King of Merits: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 3)
King of Merits: Chapter 20

Riven

When I return to the clearing, Merri glances up expectantly. “Oh, you’ve caught a fish. I thought I heard you say you weren’t going to hunt.”

“What I’ve done is called fishing. Have you not heard the term before?” Turning toward the trees, so she doesn’t see me wince at my impulsive words, I search the undergrowth for wood.

While the girl watches my every move, I pile up kindling and heavier branches, and then start a fire with magic. I quickly gut then wrap the fish in foraged herbs and leaves, tie it to a branch resting between two logs, and then roast it over the fire.

When my mouth is watering from the fish’s smoky scent, I kick down the fire and lay scrubbed tubers in the coals, leaving them to cook.

I fetch the water pouches and hand her one, then watch her throat ripple as she drinks deeply. After I break the fish into portions and lay the feast out, I rest back on my haunches and contemplate my work.

Yes. Our meal looks most pleasing, and I used barely any magic to create it. Perhaps I am a cook after all and should offer my services to Estel in the kitchens whenever I grow bored with my kingly duties, which is a far too frequent occurrence. Presiding over court schemes and politics is a chore I’ll likely never come to relish. Yes, I was born to rule but certainly wasn’t raised to it. That was Temnen’s role. May Dana save his putrid soul.

“Eat,” I say, directing my open palm toward the food.

Folding her legs underneath her green and gold tunic, she takes a handful of berries, popping them in her mouth. Bright red drops of juice bead her bottom lip, seizing my attention.

She swallows, then inhales a fast breath. “Riven, I need to speak to you about the human girl at your court. About Summer.”

I arch an eyebrow, but offer no comment as I begin to eat.

“Your High Mage is abusing her.”

Chewing slowly, I sift through memories of the human at court, reliving each time I’ve seen her, the images shuffling through my mind’s eye. “Impossible. I’ve given orders that she’s not to be harmed, nor is any fae or being for that matter, including Draírdon, allowed to lie with her by means of trick or enchantment.”

“Okay,” she says. “Regardless, I’ve witnessed her being treated poorly, made to dance, and sing, and abase herself for the entertainment of others. She’s underfed, dehydrated, and at a breaking point. Your mage is stretching the meaning of your orders to a ridiculous and dangerous degree. How can you allow this?”

Could I perhaps be oblivious to acts of cruelty performed right under my nose? It is possible. I’ve been distracted of late.

“Allow it? I’ve never seen evidence of it.”

“Then you are blind. Anyway, I’m telling you it’s happening. Send her home,” Princess Merrin demands.

“I cannot. She doesn’t wish to leave my court.”

“If she were in her right mind, I assure you, she’d run screaming from your throne room. So you’ll do nothing and permit her to be danced to death. Is that what you’re saying?”

“No. I’ll forbid Draírdon and his associates from being alone with her.” I scan the nearby branches for my owl. “Meerade, shortly you must leave us and pass this message to our High Mage. Tell him that when I return, I’ll have new orders for the court regarding our human visitor. In the meantime, he’s not to go near her.”

A wide smile blazes across Merri’s face, and Meerade screeches, “Mushroom mage! Trouble!”

“Mushroom mage?” I mutter. “Wherever could she have heard such a strange term?”

Merri’s cheeks stain crimson. “I have no idea,” she says, wincing as though caught in a lie.

“Be at ease. I’ll place Lidwinia in charge of Summer. You may see her whenever you wish, and if you replace a way to convince her to leave my city, then with my blessing, she may go.”

“Thank you, Riven. I hardly slept last night thinking of the girl’s suffering. With great power, comes great responsibility. The strong must strive to care for those who can’t look after themselves.”

“Yes. Unlike my father, I agree with this sentiment.”

The brilliance of her smile dispels the shadows on the dappled bank. Why must she look at me this way? As if she sees beyond the crown, deep into my being, and is fond of me, likes me. And even more staggering—is happy to be in my company.

Of course, if she knew my innermost thoughts, she would flee and never look back.

With fleeting glances, I observe the Elemental halfling, watch how she folds the fish around berries before placing it in her mouth. Every movement is slow and deliberate, her face expressive, showing unabashed enjoyment, as if she lives each moment to its fullest.

Merri appears grateful for each experience, more druid-like in her bearing than I am at present, my mind a mess of conflicting desires.

To harm, to hold. To crush, to caress. To protect, to kill.

Choices. Choices.

A soft laugh wakes me from my musings.

Merri.

“What?” I ask, blinking away visions of scarlet hair floating on a bed of snow.

“Look at Meerade.” Merri points to the trees. “She’s trying to befriend a tiny bird. The wren is rightly terrified.”

“Yes, the bird is smart.” The smoky flavor of the fish explodes in my mouth as I chew quickly. “Meerade is like a wolfhound who thinks they’re a tiny lapdog. One affectionate kiss from that hooked beak and her friend the wren would be no more.”

“My dad’s dog, Balor, is like that, always knocking moss elves over in play. He has no idea why they run when he bounds toward them with his tongue flapping in joyous greeting.”

I cringe at the thought of Everend Fionbharr and his devil hound. Out of all the fae in the seven realms, why must Merri be his daughter?

“Riven? When you and Lidwinia left the Lowlands, how did you and your entire army disappear as one through an opening in the air?”

“Simple. If our Merit powers are strong enough, as mine and Elas’s are when combined, it’s possible to transfer large groups at the same time.”

“Impressive.”

I take more fish and crispy tubers and continue to watch her as I eat. For a spoiled Elemental royal, she’s uncommonly interested in her environment. Compared to the ice princess of my dreams, she is not at all how I imagined she would be.

“Oh,” she says, a perky expression chasing away her thoughtful one. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the beautiful chambers you have me situated in. It’s very generous of you to put me up in such luxury when I would’ve been content with a room above the stables.”

A hot knife digs between my ribs. Damned embarrassment again. I grunt and say, “It’s nothing. You should see my chambers.”

Both our eyes widen at my words, then with a shudder, she says, “Oh. Well…” her gaze skimming the nearby bushes.

I clear my throat and capture her attention. “Last evening, why did you say that all your kingdom’s heirs have suffered from the curse of the fated mates, but just before, you stated that love saved them. It cannot be both. Do King Rafael and Prince Ever still suffer now they are married to their chosen ones? And…” Before I change my mind, I take a quick breath and ask the question that brims behind my lips. “By all accounts, their marriages are love matches. Has love not made them…happy?”

She smirks. “I thought you weren’t interested in love and its effects. But because I’m nice, I shall answer you anyway. Yes, they have suffered much. And, yes, love has made them happy. With a force as powerful as love, it’s possible and sometimes preferable to exist in a state of constant flux. A deliciously painful condition, I’ve heard Mother describe it.”

Delicious? I doubt that very much. It sounds extremely unappealing to be at the mercy of another fae or, worse, human’s words and actions, vulnerable and weak if they shun you. This love business does not appeal to me. No thank you.

With my gaze tracing the contours of her face, it’s my turn to give an exaggerated shudder. “How unpleasant,” I say, focusing my attention back on the food.

She laughs at me again, then kneels to grab a handful of tubers, shoving them into her mouth. “Delicious,” she says, repeating the word that’s echoing through my skull.

Now only one tuber is left, and I quite fancy it for myself. In a blur of movement, I snatch it up, grasp her wrist, and place it on her upturned palm, closing her fingers around it. Her breath hitches, molten silver swirling in her wide eyes.

Let her go, I tell myself as my grip tightens on her bones.

Let her go.

Let her go.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Like a tree coaxed by the sun’s light, I lean closer, enthralled. The tug between our bodies is an insidious vine of magic, as old as the sorcery that runs beneath the earth, lives in every breath of air, drop of water, and burning flame.

One half of my mind wishes to strangle her here and now, eradicate the risk to my kingdom, for she can only bring its downfall. Why else would I have dreamed all these years of her blood on my sword? The other half of me, regrettably, burns to close the distance and taste the berries on her lips.

Crouching, I rock forward on my heels, then back again, unable to decide which direction I want to move—toward the girl or away—all the while, tormented by a vision of white and red. Snow and blood. Blood and snow. And Merri. Always Merri.

I can’t stand it.

I cannot bear it.

Closing my eyes, I clear the horror of the vision with a hard shake of my head.

Now where was I?

Ah, yes. Staring at the mesmerizing ruby of the halfling’s parted lips, the moisture glistening within.

Her eyes stare back as I inch forward, my own mouth parting. She should run, but she doesn’t flinch or move a muscle.

No.

No.

Another head shake brings clarity.

Don’t forget who you are, I tell myself. My mother’s child. Not my father’s. Never his. Do not forget it.

I begin a rousing internal lecture meant to banish thoughts of Merri for once and for all. I recall that the magic of the high druids was most potent when they were chaste and focused on their purpose. In my case, my focus is my steadfast mission to heal my land from the scars of El Fannon’s rule, not to leap in and out of beds whenever someone takes my fancy, diluting my power.

That would be folly. The madness of youth. The deficiency of a selfish and untrained ruler.

Then I remember the chaos of the kisses I stole when I was imprisoned in her hidden chamber. Who kissed who first? On Beltane eve, it was her. I resisted, and then I didn’t. And the other time… My blood quickened. My magic, too. And what happened? I nearly killed her then and there.

A kiss. A kill. A killer-kiss. Is this all I’m capable of when base feelings are roused? Harshness, violence? But never anything…softer.

My thumb strokes the silky skin of her wrist as she shifts forward, her short breaths loud and ragged in the silence. Unable to break her gaze, I dive forward, eager to drown in a pool of silver.

Closer.

Then closer still.

A loud screech echoes from the trees, and I reel back and swear, saved by Meerade’s hunting noises as she heads back to the castle to deliver my message to Draírdon. Thank the Blood Sun because I cannot and will not allow myself to bend to the will of the Black Blood curse.

Ever.

Abruptly, I rise, knocking the last tuber from her hand. “I must check on Raghnall,” I say, which is a ridiculous notion. My horse needs neither a nursemaid for a master nor any such hovering attentions.

A few strides into the brush, and I replace Raghnall tearing bark from the trees. I rest my face against her warm coat, breathing deep her calming scent. I stroke her mane and murmur, “I don’t understand what’s happening, my friend. I’m not myself, and it terrifies—” A blast of dark energy strikes my gut, the force so strong a bolt of nausea makes me retch.

A creature has arrived in the vicinity, its nature vile indeed.

My heart vaults, blood forking through my veins like lightning. The halfling is alone! Leaving her unprotected, even for a moment, was a bad mistake. Perhaps a fatal one.

With my magical shield up and sword in hand, I dart back to the riverbank, skidding to a stop at the edge of the trees when I see Merri conversing with a creature in the water.

“No…” I whisper, fear quaking my bones. This creature will snatch the halfling away forever if I make the slightest sound or sudden move. Although this callous, shape-shifting nix usually hunts farther north, near Port Neo, he is, unfortunately, well known to me.

Frustration curdles in my gut. In the blink of an eye, I could blow the beast to pieces, but I won’t dare, because in the same amount of time, he could reach out and take Merri to her death.

I can’t risk it.

Sheathing my sword and drawing my magic inward, so it vibrates close to my skin, I move carefully forward, whistling a jaunty tune. I want him to know I’m aware of his presence but believe he’s not a threat. Casual interest is what I hope to exhibit.

“Good day, Nicor,” I say, infusing my voice with warmth and activating the subtlest glamor to appear smaller, weaker, friendlier. “How has the fishing been of late?”

Nicor’s dark head snaps up, a snarl splitting his black lips. “Good day to you, too, Silver King. The fish are as vapid and boring as ever. They make a bland and uneventful meal. But I am very pleased you’ve kindly brought me a tasty treat. I shall relish it greatly.”

Merri looks over her shoulder at me, revealing a bright smile.

To my eyes, the nix is an unpleasant sight, his mottled gray skin peeling off in rotten layers, black hair tangled and stinking like putrid weeds, fanged teeth dripping drool as it speaks. But the princess will see a different sight—a beautiful youth, his gaze wide and innocent and pleading for her help. Even his grating voice will sound melodious and smooth to Merri’s ears.

With a wet sucking sound, Nicor drags his wiry body farther out of the water and up the bank. Closer to Merri.

This creature is no ordinary nix. He’s one of Draírdon’s half-mechanical experiments, a heartless puppet of evil. One side of his body is covered in black and silver metal scales, the bones inside fused with nickel and gold and horrendously strong.

Grinding my teeth to stop from rushing forward or releasing a blast of magic, I will my pulse to slow, clear my head, and focus my thoughts. I can’t afford to make one wrong move or the halfling princess will pay for it with her life.

Merri turns back to the nix. “I’m afraid we only have a handful of berries left over from our lunch. But you’re very welcome to them.”

A barbed tongue lolls over its chin. “Tell your king that this paltry offering isn’t the delicious meal I was hoping for.” He licks his lips, drool stringing from his chin to his chest, but Merri only smiles at him, no doubt wondering why the handsome stranger is suddenly sounding a trifle insolent and rude.

“Well, he’s not really my king.” She throws the rejected food toward the trees, a treat for the birds and wood elves. “Would you like to accompany us back to the palace for dinner tonight? You’re sure to replace something more to your liking there.”

“That is kind of you,” says the nix, his voice now as savage as his gaze. “But I’ve already found something to feast upon, and the old king, El Fannon, granted me leave to eat whatever or whoever took my fancy should they pass along my banks.”

This is correct. My father did indeed grant this terrible boon. A boon I cannot rescind and am bound to abide by.

The nix grins, his fangs chattering, spiked tail swishing with impatience. “Do I speak true, King of Merits?” Nicor asks.

“Indeed, you do.” I take three large but slow strides forward then drop to my haunches beside Merri, subtle magic expelling calm authority from my every pore. “But in regards to this contract you made with my deceased father, I propose we make an adjustment to it in this instance. For amusement’s sake.”

A hiss wheezes from the creature’s lungs as it reels backward. “What? Why would I agree to this?”

“Because she is mine.” I say, bracing my muscles against the piercing pain of a part lie. None comes. She is in my court, under my care. Therefore I speak the truth.

Mine. Merri is mine.

I dare not hint at who she really is—a princess of the Seelie Court. If Nicor knew this, he would snatch her without delay, drag her under, kill her slowly. Painfully. Horribly.

“If you say so, King, then I must believe you. And, since you are our sovereign, I shouldn’t try to take what is yours. But, by the rules agreed to long ago, I can should I still choose to. Which I believe I do, choose to take her from you, that is.”

“As is your right, Nicor of the Dark Weeds. Unless… Unless you wish to barter with me and strike a new bargain. Purely for entertainment’s sake, of course. Your reputation for craftiness precedes you. I doubt I could best you.” Pain explodes inside my skull, and it takes all my power to keep my face a passive mask of friendly interest.

Merri’s silver gaze is wide, bouncing between me and the nix, only now sensing that the appealing boy might be a danger to her. She wriggles backward a little.

“Also,” I say. “These banks you’ve presented yourself on aren’t your usual grounds. One could suggest that you’re beyond your territory.”

A snarl grates the air. “My territory was not clearly defined by your father.”

The princess startles, and I put a calming hand on her knee to keep her still. Were she to run, the nix would drag her under with a splash, and her diminished air magic would be useless against this ancient creature, made one hundred times more diabolical by Draírdon’s meddling.

“A mistake that I myself would not have made,” I say with a light chuckle to arouse his anger.

Nicor’s scales rattle and stand on end. “You fool. You will regret your insolence. You may be king for now, but I am as old as these waters I dwell in, and I recall when you were born. Such a shining, handsome child of silver. I remember the depths of your father’s disappointment because you carried no true royal Unseelie characteristics, like your brother’s antennae or your sister’s tongue. How El Fannon wailed with grief when you showed yourself to be your mother’s son and followed the path of the druids. Walked in the light, like one of them. Weak, your father said. My son is weak.”

A one shouldered shrug and a smile. “You tell me nothing new. I’ve lived all my life in the shackles of his disappointment. The chafing wounds have healed.”

The nix’s lips compress. He wishes to rile me. To make me lose control. He slithers closer to Merri, bends his head, and takes a long inhalation, drawing her scent deep, taunting me with his hungry, quivering mouth. A slight tremor vibrates over Merri’s skin, but she stays silent, just as I will her to be.

Nicor clacks his teeth together. “Are you aware of the rumors that make their way through the shadows of our land, King? The ones that whisper you shall not live to reign over us for very long?”

These words unsettle me. These words remind me that I sit beside and protect the girl who I’ve long dreamed will be the cause of my dethroning. Of my death.

Why do I not end this now and let the nix have her?

I unclench my jaw. “I am aware, yet I pay them no heed. Tell me, is this how you wish to delay your meal, Nicor, trading insults back and forth as children do?”

With a roar, he lunges for me, drawing back at the last breath, just before his fangs strike the flesh of my neck. Breathing slowly, rhythmically, I smile and click my tongue four times, as if chastising an errant hound. “Now, now, noxious nix. Try to show a little patience.”

“Then hurry, King, and let us bargain for your halfling, and when I win, I’ll take not only her, but your eternal agreement that I may expand my territory to encompass the entire Land of Merits.”

I incline my head, a respectful gesture that hides my fury. “Indeed you ask for much, therefore I shall propose the terms of our bargain. If she agrees willingly and without coercion to go with you, you shall have her and all the territory to hunt in that you desire.”

A rabid growl rumbles in his chest, a protest on his black lips.

“Wait,” I command. “I will allow you to use magic for one more thing, because you’re already wearing a glamor. And if I were you, I’d use it to wipe her mind of this conversation, then all she’ll see is your charming visage. I’ll even stand by yonder tree, so she’ll forget I ever spoke to you.”

“Riven,” says Merri. “I don’t think this is a good—”

“Shh, all will be as it should,” I tell her, then face the nix. “Well? What say you? Are you game or not?”

Hunger twists his features, revealing his desperation, his great need to consume the tasty girl before him. Recklessly, he says, “Yes. The bargain as you have worded it is struck.”

His gnarled fingers snap between Merri’s eyes, and her gaze turns vacant, her muscles soft and pliant against me.

“Good. We have made our agreement, and so the result shall be unchallenged,” I say, standing abruptly and shoving hair from my face. As my arm swings downward, I flick two fingers at the nix’s heart, destroying his glamor of innocent beauty.

Merri’s eyes widen subtly.

Stifling a laugh, I walk to the oak tree, then cross my arms, and lean a shoulder against it. I didn’t say I would refrain from using magic. Foolish Nicor. Greed and arrogance made him a careless bargainer.

He slides backward and sinks soundlessly beneath the water to chest level.

“Are you all right?” Merri asks with a frown. Having forgotten the recent conversation, she’s likely wondering why the elegant young man has turned into a gruesome monster.

Nicor smiles, revealing a row of gray, pointed teeth. “No, girl. I require your help. I may have injured my leg badly and may soon have trouble staying afloat. I do not wish to die today. Will you come into the water and save me?”

“Save you? How would I do that?”

A mechanical arm shoots toward her, muscles rippling over metal bones, the palm outstretched in appeal. “Take my hand. Come in the water beside me, and I’ll put my arm around your shoulders. It will be easy for me to use your strength. I promise.”

Merri leans forward, and for a moment, my chest clenches, every tendon taut as a drawn bowstring.

“No,” she says. “I don’t want to help you. You’re a creature of the fae. You’ll heal in time.”

Nicor splutters, those ugly teeth gnashing. “But you’re beautiful. We will make a perfect pair down in the deep-dark beneath the currents, me, and what is left of you.”

“I thank you, but I prefer the light. Be gone now. I have much to speak of with the king. Go hunt your fish, old nix.”

With an enraged screech and a massive spray of water, Nicor springs from the river, both hands outstretched, aimed at the princess’s throat.

I grit my teeth, drawing magic through the earth, and throw a spear of power at the nix’s heart. Before it reaches its mark, an arc of silver flashes, Merri’s lightning-fast response as she withdraws a knife from her boot and lunges to meet the nix in the air, plunging it deep into his corded neck. She tumbles to the ground with a thud, and my magic detonates in the water. Useless.

“Merri,” I yell, running to her side then gathering her in my arms.

Squealing and cursing, Nicor clamps his fingers on the gushing neck wound and sinks underneath the water, leaving a swirl of blood and gore on top, the only remaining sign of its malevolent presence.

“Merri, are you hurt?” I ask, using my mind and hands to gently prod for damage. Thankfully, she feels perfect. Wonderful and…unbroken.

With her palms braced against my chest, she pushes out of my tight embrace and shoves onto her feet. “I’m fine, Riven. No need to fuss.”

Cracking her neck side to side, she surprises me by summoning a whirlwind that combs through her hair, rearranging it before the tempest funnels back into the sky. “At least I can say I’ve finally had an adventure in the Merit Court.”

“I’d wager that was not the kind of entertainment Lidwinia had in mind for you today.”

Swiping mud from her tunic, she looks up wearing another of her charming smiles. “Nonetheless, it has been diverting.”

Beyond my control, my eyes narrow into a glower. What type of Seelie princess would call a near-fatal attack a diverting experience? Not a typical spoiled one, that’s for certain. And how did she move faster than my bolt of magic and then raise a strong wind immediately after? It appears her magic is not as diminished as she would have me believe.

After collecting the remains of our picnic, I return to our horses who are eating grass under an oak tree, serene and unaffected by the drama with the nix.

With my back to Merri, I pack Raghnall’s saddlebags. “We should leave now,” I say in a tone that brooks no argument.

“Yes, master.” Merri’s reply is soft but not too soft that I can’t hear it.

An intoxicating fragrance of wild dog roses invades my nose, befuddling my mind as Merri plants a kiss on her horse’s forehead, the halfling’s body too close to mine for comfort and any clear thinking on my part.

An arm slung around her steed’s neck and her expression curious, she says, “I’m surprised you didn’t transform into your creature before. You saw through the nix’s glamor from the start, didn’t you?”

“Yes, his trickery can’t fool me. But, alas, I cannot shift. I rescinded the ability when I began lessons with the druids.”

“It was fortunate I was here to save you then,” she says in a mocking tone, as if she means the opposite—sarcasm, as the humans call it.

And this is the problem with a halfling, one can never fully trust them. I grit my teeth and vault into Raghnall’s saddle.

As Merri mounts her horse, a necklace swings from the folds of her tunic, the black holey stone I gave her, hanging on a finely braided cord of leather. My hand goes to my chest, fumbling for the arrowhead necklace lying against my skin. Merri’s arrow.

We take off through the circle of oaks, the sun warm on our backs. As we ride up the valley into the depths of Blackthorn Forest, ascending the mountain toward the city, she is silent, leaving me to my thoughts, which are unbearable, tumbling and clashing like churning waves. Maddening and ungovernable.

Today, I tried to construct a wall around myself that would stand against her sunny smiles and bright, curious nature. Render me impervious and keep her out. This wall made of prejudice and suspicion collapsed the moment I saw her with the nix, vulnerable and in danger.

I know I should have let Nicor take her and remove her from my life forever.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

And now, my failure to let another monster deal with her while my own knife remains bloodless will haunt me forever, because my visions clearly tell the tale—if Merri lives, my kingdom falls. It must be her blood that runs in rivulets through the snow, not mine.

For the sake of the Merits and the land I hold dear, the blood must not be mine.

Never mine.

“Riven?” Her voice whispers through the pine needles, sliding along the skin of my throat and face, like a caress.

Without taking my eyes from the path ahead, I grunt in reply.

“Just a warning, I plan to explore your city tomorrow, no matter what you have to say about it.”

And here it is—another opportunity to get rid of her. What I do with it remains to be seen.

I breathe a sigh through my nose. “I’ll have suitable clothing brought to your rooms in the morning.”

Her head whips around. “Thank you! That will save me from searching for the laundry and stealing them.”

I stifle a rare laugh, but not a wry grin. “’Tis no bother. Just don’t say I never give you anything.”