King of Merits: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 3)

Merri

The night is moonless, the dark so deep that when I wake up suddenly in the middle of it, I need to use magic to seek the menacing current that shook me from my dreams of blood and snow.

“Merri,” says a voice, its timbre low and thick with longing.

Is it Riven?

“Give me your seer’s necklace made of stone and power. Give me your heart so I may own that, too. Do it now. Avoid all woes. May it be right. May it be so.”

I do know that voice. It’s not Riven’s but Kian’s! What in the freaking realms is happening?

As I lurch into a sitting position, I throw up a barrier of air magic. The blast of energy flings the intruder through the air, thudding them against a wall. My eyes adjust to the darkness, showing me the bronze bird, Olwydd, flapping near the door, the cord of my holey stone hanging from its claw.

“You devil creature. Give that back to me, dammit!” I send a gust of wind to extract the necklace, but it merely buffets the bird around while it squawks loudly.

Then it screeches, the sound morphing into words as Kian’s voice comes trumpeting from its beak. “Thank you, Merri, for such a lovely gift. I shall treasure it dearly. As I will cherish you when you’re mine.”

I leap out of bed and stalk toward Olwydd, my hands fisting the silky material of my nightgown. “Kian? Can you hear me in there, you cowardly, shriveled piece of dried-up pig’s prick? Give me my necklace right now and scram before I summon the guards. When our court learns of this latest prank, you and whoever your accomplice is will be in so much trouble. There won’t be a single cave or rock crevice for you to hide in all the seven realms.”

“Ah, but I shall have you, Merrin darling, and that is all that matters. If you want the necklace that your precious Silver King gave you, you’ll have to come and get it. Follow me if you dare.”

As I lunge for the necklace, the door to the hallway opens by itself, and Olwydd flies straight through it.

Panting with fury, I shrug into a cloak and slip my feet into soft boots that I leave unlaced. Then I shoot out after the bird, immediately spying it hanging upside down from a gilt-framed painting of Riven’s mother.

First, I throw magic at Olwydd, then one of the knives that I always wear strapped to my calves. Both bounce off the metal casing of its body. With the force of the wind behind it, the knife should have pierced his evil little heart with ease. But it didn’t.

Unfortunately, it seems I need the Merit king by my side for my powers to have much effect in this infernal city. Any rational person would have left four days ago after they slapped an Unseelie king for insulting them. But I’ve never claimed to be sensible, and I’m not about to start behaving that way any time soon.

As I follow Olwydd out to the stables, I have the welcome realization that even thinking about Riven makes my power surge and flicker over my skin. This gives me hope. If I can keep him in mind and draw on his magic, then I should be able to defeat Kian and Olwydd and reclaim my holey stone. I refuse to leave the Merit City without it.

Shafts of moonlight illuminate the stables as I walk through the open doors and toward Olwydd, my gaze fixed on the necklace dangling from his beak.

He’s perched on a high beam of oak, too high for my hands to reach, but the white-lightning sizzling from my fingertips will have a good chance of hitting its mark.

Picturing Riven’s hand holding mine, I focus the energy and push it out of my palms. With a resounding crack, it hits the bird and ricochets off.

Kian’s laughter fills the air.

Impossible! He took a direct hit. That bird should be baked. I raise another bolt of power, my focus faltering when the light in front of Olwydd shatters like a pane of glass and Draírdon appears. In a smooth acrobatic move, he tumbles from the crossbeams and lands in front of me.

I scream like a banshee and fire a sizzling sheet of lightning at him.

With a single wave of his palm, it disintegrates, and blinding purple energy envelopes me. I fall to my knees as the worst pain I’ve ever felt saws through my skull.

Now two laughs reverberate in the darkness—Kian’s and the High Mage’s.

They stand before me, blood gleaming from their smiles, proof of the dark magic they’ve been harnessing to shapeshift and control the mechanical bird.

“You’re dead,” I spit out as fury like I’ve never known spills over my cheeks in the form of scalding-hot tears.

Kian laughs again, slipping my necklace over his head, then picking up the stone and peering at me through the hole. “You’re in no position to make futile threats, Merri darling. Hmmm. Oh, yes. This necklace suits me very well. I promise to take care of it for you. Now say the words to make it mine, and we may decide to let you return to your bed. Isn’t that true, Draírdon?”

Draírdon says, “Nothing promised, nothing gained. Nothing ventured, plenty of pain.”

The buzzing in my head increases. The High Mage is torturing me! I swallow a moan of agony and lean toward him. “When Riven learns of your treachery, mushroom face, you’ll be a goner, too.”

“A goner?” Draírdon sneers. “Your princess speaks strangely, Kian. A defect of her parentage, no doubt. After I’ve wiped your memory clean, halfling, that weakling Riven will never find out. You’ll forget I was ever here. So, quickly now. Transfer ownership of the stone to Kian and ease your suffering.”

“Being a good king doesn’t make Riven weak. And you can go suck on a dead donkey’s tail, because I’ll never give the power of my holey stone to that psychotic strutting peacock.”

Draírdon leans close, his iron-tinged breath nauseating. “Are you sure about that, my pretty little halfling? Its power is of no use to you here. At present, you can barely ruffle a whisker on my chin. For a Princess of Air, you’re useless, pathetic.”

If I can manage to draw more power from Riven to bolster mine, then Draírdon is wrong. I just need to buy a little more time to get the necklace back. I’m not giving that up. Riven gave it to me. It’s mine. “I’ll never speak the words, so do what you will to me.”

“So be it,” says the mage.

I conjure a vision of Riven along with a ball of lightning that crackles and whirs in my palm. Before I can toss it, the mage draws a knife and slices his forearm. Dark blood spills on the sawdust floor, and my head drops back, my magic fizzling out.

“No!” My arms shake and I can barely focus on Draírdon’s triumphant sneer.

With a click of his fingers, he produces iron handcuffs from a slit in the air and slips them over my wrists, fastening them tightly.

Stars spin inside my head as cold iron takes effect, slurring my thoughts and words. “How did you carry these and not weaken your magic? It’s…impossible.”

Draírdon runs a claw along my cheek. “Oh, Princess, when you live in the shadows, almost anything is possible. Now sleep.”

I focus on an image of Riven’s eyes and let my body flop in a heap, pretending to faint.

The mage turns to Kian. “Put her on the horse. She shouldn’t wake until I come to you tomorrow night.”

“Why not do it now?” whines Kian. “It’s the perfect time. All fae in the castle are unconscious under your spell. Let me take her from this land before they rise.”

“You fool! Without another death, I cannot hold the spell much longer.” Draírdon’s eyes narrow. “Unless you would like to offer your life, Seelie lord? I’m certain I can find a use for a bonded princess of your court, halfling or not. Show me your throat.”

Kian whimpers out a protest, and the mage spreads his arms toward the ceiling and begins a chant. Although the words of his spell are indistinct, they grate my insides, shredding my skin raw.

Barely conscious, I’m flung over a saddle and Kian mounts behind.

“You remember the directions?” echoes the mage’s voice. I turn my head toward the sound and watch through heavy eyelids.

“Yes,” replies Kian, the horse dancing beneath us.

“Good.” Draírdon tosses a polished labradorite, the stone of transformation, into Kian’s palm. “The blood of seven fae has ensured no power great or small will stand against you as long as you have this stone. Do not lose it.”

Kian takes it and kicks the horse into motion. Then we’re off, racing beneath the dispassionate night sky, wind tearing at my clothes, my body buffeted about.

After a while, the clopping of hooves over pavement changes to rhythmic padding on soft earth. Somewhere nearby, waves crash into rocks, the sound growing closer with every breath. Before long, the breeze brings the strong scent of brine and the sound of gulls cawing in the distance. Then the horse’s hooves are thudding along sand, tiny grains flicking up and biting my face.

We’re at the beach. No. This is bad. Bile rises up my throat, and I retch against sweaty horseflesh.

My mind reels as I picture Kian carting me on to a ship that will carry us away to some far-off land where I’d never see my family again. Or Riven.

We stop, the horse’s sides heaving with each steaming breath.

Riven where are you? I need help. I search the air currents, seeking any sign of him, finding nothing and no one. It’s just me, the horse, and my revolting kidnapper.

“Here we are, Merrin. If the journey woke you, do not fear, you won’t be conscious for much longer.”

Kian dismounts and hauls me off. He throws me over his shoulder and walks up a shadowy hill, then downward for a time, his boots crunching over unstable rocks. He stops on the precipice of a cliff and slides me down his body, my back pressed to his chest.

My feet hit the ground, and every part of me trembles, including my eyeballs. I peer into a black void and feel the ghosts of old reaching from the foul pit below.

Without another word, Kian shoves me, and I somersault down.

Down.

Down.

And still farther down I fall to a likely painful death of shattered bones and splattered flesh.

Suddenly, my breath whooshes out of me as I collide with something soft, not pillow-soft, but it’s certainly not as hard as rock or the ground. I slide down a great hill or pile of something or other, cartwheeling and tumbling until I hit a solid barrier. I open my eyes, and in a great shaft of moonlight, I see books. Books. And more books!

Weak from iron sickness, I push onto my haunches and look up at the almost-full moon that fills the gaping hole above and dusts my skin with silver light. Heart thundering in my ears, I scan the space and find I’m surrounded by various-sized mountains of books and rubble, some intact shelves still lining the sides of the narrow cavern that is so deep I wonder how I’ll ever get out of here.

This place has to be the ruins of the sunken library Riven mentioned. To think I was so desperate to visit—but not like this, weak, overpowered, and a prisoner of the pathetic Kian Leondearg.

Across the room, the end of a rope ladder hangs a little way off the ground, and Kian scurries down it in a rodent-like fashion. “I’m pleased you’re still alive, Merrin. If you give me your trust and make the holey stone mine, I’ll ensure you will remain unharmed.”

It will be a bright day in the Shade Court before I’ll give him anything other than a punch in his ballocks.

I rub my temples as he jumps from the last rung of the ladder and minces his way over piles of debris. “The stables…” I say, my memory of the night’s events foggy, faulty.

He leans down, inspecting me closely. “Yes, I captured you in the stables. Do you recall anyone else being there, you sweet docile thing?”

“No.” I’m certain that there was someone, but for the life of me I can’t recall who. I think for a moment and give up, shaking my head. “Just you and that horrible beady-eyed bird. What are we doing here?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know. Since your hateful father caused my exile, I’ve been watching you, planning to make you mine.”

My insides roil at the thought of being Kian’s anything. “So that was you the day of the market, following me, and many nights since. How…how have you gone undetected in the city? And how did you get through the king’s wards?”

“The king, the king,” he wails. “I’m entirely sick of that particular fae. Anyone would think the seven realms revolve around him.”

“He’s the Unseelie king, Kian. At least one of the kingdoms revolves around him. Don’t be a fool. How did you avoid his notice? And his royal guard has been hunting you for days. How did you evade capture?”

“Questions. Questions.” Kian drops to his haunches, lifts my limp, heavy arms by the shackle between my wrists, then leans his bony cheek into my palm, forcing me to caress his skin. “I have friends in high places. That’s all you need to know.”

He drops my hands and brings his parted lips close.

Gagging at the thought of his mouth touching mine, I struggle hard against his cruel grip. He laughs and twists the sensitive tip of my ear. I kick him and spit on his boot, growling like Balor does when he’s in hot pursuit of a draygonet.

I can barely remember how I came to be in this sunken library, how he managed to chain and drag me here. But suddenly I remember something very, very important—an image of the Court of Five High Mage, Ether, spitting on my cookie the night I left home. She said it would connect us, that she’d know if I needed her. Well, I can’t think of an occasion I would need her more than now.

I draw my focus inside and call her in my mind. Ether…

Ether…

“Look at me, Merrin,” shouts Kian as he shakes me by the shoulders. “Look. At. Me!”

“Stop. That hurts.” I risk speaking the mage’s name out loud. “Ether? Ether?”

“Be quiet!” He shoves me hard. “How dare you invoke that old crone’s name.”

I fall back and stare through a veil of tears at the bright moon smiling down at me. She offers reassurance. Comfort. I take neither.

“Ether can’t help you now. Nor can righteous Riven or your foul-tempered father. You’re mine, Merrin. And when we leave this place for our new home, I vow that you will earn your keep in blood and tears. Mark me, this is the last time you will ever dare think yourself above me.”

“You never change, Kian. And you’ll always be wrong and out of touch with reality, too full of yourself to bother achieving anything by way of honor and hard work. Instead, like a foul odor, you blow in and out, an insignificant annoyance incapable of any lasting effect. That’s what you are, Kian—a stinky, treacherous, cheating cloud of nothing.”

“I’ve had enough of your mutinous words for tonight, Merrin Fionbharr. You shouldn’t treat one who holds your fate in the palm of their hand with such open disdain. Close your eyes and sleep now.”

He takes something from his breast pocket—black powder—and flings it at me. Metal shards explode in my head, the pain excruciating.

“You killed me,” I say as my skull squeezes tighter.

“No, Merrin. I would never go so far.” Kian straddles me, then licks my face from chin to eyeball. I retch, nearly choking on vomit. “I need you alive, Princess mine. For always and forever more.”

My eyes roll to the side, locking on a blurry image of an enormous brass clock that ticks high up on a wall. “Clock’s broken,” I slur.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“Just let me go,” I beg.

“Never.”

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“Please. The pain…”

Ether, where are you?

Kian, let me die.

The pain increases. Then the moonlight dims, the darkness transforming into a translucent obsidian mirror. I gaze through it into an empty, endless night.

I am nothing but white-hot pain.

Then thick, oozing anguish.

Then just…

Tick.

Tock.

Nothing.