Page 17 of A Promise so Bold and Broken (Compelling Fates Saga #2)
Chapter Seventeen
E very seat on the wooden benches was taken when Merrick hauled her out of the brightly lit room, and she was relieved when he guided her to lean against the tavern wall instead of trying to squeeze down between any of the unknown Fae.
Only a few eyes tracked them, some of the Fae who faced them on the other side of the fireplace noting the small group gathering in the shade of the stone building.
But most kept their attention on the brown-haired Fae with a thick beard of the same color who paced back and forth before the orange flames.
Some kind of leader, she guessed.
The Fae seemed older, the gray streaks touching his temples telling her he must be several thousand, if not tens of thousands, years old.
From what her father had taught her, Fae looked up to elders.
If there weren’t any royals, nobility, or famed warriors in the room, age typically determined who could claim authority.
Lessia drew a breath of smoky air, her eyes trailing the embers sparking above the large fire as Merrick took up the spot next to her and Raine leaned against the wall on her other side.
“Are you drinking that?” Raine nodded toward the glass she still held in her hand as Ardow and Venko placed themselves beside Merrick.
When Lessia shrugged—not particularly eager to drink the liquor upon remembering the cup she’d tasted on the ship—he stretched out his hand, and she unbent her stiff fingers to offer him the cup.
After downing it in one go, Raine croaked, “Thank you,” and rested his head on the stone, his eyes closing.
Merrick’s fingers brushed hers as he flexed and unflexed them, and when she stole a glance at him, he was faced forward, his features strained as he glared at the group of Fae.
She was just about to ask him what was wrong, or perhaps even apologize, when the bearded Fae began speaking.
Not wanting to draw any more attention, she quickly pressed her lips shut.
“Tonight is Zehmkell.”
The Fae around the fire began drumming a low, steady beat by clapping their hands on their thighs, like an eerie melody in the dusky light.
The fire flickered in tune with the sound, amplifying the Fae’s throaty voice, and a shiver shook her body when he continued.
“While the gods created Zehmkell, we do not celebrate Zehmkell for them. Zehmkell is for us. It’s for unity. For friendship. For lost ones and loved ones. For those that are here and those we left behind.”
When a wolflike cry echoed over the terrace, Lessia started, her eyes flying across the group, snagging on the faces contorted by the flames—on the two males who cupped their hands around their mouths, crying up toward the moon, which had begun rising over the island.
A low humming accompanied the thumping rhythm and the harsh cries, and her legs began shaking when something whispered over the skin.
Not a chill, but like soft, warm caresses that prickled everywhere across her bare skin.
As if the gods, or perhaps those that didn’t walk this realm anymore, still wanted it known they were there.
That they were listening.
When Lessia jumped again at another otherworldly howl, a warm hand wrapped around hers, and she met Merrick’s eyes as he intertwined their fingers.
Lessia offered him a weak smile, and he dipped his chin before shifting his gaze forward once more.
The bearded Fae began circling the fire with slow, deliberate steps, his hands clasped behind his back. “Zehmkell is a time for remembrance. It’s to remember the bond between us, not just when facing an enemy but every day we walk this realm. It’s to remember those who came before us, those who sacrificed for us, those who ensured we could live in peace.”
Lessia couldn’t take her eyes off him as he walked up to a stack of branches and threw a few onto the fire, the flames furiously reaching for the sky for a moment, with sparks shooting toward the darkness as the pace of the drumming quickened.
“The first Zehmkell was held by the gods in the Old World: Preysaih, the god of death. Zharra, the god of life. Evrene, the god of mind. Killem, the god of earth. Orshine, the god of water. Lodem, the god of sky. They’d gifted us different magic and abilities, and a divide was forming between our people. They needed us united to protect our world. And so Zehmkell was born.”
Merrick’s hand tightened around her own when she trembled at the Fae’s booming voice, how he emphasized the name of each god in sync with the mounting force of the tapping, and the strength of it steadied her as she continued to listen.
“But there was a bigger divide.” The Fae paused to throw more branches at the roaring fire. “Between us and the gods. For millennia, they’d forced us to do their bidding, follow their rules, fight their wars… and our ancestors grew tired of it. Thousands of lives were lost as they forced the gods to leave our lands, but in the end, they stood victorious.”
Another wail pierced the air, with sorrowful lower whimpers echoing softly after it.
A jolt struck her.
Not from the haunting sounds but from surprise.
She knew the gods had left the Old World, but she hadn’t known it was at the hands of their ancestors.
Her father had conveniently left that out of the history lessons he used to force her and Frelina to attend in the mornings growing up.
Leaning forward, Lessia found a wrinkle between Ardow’s brows as he watched the Fae halt with his hands lifted toward the sky, but before she could mouth something at him, Merrick tugged her back, casting a sharp stare her way when she opened her mouth.
Snapping it shut, she followed the speaker’s gaze toward the sky as he called out, “And so the four kingdoms were born. Our own, ruled by the Rantziers, the travelers and emissaries and soldiers. One ruled by the Oakgards, the ones who answered the call to the earth. One ruled by the Himmlah, for those who sought the sky. And the final one ruled by the Wrehns, for those who didn’t fear a path guided by darkness. Free to choose our calling, our people split up. But without the threat of the gods, what they had feared unfolded. War broke out between kingdoms. Mistrust and wariness spread like wildfire. Not even Zehmkell was enough to unite us; the bonds were too fragile… So our broken people dispersed across different realms. The Rantziers took their people the farthest, the travel urge in our blood driving us to Havlands, a land shared with humans and shifters.”
The drumming stopped.
Lessia held her breath as the wind whispered across the ground, mingling with the crackling from the fire, gripping Merrick’s hand so hard she was certain he would snap at her.
But he only clasped her hand back when the Fae sat down and crossed his legs on the ground before the fire.
Staring into the flames, he said quietly, “But although Rantzier’s people shared traits, the iron fist that the royals ruled with, the thirst for power tainting their minds, drove a deeper divide between us. That’s why we created this sanctuary. That’s why Zehmkell is the one holiday we still honor. We must remind each other never to fall into the darkness of the Rantziers and those who follow them. We must remind each other that while we are different—we are one. That regardless of the blood that flows through our veins or the lineage we carry, we are equals. Equals in standing up against the evil that is the Rantziers.”
Her heart started beating so hard that a few Fae in the back row turned their heads her way. However, they quickly shifted when a warning growl rumbled in Merrick’s chest and his teeth glinted in the fire as he flashed them.
As he released her hand and stepped forward, covering her from sight as the people rose from their seats, she met Ardow’s wide eyes, and fear wrapped around her like a lead-lined blanket.
She hadn’t questioned Merrick’s conviction that she needed to train, assuming he was only preparing her for what they might face trying to stop the rebels and maybe even the Oakgards’ Fae he believed were headed for Havlands.
But perhaps he was also preparing her for what would happen if people discovered who she truly was.
What blood flowed through her veins.
What family name she bore.
Lessia doubted she’d be able to hide it much longer.
Not with what she suspected they’d have to do to convince Loche and Rioner of the threats against their realm.
Her eyes slammed into Merrick’s when he spun around, and she nearly cowered when he stalked up to her, crowding her against the wall.
But his voice was gentle as he whispered, “You do not carry that darkness. You may bear a name, but that name does not define you. You may share his blood, but that blood does not dictate who you are. And I promise you”—his eyes bore into hers as he stressed each word—“I. Promise. You. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Rioner, Loche, the rebels, the Oakgards’ Fae, or any of these fucking people won’t come near you. Ever again.”
Her mouth went dry as the sounds around them receded into the background.
Only Merrick’s sharp breaths, her own thumping heart, and the low humming from a held-back growl in his chest reverberated in her ears.
When Raine stepped up beside him, she jerked, and the sounds of people holding low conversations, of liquid being swallowed, of Ardow clearing his throat boomed through the air once more.
“That’s a bold promise, brother,” Raine said softly, eyes locked on hers. “Let’s hope you do not have to break it.”
His eyes dipped for a second before he beckoned to the group. “Let’s just go home. I don’t expect any of us will be able to enjoy this night as we should.”
Merrick reached out with his hand again, and once Lessia took it, she held on to it the whole way back to Raine’s cabin.
And Merrick’s promise echoed in her ears with every steady step across the small island.