Sisters Three (Completed)

24. Morna (3/3)

Both seated now, they began to cut the shape of a palace into the sand. As Morna built up a tower, Afton dug a moat, which he informed her had been filled in at the real palace nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. It looked nice around their sand version, at any rate.

Carving out windows, Morna glanced at Afton and giggled. "It seems a bit strange that the heir of Anjeluund is playing around in the sand."

Afton glanced up, his hair whipping in the wind. He looked strangely different in this setting. His loose shirt and mussed hair, and the way he let his eyes linger on her face. It was as if a sadness had lifted from him, leaving behind just a kind boy that made Morna's heart skitter.

"I like it better than pouring over maps and deciding which men to send where to try and counter Revour's attacks. That man is tenacious. He never gives up, and not only that, he always comes at us with forces beyond what we could ever afford."

Morna bit her lip, watching as the worries crept slowly back to Afton's face.

He sighed and ran his hand along the side of the mote. "Perhaps I'm building this palace because I thought if it was in miniature I might finally be able to see myself as owning it one day."

Morna leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I think it is honorable that you are going to fight for your birth right," she said. "Everyone tells you that you will be the king, but I think they should tell you that you're already something far greater. A man of honor and principle."

Afton smiled slowly, his hand finding hers in the sand. She stared at him, her breathing slowing. How many more times would she be able to be this close to him, show this affection? She thought she might kiss him again, and it scared her. All this kissing and touching would make it impossible to ignore him when they returned. So she took a handful of sand and tossed it at him, forcing him to jump up and out of the way.

Begging off a retaliation, she waved him to the side of the mote that was shallow on the other end. They returned to their work talking of much safer and mundane things, like idle gossip and yesterday's dinner.

By the time they finished the final touches on their palace, the sun had begun its decent and the air was chilled until their fingers grew numb. A dampness clung to everything, weighing their clothes and hair. Morna shivered and brushed off the sand from her hands so that she could conserve heat by crossing her arms.

"It's getting late. We should head back," Afton said, glancing at the sun.

He helped Morna to her feet and then slung his doublet over one shoulder. Its recent life as a seat had soaked it through and ground sand deep into the weave. Morna felt a bit of regret over ruining the fine brocade, but then accidentally lost herself when her gaze slid from the fabric to the flash of Afton's collarbone through the open collar of his shirt.

Their shoulders bumped as they walked down the beach in the direction they had come from. Morna closed her eyes and felt the ocean spray as the wind picked up. She wondered if she'd ever grow to enjoy being this close to the water, instead of feeling that slight bit of roiling in her stomach.

Sensing her unease, Afton slid his hand through hers, dispelling a bit of the sickness. She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her.

"What?" she asked, nervously running a hand through the bits of her hair that the wind had teased free.

"I was only wishing that the Ittal people hadn't risen up," he said.

Morna laughed. "Why is that?"

"Then you would be a princess and I wouldn't have to worry that my heart has been completely stolen," he said, leaning in and catching her lips with his. She melted into the kiss, twining her arms around his neck and forgetting her previous conviction to abstain from anymore touching lest she have trouble returning to their separate lives in the house.

It wasn't until they heard the faint sound of someone yelling that they broke apart. Morna leapt nearly a foot away from Afton, certain that the voice must belong to Brenna. She'd be furious to find them alone together, so being caught practically hanging on each other would lead to a screaming batch like no other.

Thankfully, it did not turn out to Brenna-- merely one of the soldiers that sometimes rode in to take orders to the far reaching corners of Anjeluund where the Glenfarrows' generals resided. This soldier looked harried, and when he caught sight of the two, he jogged toward them, holding his sheathed sword in place with one hand.

As he drew closer, Morna could see his face was flushed and damp from exertion. His eyes gleamed with urgency and he struggled to catch his wind. It took him a moment to control his breathing enough to speak, and then he addressed himself to Afton.

"Sir, we've been looking for you everywhere!"

Afton's eyebrow rose. "What for? I told Robbin I'd be out walking..."

"He said that you'd be in the garden, but when we couldn't find you we thought... well, you've have the generals in a state worrying about you, sir," the soldier said, wiping a rivulet of sweat from his brow.

"What do you mean?" Afton said, stiffening at the tone of urgency. "What is going on?"

"Your lord father was found collapsed in his study. He shows no sign of being attacked, and no one was in the room with him when he was found by the servant boy, but it seems a bit odd to everyone that such a healthy man should be suffer a bought like this."

Afton's eyes widened in alarm and Morna felt his pulse quicken in the crook of his elbow. "Is he all right now? Did Robbin send for the apothecary?"

The soldier shrugged, but his eyes darted in the direction of the house as if he wanted to fly back without another word. "I only know that the generals were afraid Revours might have somehow weaseled his influence to your household, and they wanted to make sure you were safe. You've been ordered to return immediately."

Morna wasn't quite sure the generals could order the heir of Anjeluund's throne, but Afton didn't seem to notice or even mind. He nodded to the soldier and motioned for him to lead the way. Morna had to jog to keep pace with their long legs.

It was a silent trip back to the steps that led to the house's garden. Morna kept a watch on Afton, seeing his face shift from worry, to anger, and back again. He barely noticed her at all, instead focusing on the back of the soldier's head as if somehow he could peer into the man's thoughts and gather the information he sought. It wasn't until the soldier threw open the back doors and they bustled through the hallway, up the stairs, and toward Robert Glenfarrow's room that Afton slowed and took a shaky breath. The soldier continued, cracking open the bedroom door and whispering their arrival to whoever was on the other side.

Afton licked his lips, his eyes shutting and his face as pale as the sand they'd built into a palace just minutes before. He gripped Morna's hand in a vice, trembling like a leaf in the wind. "Oh, Morna," he croaked. "I'm afraid."

"I'm here," she whispered, filling herself with strength for both of them.