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2021-09-02 08:08:08
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Will Bear the Moon Chapter 86 The Center Tilts
*Ana*“Riots in Pave. Fourteen Nochten citizens dead.”The words strike the court like an executioner's axe meeting stone—sharp, final, reverberating over the crackle of the fire pits, the bitter wind outside, across the arched ceiling and through the marble floor until I feel them in my teeth. The vibration climbs through my slippers, past silk stockings, into the marrow of my bones where it settles like frozen glass.I blink, and read them again, willing the ink to reshape itself into something that makes sense. It doesn’t. The ink remains unchanged, stubborn in its terrible clarity.“Bulgeon casualties. Numbers unlisted.” Something inside me lurches—a ship's deck dropping beneath my feet in a storm swell. My knees threaten betrayal, and I catch myself with a micro-adjustment of weight that only Nugen, standing close enough to hear my breathing change, might notice. But I feel it—the way my center tilts like a cup about to spill, the way my breath catches halfway up my throat and
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 85 Echoes of a Battlefiled
*Admiral Nugen The air in the court was too still—dense, like velvet soaked rot festering in shadow, carrying a silence so weighty it pressed against eardrums like delving too deep beneath dark water.Admiral Nugen shifted where he stood near the edge of the chamber, half-sunk into shadow beneath the high-arched entry, the ceremonial weight of his sword hung heavier than usual against his hip, the silver-detailed armor dragging at his frame like iron shackles. It wasn't the metal—it was the wet. Days and days of ceaseless rain had soaked into everything: stone, silk, bone. Even breath felt waterlogged.Movement was like wading through a shallow tide that never receded. The rain had stopped, finally, but only just—the memory of it still clung to the walls, to the air, to the hollow spaces between his ribs.Above, thick gray clouds clogged the sky like wool packed tight against glass pressing down on the palace's ancient towers. They didn't want to rain. They didn't want to snow. They
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 84 Shoot the Messenger
*Naska* The hallways blurred white around her like fever dreams.Heels struck hard against the marble, each sharp clap echoing off the vaulted arches like vulture caws as Naska flew through the corridor, grace abandoned to desperation. Cold air clawed at her throat with every ragged breath, her chest constricting beneath the threadbare bodice of her weak muslin gown. The silver platter rattled wildly in her trembling grip, porcelain fragments skating across its lip like dice in a gambler's cup. Coffee splashed against her wrist—scalding, bitter—while one stubborn shard still held its delicate gold rim, chiming faintly with every jostle like a cracked bell.None of it mattered. Not the coffee, not the mess, not the pain blooming across her knuckles where broken ceramic had drawn blood.I have to get to Mykhol.The corridor tunneled,narrowing until her world became nothing but the relentless pounding of her pulse and the echo of her Empress's voice stabbing through her skull like a se
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 83 The Weight of Rain
*Anastasia*The velvet beneath my palms is damp with more than rain—it trembles with the quiet shake I've only now begun to notice threading through my bones.I press down harder, willing the feeling to smooth out beneath the pressure, willing the tremor to settle before my fingers must meet the brass of the doorknob. Willing myself to feel certain again, though certainty feels as distant as summer warmth.The east corridor ahead breathes quiet and warm, flushed with the gentle flickering of the sconces overhead. I see no servants, but their absence feels deliberate—as if they've scattered like sparrows before a storm. Likely steering clear of Hidi, like usual, as much as they can help it. The giantess is still having that effect after all these years, but might as well. I release a breath held too long, the kind of breath that tastes of secrets and sounds like someone listening just around the corner. My boots leave soft, dark prints across the rose-colored carpet runner, each step
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 82 Hung Up to Dry
*Bruno*The almost-kiss still hung in the air like smoke—thick, suffocating, impossible to wave away.Bruno didn't move. He didn't have to.Pendwick's face said everything. Not just the crimson flush creeping up his neck like spilled wine, or the dazed, too-wide eyes that reminded Bruno of a startled deer. It was the way his breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, like a man caught between a prayer and a curse. The way his fingers twitched at his sides—helpless, grasping—as if reaching for something already lost to the wind.Bruno hadn't meant to catch them. Not like that.But he hadn't looked away, either.The rain had returned with a vengeance—sharp, needle-cold drops that sliced through the lingering warmth of the stable’s quiet and found every threadbare patch in his cloak. The worn fabric clung to his shoulders like a second skin, heavy and unforgiving. Water dripped steadily from the frayed edges, pooling in the hollows of his collarbones before trailing down his chest in icy rivu
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 81 Sounds of Salt and Rain
*Ana*The rain returns as a whisper first—thin, icy drops clicking gently against the stable roof like a ticking clock. Time, slipping away again. The wind shifts through the open doors, carrying the scent of wet pavement and damp frozen earth, mingling with the faint perfume of dried roses from my garden—invisible beyond the courtyard walls but somehow reaching me here, curling beneath my coat collar like ghostly fingers at my throat.Pendwick doesn't speak at first. He remains frozen in place, gloves clutched so tightly in one hand that his knuckles have gone white, while his other hovers awkwardly near the front of his doublet—uncertain whether to bow, salute, or perhaps bury his fist in his own stomach. His expression wavers between forced pleasantries and something rawer, more desperate.Strawberry exhales sharply beside me, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. I reach to brush her flank again, the familiar motion usually comforting, but my strokes grow slower, more h
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