, they would be too easily seen between the bars.
Scrabbling to the corner of her cell, Moroda spied a cracked floor slab. She could hear the steel hinges of the oak door creak as it was heaved open, and she had no time to look for an alternative hiding place. Shuffling over on her knees, one fist clenched around her coins, she wedged the fingers of her free hand under the stone slab. It was rough against her skin, but Moroda lifted it just high enough to slide the coins into the gap. The door of the dungeon slammed shut, the slab dropped back into place, and the new prisoner entered the chamber.
The same guard who brought her to the cell barely an hour ago was now wrestling with another prisoner, a woman, and a lowborn one from her insults and the rasp in her voice. She spat and kicked, trying to bite and wriggle out of the guard’s hold, and Moroda pressed herself to the back of the cell.
She watched, anxious, as the guard frog marched the new prisoner to the cell. Pressing her against the metal, he took the keys from his waist, unlocked the gate, slid it open, and threw the woman into the cell.
Blood spattered the floor from an open gash on the woman’s shoulder, bringing a splash of colour to the drab grey dungeon. She immediately whirled round and threw herself at the gate, reaching between the bars and scrabbling for the guard’s face with chipped nails. ‘You pig! Bastard! Get this gate open now, or I swear to Rhea herself you’ll pay!’
‘Amarah, you’re done. You know we’ve been after you for years. No threat will change that,’ he replied with a shrug, out of reach of her flailing hands and at ease.
‘Morgen, I’ll kill you for this!’ she spat back, one hand reaching up to cover the wound on her left shoulder. Blood trickled through her fingers as she tried to stem the flow. ‘At least get me a medic! You don’t want me to bleed to death in here do you?’ Her eyes narrowed on the young man as he glanced over her wound.
‘You’re not going to die, calm down. I’ll see what I can do. Try not to cause too much disruption,’ he sighed, walking back towards the door.
‘What about Khanna? I hope you’re not going to destroy that ship! She’s faster than anything the Imperial fleet has!’ Amarah called, walking along the gate of the cell, keeping as close to Morgen as possible. ‘Be of some use, won’t she?’
‘I don’t know, it’s not my decision. She’s locked up safe and sound, just like you,’ he answered, ignoring her glare as he heaved the dungeon door open and slammed it shut behind him.
As the sound of his footsteps echoed away, Moroda remained still. Amarah hadn’t noticed her, and she was keen to keep it that way. Who knew who she was, or what she had done to warrant being locked up. Moroda had no intention of finding out, preferring instead to keep away from the uncouth criminal. She slid slowly down the wall, until she was half-sat, half-crouched on the floor, heart racing and breath held. Perhaps if she stayed quiet enough, Amarah would not spot her before Morgen returned to take one of them away.
After a moment, Amarah turned and looked round the cell, pausing to glare at Moroda when she spotted her. ‘What do you think you’re looking at, little girl?’
Moroda was lost for words. ‘I…I didn’t mean…’
‘Good. Shut up and keep out of my fucking way, then,’ Amarah interrupted, looking over the rest of the cell. She scowled at the floor, walls, and windows. ‘Damned if I’m staying in here long enough to be executed.’
Moroda said nothing, remaining crouched and watching her carefully. She tried to keep out of Amarah’s way as the she stepped towards the window. The new prisoner released her hand from her shoulder and grabbed onto the bars, letting go after giving each of them a short pull, leaving the metal slick with blood. ‘Damn.’
Amarah glanced at Moroda again, who met her gaze defiantly, before she looked to the steel bars of the cell door. Despite the castle’s age, the cells seemed well kept. An escape plan was not forthcoming. Amarah swore again and leaned her back against the metal gate, her arm returning to cover the wound on her twitching shoulder.
‘What happened?’ Moroda dared, expecting to be insulted again.
Amarah shrugged. ‘Too much haste. Got sloppy. Made a mistake. Never again, I tell
you.’ The older woman closed her eyes, allowing silence to fill the cell once again.
Moroda took the opportunity to study Amarah’s face. She had short, dark hair, roughly cut and in no way styled, in contrast to Moroda’s longer, messy brown tresses. She wore no powders on her face or oils in her hair. A thin scar lined her left cheek, just below her dark eyes, and she seemed grubby, as though she hadn’t bathed for months. Moroda dropped her gaze every time Amarah moved, lest she caught her staring. She guessed the injured woman to be in her thirties; but wounds and dirt did a lot to age a person, so Moroda couldn’t be sure. All she knew was she feared her aggression, and hoped she would keep her distance while they were locked up together.
‘That fool Morgen is no more fit to be in the Imperial Guard than you are to be in here,’ Amarah said, breaking the silence after watching Moroda for several minutes. ‘I heard what you did this morning, standing up to that foreign bastard.’
Moroda flinched as Amarah swore again, but was flattered her deed that morning had not gone unnoticed. Then again, she had been arrested very publicly, so she supposed word of her actions, a Goldstone’s actions, no less, would spread like wildfire. Not that she was really considered a Goldstone anymore, her heart sinking as she thought to the three florins she had hidden, her only money in the world. It was all that remained of a vast inheritance which should have ensured she and her sister were well-kept until the end of their days. ‘Thank you.’
‘That the only reason Morgen arrest you? Or you do something else? Sleep with some other Goldstone you shouldn’t have, or something?’ Amarah pressed.
‘What? No…nothing like that! I would never!’
Amarah’s cackle filled the room, echoing off the stone. ‘Ah you Goldstones are all the same, aren’t you? Little goody-goody rich girls who never get in trouble or do anything wrong.’
‘I’m not a Goldstone…not anymore,’ Moroda replied softly.
‘Yes, well I can see that, can’t I,’ Amarah grinned, licking her lips and shifting her hold on her injured shoulder. ‘Can’t buy yourself out of this one, can you?’
‘Do you want me to help with that?’ Moroda asked, ‘I can use some cloth to stem the blood? At least, until help comes?’
Amarah paused for a moment before nodding, ‘Yeah, if you can.’
Moroda tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her skirt—it was thick, dark cotton—and carefully shuffled over to Amarah. When the other woman dropped her hand from her shoulder, Moroda wrapped the length of cloth around Amarah’s wound as best she could. ‘It won’t stop the bleeding completely, but it might help a little?’ Moroda said, wiping her bloodied hands on her skirt.
Amarah inspected the bandage for another long moment, before approving it with a nod. She glanced back through the cell bars to the dungeon door and sighed, and it did not take long before her gaze drifted to the rest of the cell. ‘Oh great, not a Varkain, too,’ she said, her voice taking on the same edge as before.
‘But I’m not…?’ Moroda began, before following Amarah’s gaze to the back corner of the cell, set in shadow.
Confused, Moroda glanced back to Amarah and back to the corner, squinting in the darkness as she tried to make out what Amarah could see. Her heart began to race again when she spotted the silhouette of another person sat in the shadows. Had someone else been there all the time and she hadn’t noticed? How could that have happened? She had been locked up almost an hour.
‘I do love the sound of a panicked heartbeat.’
Moroda stood up, her breathing quickening as she realised there was someone there—someone who was far more of a threat than Amarah could ever be. Stumbling backwards, Moroda tried to put as much distance between herself and the dark corner as she could.
‘Ah yes, and there is the accompanying scent of fear…such a nectar.’
‘Shut up you filthy creature,’ Amarah growled, on edge, but without the anxiety of Moroda. ‘What in Rhea’s name we’re doing in the same cell as you, I don’t know! What happened to enforced segregation?’
‘Perhaps they forgot. Being invisible is our specialty.’
Moroda’s heart continued to pound, but she couldn’t quite make out the features of the Varkain—the cell was too poorly lit, and he was keeping too still. She could have sworn she had checked the cell over when she was first thrown in, and found it empty. Then again, she had never before come across a Varkain face to face, and was terrified.
‘Come out from the shadows, Varkain. Show yourself,’ Amarah ordered, her hand returning to cover the wound in her shoulder. Moroda wanted to object, but her voice had left her.
‘No. I am chained.’
Amarah’s shoulders dropped as she visibly relaxed, and Moroda followed suit. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t been attacked earlier. She had grown up on stories of brutal Varkain killings, and did not wish to be the centre of the next one.
‘Ah, well you’re just a worm then, aren’t you?’ Amarah cackled, straightening up and wandering over to the edge of the shadow. ‘Tied up and left for dead. It’s all you’re worth.’
‘Be quiet.’
Amarah crouched down, a sneer on her face. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t take orders from anyone, not least the likes of you. Tell me, Varkain, were you given a name at birth? Or just abandoned along with the thousands of others?’ she asked, head tilted slightly to one side. ‘Dumped in a hole in the ground and left to rot like the maggots you are.’
Moroda did not know what might come of taunting such a dangerous creature, but Amarah clearly thought he posed no threat.
‘Sapora,’ he answered. ‘I know you are Amarah, a sky pirate and thief, and a murderer, just as much as I am.’
Moroda remained quiet as her companion ignored Sapora and took to pacing around the cell. With her good hand, Amarah grabbed one of the bars on the gate and shook it furiously. ‘Morgen! Where the hell is my medic!’
Silence responded. She stepped away from the gate, looked around the cell again and tapped her fingers against her arm, clearly rattled by Sapora’s words. It did not take long for Amarah to notice the cracked stone slab, and she paused.
‘Oh? What’s this?’ She dropped to one knee and picked at the cracked stone. Within seconds, she had lifted the slab and was rewarded with the glint of silver. ‘Every cloud,’ she said, snatching up the coins and examining them. ‘Three florins. Perfect!’
Amarah pocketed them as quickly as she found them, leaving Moroda to clench her fists in response. She had no desire to get into a conflict with Amarah, especially if she was a murderer, as Sapora claimed, despite those simple coins being the only thing of any worth she had left. All her fight had gone out after that morning.
Why she even bothered to stand up to that man, she had no idea. He was obviously a guest of the royals. He had been invited into Rosecastle and was surrounded by Imperial Guards, with a following of soldiers of his own. But she could not accept the words he spewed to the crowd. Others may have, and that was their choice as far as Moroda was concerned, but she would not allow her family to be dictated to by anyone, especially a war-mongering bully like this foreigner. Her immediate arrest only proved she’d touched a nerve. Imprison or behead enough people, and folks soon stop standing against you.
Closing her eyes, Moroda exhaled, resigning herself to her situation. Beheaded or left to rot in a cell with two murderers, she couldn’t tell which fate was worse.
It took only a few minutes before the dungeon door was forced open once again, but it was not Morgen who walked down the corridor—it was a woman of twenty years, clutching a ring of bronze keys close to her chest as she tiptoed across the cold stone in soft leather shoes.
‘Eryn!’ Moroda gasped, leaping to her feet and clutching at the bars. ‘What in Rhea’s name are you doing here? How did you get into the castle?’
‘Sshh, never you mind about that. I’m getting you out, now!’ Eryn replied, glancing over her shoulder. The sisters shared a similar look: dark brunette hair an
d hazel eyes, but Eryn’s face was soft and round in contrast to Moroda’s leaner features.
Amarah narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, unconcerned with the hows and whys. ‘Get on with it, then! Hurry up!’
Eryn tried each key quickly, breathing a sigh of relief as the successful one clicked and the door lifted off the lock.
Before Eryn could move, Amarah wrenched the door open and shoved past. ‘Get out now if you know what’s good for you!’ she called over her shoulder, before racing down the corridor and through the door.
Unfazed by Amarah’s brusqueness, Eryn turned to her sister. ‘You heard her, let’s go!’
Moroda stopped at the door, and peered back to the corner of the cell. ‘Do you have all the keys? There’s someone else back there…chained up,’ she said.
‘Moroda, this isn’t a jailbreak! I’m here to get you and get out!’ Eryn replied, looking back to the door. ‘They’ll be here any minute, and I’ll be locked up too! Let’s go!’
Shaking her head, Moroda grabbed the keys and ran to the dark corner, before hesitating. ‘You…you won’t attack me…if I let you out?’ she asked, feeling meek and small once again.
‘No.’
She took another step forward, trying to make out his features in the poor light. ‘How do I know I can trust your word?’ Moroda asked, crouching down and thumbing through the keys.
‘The promise of a Varkain is known throughout Linaria as truth.’
She could feel him smiling in the darkness, and it made her more uneasy than ever. Ignoring Eryn’s frantic calls, she took a deep breath. She couldn’t leave someone behind, she just couldn’t—and should he ever escape, she did not want to incur the wrath of the Varkain for having left him in the cell. Perhaps the reason for her actions were not so noble after all. ‘Okay. I’ll leave the keys with you, are your hands free?’
