DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE King of Merits: Chapter 22
Merri
castle, Thorne shoves me through the side entrance without thought or ceremony. “Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll find the spy and deal with them promptly,” he says, slamming the white door in my face.
The sound of his boots clacking against cobblestones grows distant as he runs off, and I lean back against the door, listening. I don’t know why he’s bothering, because I’m certain he won’t find anyone. By Thorne’s own admission, the only creature able to breach the Merit wards is most likely one of their own.
Prime suspect: Riven na Duinn.
I recall the energy of the dark presence tracing my steps today, then think of Riven’s smile this morning—smug and pleased with the fit of the clothes he chose, a touch of possessive fondness flashing in his eyes.
Am I foolish for believing we have a connection, no matter how fragile the thread is?
Yes. Of course, I’m a fool. Because why else would he follow me around the city if not to fantasize about my demise? But that fleeting smile he tries not to show me, those steamy kisses. He cycles through more temperature changes than a human washing machine.
Out of all the fae I’ve ever met, the Merit king is by far the most annoying and confusing.
There’s one way I can eliminate Riven from my suspicions that he was spying on us today, and it can’t be achieved if I return to my chambers in a foul temper.
Pivoting on my heels, I climb the stairs that lead to the throne room, then slip into the hall through a side door. My breath snags in my throat as the sight before my eyes stops me cold.
Riven himself languishes on the sun throne while a writhing mass of courtiers fornicates at his feet. He stares past them, his fingers tapping on the edge of the sun disk, legs spread wide in a slouch, and his demeanor exuding leashed power and open boredom.
Jarring music saws through the air, the fiddlers on the dais inciting anger inside me with their frenzied rhythms. Cries and moans compete with the sickening grate of music as thoughts of the human girl flood my mind. My heart lurches. Is Summer among the group performing for the king? Peering around a column, I check. No, thank the Elements, I don’t believe she is. The pain in my temples eases slightly.
Outside, afternoon light still glows over the city, but in the throne room, a false night has descended. Flames dance in the braziers, and stars glitter between the coppery rays of the sun throne. A spell of darkness has been cast, a perfect backdrop for decadence.
Riven’s midnight. Riven’s pleasure. What an Unseelie king wants, he gets—even everlasting shadows.
I picture those cold blue eyes stalking me today, then the Emerald Castle and the small cell hidden behind my bedchamber’s wall. I recall Riven drawing me into his arms, his touch urgent, unpracticed, and my body responds as if his warm lips touch mine now.
Oh, Riven. What might we become if you could only set aside your prejudices?
I brace myself for when he rises and joins his moaning courtiers. When he does this, I know all my hopes will shatter, and still, for one stupid heartbeat, I consider remaining while he removes his dark clothing, the spiked crown, and all of my regard for him. I could stay and watch. For scientific purposes, of course. And to slake my curiosity.
No, I tell myself. Don’t be a fool. The Silver King’s passion laid bare is a sight I don’t need to see, could never unsee. It’s time to flee, but quietly. Willing my wild pulse to settle, I slither backward. One step. Then two.
“Merrin,” calls a deep voice, the tone hard and merciless. “Come here. Why do you lurk in the shadows?”
Draygonets! This fae’s hearing is exceptional—almost as good as mine.
“I wasn’t lurking exactly,” I say, chin raised and shoulders squared as I stride to the bottom of the stairs below the dais. “Merely hiding.”
With the click of his fingers, the music changes to a soft and lilting tune. “Come closer.”
Must I?
With sluggish movements, I ascend the stairs until I’m standing on the edge of the dais, as far away from him as possible.
“Closer.”
When I stand tall in front of the writhing mass of bodies, I fix my gaze on a spike in Riven’s crown.
He asks, “How was your day? Did you have the adventure you wished for?”
I cup my ear and lean forward theatrically. “Pardon? The festivities below are rather distracting.” My eyes narrow, flicking downward.
Riven’s bright-blue beams drift over the fleshy mound of limbs, then rise and settle on my face. “Oh, them,” he says, as if he’d somehow forgotten there was an orgy taking place on the tips of his boots. “Leave,” he commands, and like terrified roaches, seven courtiers leap up and scurry into dark passages.
A corner of his mouth tilts upward, as though he’s attempting a smile. “So?”
“So what?”
“No need to play the fool, Merrin.”
Okay. Perhaps he thinks I’m a natural one.
He waves his hand at the black and silver throne to his right. “Sit and tell me about your day.”
Sit on a Merit throne? That doesn’t seem appropriate.
Collecting my thoughts, I continue to stare, and his icy-blue eyes glare back. He raises an eyebrow, then nods at the empty seat beside him, not the one Lidwinia usually perches on. It’s the dead queen’s throne. I can tell because it’s almost the same size as Riven’s and perfectly matches Ciara’s crown of meteoric silver spikes.
“I’m really not dressed for it. I’m covered in—”
“Sit.”
Wrapping my dirty cloak tightly around my body, I obey and sink into the throne’s plush black cushions beside the king. Other than a few guards, the cavernous hall below is empty.
I scan the channels on the floor that form the triangular-shaped Blood Sun altar, green flames from the braziers reflecting in the water. I recall the story Isla told me about the sacrifice she witnessed. The bloodbath. How our Fire king’s essence once streamed in fresh bursts into the bowl on the dais.
My stomach churns, nausea washing through me. Then I remember—if not for this king beside me, blood would still flow through the altar, freely and frequently.
Time passes in silence counted in slow, hard beats of my heart.
A mechanical bird swoops from the metal rafters, an orange flash turning translucent as it passes through each beam of moonlight. I feel the king’s gaze on me, tingling over my skin before he speaks.
“You have no points collected on your pendant.” His intense gaze drops to my chest.
“Because I didn’t activate it.”
This must please him because he smiles broadly. “I heard you toured all the places any self-respecting warrior would wish to visit.”
My stomach clenches. “How do you know that?”
“I know everything that happens in my kingdom.” He leans closer. “And I have a very nosy sister who enjoys gossip.”
With a soft sigh, I flop back against the throne. “In your kingdom, are only males allowed to show interest in important things and places?”
“Are you suggesting that art, dancing, and healing are trifling matters?”
“Of course I’m not!”
“Neither am I. Look at the throne you sit upon. It was built for a strong queen, a warrior. The clothes you wear now are quite fit for purpose.”
“What a shocking thing to say. I’m not sure who you mock more, me or every Merit queen that has ever existed.”
He blinks rapidly. “I… I didn’t mean—”
On the inside, I wince. I don’t want to anger and alienate the Merit king. I should be pleased he’s invited me to sit beside him and not lash out just because his motives confuse me.
“I’m sorry, Riven. I’m tired and irritable. Please ignore me.”
“An impossible task,” he murmurs.
I’m not certain if I’ve been complimented or insulted, so I say nothing in response.
His hands make fists on the throne’s armrests. “I suppose you didn’t see our library, then?”
“Elas said all your tablets are in the Meritorium. I went there.”
“I’m referring to the old library. The buried one. With the actual books.”
“Where? I didn’t know one existed.”
“It barely does. It’s only a ghost of a library. With the advent of technology, my father outlawed leather-bound parchment and scrolls, let the whole lot sink beneath the earth, a cavern as tall as the throne room, lined and piled with books and books and still even more books.”
Squirming on the edge of my seat, I ask, “Will you show it to me?”
“Yes. Yes, I think I will.”
“Now?”
“I’m afraid not.” He laughs, fingers reaching for the lock of hair curtaining my eye before his hand drops, clenching on his thigh. “I have a High Council meeting to attend shortly, but I’ll take you to see it one day soon. I promise.”
Or I could go by myself. “Where is it exactly?”
“Situated in a very dangerous place. You shouldn’t go alone.”
We’ll see about that. It sounds like a perfect place to hide an ancient curse. “Right. I’d better leave you to your meeting, then.”
A strong hand grips my knee. “Before you go, will you do something for me?”
A lump constricts my throat. I swallow twice to dislodge it. “If I can.”
Something akin to excitement glows in his gaze. “I want you to perform air magic from the throne. Or…the dais will do.”
Wait… What?
Hiding my surprise with a shaky smile, I say, “I must remind you that the limited magic I have as a halfling is even more diminished in your land. But I’ll give it a try. What type of trick do you wish me to attempt?”
“Anything. Surprise me.”
I think I can handle a trifle of greenery compulsion, make the leaves in the room dance a little without too much effort.
Standing at the front of the dais, I raise my open palms, thrilled when a flash of energy licks down my spine.
All right. I can do this. I close my eyes. Slow my breathing. Then focus on the air prickling against my skin, the particles raising every hair on my body, the tiny bumps spreading over my flesh.
Lightning flashes. Thunder cracks.
Yes. I can definitely do this.
My stomach tightens. My toes curl as power vibrates along my spine, through my chest, out the tips of my fingers. Then I whisper, “Lady Zephyr, I call thee, Air. Come. Do my bidding. Source of life, obey me now. Wing and feather. Storm and sky. All in soil that’s green and living, bring them, bring them now.”
Thunder crashes again. Once. Twice.
The wind funnels from my fingers, moving outward, and then every branch, leaf, and curling vine in the room unravels, reaching for me. I smile as I feel them writhe and dance in the breeze. Then as one, the plants release a terrible groan, and my body jolts forward, white light exploding inside my head.
The king disappears, the room, too. The wind lifts me, and I float in a cold black place, an unknown place, buffeted but held safe, while every living thing in the Merit Hall creeps and winds around my limbs.
This feeling is what humans describe as heavenly. Blissful. Here and now, me and the air Element, together and in control—this is everything. This is home.
“Merrin!” a voice shouts, instantly breaking the spell.
When I open my eyes, Riven stands in front of me breathing like a warrior mid-battle. His hands hover over my arms, preparing to grab me. Perhaps to shake me out of my trance. A silver aura surrounds his body, his crown. Worry and awe line his face.
I glance down at my body. Vines wrap my legs, torso, arms. Dirt and tiny bugs crawl through my hair, over my skin. I laugh, delighted by my achievement.
“Move aside,” I tell him, and he obeys.
As I draw the remnants of power back inside me, the greenery moves in reverse, unwrapping, wriggling backward along the floor, winding up columns and around ceramic pots and palm trees.
I wipe my hands on my cloak. “So, how was that?” I ask. “Entertaining enough, Your Majesty?”
“It was…” He shakes his head. “Incredible.”
It certainly was. The vines should have unraveled a little and danced for me, yes. At least, I hoped they would. But I shouldn’t have had the power to do that. Something strange just happened. A power circuit formed, connecting mine to the king’s and feeding off it in a feat of shocking, primal magic.
Riven looks as stunned as I feel, so I’m guessing he sensed our connection, too. He must have.
My heart pounds, limbs trembling. I’m thirsty, hungry, and completely exhausted. After my stellar performance, I need a long lie down. Or a large goblet of wine—or three.
I dip my head in a bow. “Goodbye, Riven.”
He does the same, which is an odd thing for a king to do to a princess. “Goodbye, Merrin.”
When I reach the last stair, I pivot on my weak legs, facing him again. On the throne, the king is a glittering silver statue, waiting for me to speak.
“Oh, and, Riven, I meant to ask earlier…where have you been all day?”
His brow furrows. “Here. Where else would I be on the day of my courtiers’ petitions?”
“Sorry. Could you please say where you were again?”
His voice deepens. “I just told you, Merrin. I’ve been here all day—in the throne room.”
Well, that confirms it. He cannot lie, and he spoke the words. Therefore, he can’t have been the spy. If not his king, then I wonder who Thorne has trapped or killed.
I’m so tired I can barely walk straight. I need to curl up on my bed and think about today’s stalker. Then, tomorrow if possible, I must discover where the king spends his time when his legs aren’t grafted to his throne, find the curse, get the hell out of here, and forget about my naive dreams of saving him.
As I climb the seemingly endless stairs to the queen’s chamber, a flash of red catches my eye. At the edge of my cloak sleeve hangs a long strand of straight hair. That’s strange. In this kingdom, I’ve seen hair in all shades of earth and sky, but none this exact shade of rich scarlet.
I hold it up to the light of a stained-glass window. Is it mine? The color is a little too bright, and my hair is wavy, but Wyn often jokes I shed more fur than Ivor. It must belong to me.
I round the corner to my hallway and find Thorne standing in front of my door, arms crossed over his rumpled tunic. “Princess!” he calls as he glances up. “Come quickly. I must speak to you.”
I take off at a jog and am beside him in a flash. “Who did you capture?”
“That’s the problem. No one.” He rubs his stubbly chin. “I stalked and hunted, but somehow this creature kept ahead of me, always hidden behind a veil of magic. I tracked them through the forest to the sea, and there they disappeared. No trace. No scent. Nothing. They’re strong, Princess. Very strong.”
“Or if not them, whoever’s protecting them is powerful.”
“Don’t worry.” Thorne bows. “I’ll speak to Riven and search again tomorrow. Whoever this creature is, we’ll find them.” He spins on his heels, preparing to march away.
“Wait a moment, Thorne.” I narrow my eyes, concentrating hard on the lie I’m about to utter. “The king has asked me to meet him after dinner to talk about my family. It’s just…well, I seem to have forgotten the place he mentioned.” I squint at the ceiling. “Let me think…it was something like—”
“The druid’s well,” says Thorne helpfully.
“Ah, yes! That was it. Thank you.”
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his loose pants. “It was an easy guess. If our king isn’t on the throne, in the forest, or engaged in weapons training, you’re almost certain to find him in the cavern.”
Excellent. I need to find the right person to ask for directions and make sure I pick a time to visit the druid’s well when Riven is extremely busy elsewhere.
If what I seek can’t be found in the cavern, then the only other place I know that might be worth a search is the buried library.
Of course, if I can’t find the curse in either of those two places, my task becomes impossible—and I may have to ask Riven himself for help.
I shudder at the thought.