Page 31 of A Promise so Bold and Broken (Compelling Fates Saga #2)

Chapter Thirty-One

M errick’s fingers traced over her palm when she woke, and even though hunger gnawed at her stomach, it was soon replaced by the lightheadedness—the borderline euphoria—that told her they’d been locked up here for a few days by now.

Maybe even a whole week.

Tucking in his legs, Merrick made space for her to crawl over to the small stream of water that dripped down one of the walls.

Lessia greedily opened her mouth, using her tongue to capture as many drops as possible and trying to ignore the stings of pain that accompanied it from the Vincere that mixed with the dirty water.

At this point, the dirty stream was the only thing keeping them all relatively conscious, although Lessia was becoming unsure whether it was for the better.

Raine and Kerym had become grumpier by the hour, and not even Merrick hissing at them to focus—as once the soldiers came back, they’d need to be ready—could quiet their grumblings.

She could tell Raine regretted ever coming with them, and while his constant complaining would have usually annoyed her, she’d been awake last night when sobs shook his large frame, and his whispered “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Solana” had nearly broken her.

He’d probably been under the influence of that liquor every day since her death, and right now, all the feelings he’d repressed were coming right back.

She tried to smile at him as she made her way back, but as she bent her neck toward him, something whistled through the air, leaving a stinging kiss on the skin between her shoulder and throat.

“What…” Lessia lifted her bound hands to her neck, but she couldn’t reach it.

Cocking her head instead, she sensed some type of dart, or at least something with a sharp tip piercing her skin, as Merrick collapsed before her.

Blinking slowly, she tried to move toward him, but her limbs went sluggish, and darkness began pressing at the corners of her eyes, soon filling her entire vision.

But it wasn’t like falling asleep.

No, she was aware of the hands that unclasped the chains she was bound in.

Could feel the arms lifting her, dragging her boots on the hard floor as they moved her, and hear the men’s breathing, the words that seemed slurred to her, talking about something she couldn’t quite understand.

Lessia didn’t know how much time had passed, but after a while, she was placed in something.

A chair?

It must be, she decided when cold metal wrapped around her wrists and ankles again, and something leathery wrapped around her face.

But not over her eyes.

Instead, the strap tightened across her forehead.

As if to hold her head in place.

If she were able, she would have frowned.

It wasn’t like she could move anyway…

She could feel and hear, but it was as if she couldn’t communicate with her muscles.

Even her eyelids remained closed, no matter how hard she tried to pry them open.

“She done?”

A male voice broke through the clinking of fetters.

“She’ll need some time to be fully aware.”

Another male voice.

One she unfortunately recognized.

One that she’d heard speak but never seen the face of.

It was one of the guards who’d overseen her torture during the election process.

Lessia’s heart fought against whatever they’d injected her with, the slow beats pushing to accelerate, for adrenaline to rush through her blood.

If that man was here, this couldn’t be good.

“He’s waking up.”

She already hated that too-high-pitched voice.

And who was the “he” who was waking up?

Lessia’s eyelids fluttered as her heart gained more momentum, and she could finally get her fingers to twitch.

“So is she.”

“They’re strong—even her only being half-Fae.”

Lessia pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth as she regained more motion.

First her hands began flexing.

Then she could feel the ground beneath her feet.

Warmth flooded her veins, her pulse thrumming against the cold metal.

And finally…

Finally her eyes popped open.

Lessia had to snap them shut when bright light blinded her, and the shackles rattled as she instinctively reached up to rub her eyes, the jangled sound mocking her as it halted her movement.

Trying again, she opened her eyes a fraction, and the warmth that had begun heating her blood ignited to a burning flame when she took in the scene before her.

Merrick sat half dressed in a chair a few feet from her, thick chains with white powder sprinkled over them wrapped around his entire bare torso.

Several shackles also held his arms and legs in place, but when his eyes found hers, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in them.

Only relief.

Relief that slackened his features as his gaze dragged over her, then to the rest of the brightly lit room, and as she tried to follow it, she realized why.

The leather strap around her head wouldn’t allow her to move it; her gaze was allowed only forward, into the corner where Merrick’s chair was placed…

“No,” she breathed, realizing what Merrick had already understood.

“You see now, don’t you.” A hand landed on her shoulder, and the rage within her rose with each tap of the four fingers. “I was there during your torture and when they made you choose between the traitor and the blond whore. It was clear as day that you hurt more by making a choice between your friends, so I thought…”

The soldier continued to tap her shoulder as if he was building anticipation. “I thought it could be fun to play a little game.” His nails dug into her skin. “See how long it takes you to break, watching us slowly kill the Death Whisperer.”

“I’m going to kill you ,” Lessia snarled as she fought against the head strap.

The man laughed. “I don’t think so. You’re going to be a good little halfling and stay in your chair.”

She could hear him move about behind her chair, and she pressed her feet down into the ground to try to tip it over, try to make it fall, but it wouldn’t move an inch.

She snarled again.

It must be bolted into the ground.

“Lessia.”

Whipping her head up from trying to get out of the bind, she met Merrick’s eyes.

He smiled at her.

Fucking smiled.

“Don’t do that,” she hissed. “Don’t do this to me.”

Merrick smiled wider. “You’re stronger than you think. And I am also stronger than you think. I’ve been tortured before. By much worse enemies than some weak humans.” He threw a lazy wink behind her when someone grumbled.

Lessia shook her head, but before she could speak, two men walked up, one on either side of her chair, keeping their backs turned on her the entire time they stalked toward Merrick.

And even though it couldn’t have been more than six or seven steps, it felt like an eternity passed while she desperately met Merrick’s gaze over their cloaked heads.

She made herself breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as one of the men lifted his fist and, without warning, slammed it right into Merrick’s face.

Even though she could tell the man had used most, if not all, of his strength, Merrick’s face barely moved, and a low chuckle escaped him. “That’s all you got?”

The man struck again.

And again.

And again.

Every time, Merrick only laughed, his eyes dancing as he continued to meet Lessia’s across the room.

As the soldier lifted his hand once more, the other placed his own over his fist.

Walking up to Merrick, he leaned in close. “We heard about the blood oath to your king… It would seem the Death Whisperer wasn’t as dangerous as we were always told. Leashed like a pup for years…”

Merrick gave him a crimson-stained smile, a drop of blood snaking its way down his strong jaw as he shrugged. “You’re welcome to try me.”

The man clicked his tongue. “I think I shall.”

He jerked his head toward the other soldier. “Remove the chains from his left arm, but keep the one on his wrist.”

Lessia frowned as she continued to stare into Merrick’s eyes, and she didn’t miss his quick glance down, the tightening at the corners of his eyes as the man followed the orders.

A sense of foreboding despair settled on her chest, and it only worsened as the soldier continued to work on the bindings and the man who’d spoken walked out of Lessia’s line of sight.

She tried to collect herself as Merrick’s features remained passive, to make her locked muscles soften enough for her to speak.

“Y-you and me,” she got out, and Merrick smiled again.

A real smile.

Not the glacial one he’d offered the guard.

She forced her lips to form a shaky one back.

But when that guard returned to the spot beside Merrick and he held two sharp blades in his hands, there was no way she could keep it.

As the one who’d removed the shackles stepped back, the hooded soldier laughed darkly and dragged the tip of the blade over Merrick’s now-exposed arm. “You can still see the outline of the oath. But it’s definitely faded. Perhaps it’ll even disappear after a while…”

Lessia held her breath as she pushed away the thought beginning to form in her mind.

They wouldn’t.

Then the man laughed again, and her heart froze in her chest.

“It’s the mark of a traitor for the Fae, right? Why a snake, of all things?”

Merrick kept his mouth closed, his eyes fixed on Lessia.

“Answer me!” The knife moved to Merrick’s throat, and Lessia couldn’t take it when drops of blood trickled down his chest, pooling between those taut muscles.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Yes, it’s the sign of a traitor! Rioner bestows it on us if he deems us to have betrayed him or the crown. It’s the crest of another noble family that the Rantziers defeated in a war a long time ago. They commanded snakes, and Rioner became obsessed with them. He keeps them as pets and will use them to kill if it pleases him.”

“So elaborate.” The man yawned. “I guess you Fae live so long you need to find things like this to entertain yourselves…” He brought the knife back to Merrick’s arm, balancing the tip against the skin right beneath his elbow.

Right where the snake tattoo would have begun coiling had it still been there.

“I don’t have that kind of time. But…” He pressed the knife until it broke Merrick’s golden skin. “You betrayed Ellow as well. Helping a spy in our election… That’s what I consider a traitor.”

“Please,” Lessia whispered as she watched the blood well up around the edge of the blade. “Please don’t do this.”

Merrick’s eyes caught hers when she lifted them, and once again he gave her a smile.

A smile she could barely make out through the tears beginning to cloud her vision.

Still staring into her eyes, he spoke in that lethally low voice she’d been used to before everything changed between them. “Mark me. Hurt me. I truly don’t care. But you should know…” Merrick licked a drop of blood off his full lips. “I will come for you. And once I do—it’ll be worse than your darkest nightmares. I’ll show you exactly why they call me the Death Whisperer.”

Lessia could see the shudder going through the man not holding the knife.

But the other one didn’t flinch, and that a smirk must twist his features was evident when he responded, “So cocky. Is it because you’re Fae or because you’re an idiot?”

Merrick’s canines scraped against his bottom lip as he cocked his head. “No. It’s because I’m that deadly.”

“M-maybe we shouldn’t.” The other soldier walked up to his friend’s side. “What if Loche…”

“Loche will not care,” the knife-wielding man snarled. “They betrayed him. Both of them! He only said to keep them alive.”

He spun around to face Lessia, his cloaked face bent, but she could still feel his loathing stare burn over her, and the fact that Loche wanted them alive barely registered as he took a step toward her.

“Both of them,” he mumbled as he took another step. “You’re both traitors, and everyone should know.”

“Stop,” Merrick growled. “You were doing this to me. Not her.”

The man didn’t slow his pace as he threw over his shoulder, “I’ve made no promises. We shall mark you both.”

“Human,” Merrick seethed. “You’ll beg for your nightmares if you touch her. And when you’re dead, your head severed from your body, your soul will continue begging for them for all eternity.”

“Theon… I don’t know about this. Loche cared for the halfling at one time.”

The man halted at her feet before spinning around to face the soldier who had hesitantly followed him. “I don’t care. Hold her shoulders.”

“But…”

“Now!”

Lessia swallowed as the man walked around her and took her shoulders in a hard grip, holding her against the wooden backrest as the other cut off the arm of her tunic.

“Lessia, look at me,” Merrick ordered, and her heart shattered at the pain in his voice.

But she made herself sit straight, her chin up and eyes clear of tears as she met Merrick’s dark gaze.

It didn’t matter what they did to her.

It didn’t matter that she had stopped obsessively pulling at clothing to hide the dark mark only a few days before.

It didn’t matter she’d enjoyed wearing dresses again—even if those dresses had been more revealing than she’d perhaps have chosen herself.

It didn’t matter.

She didn’t scream when the blade cut through her skin.

Nor when warmth began running down, dripping onto her thigh.

Nor when the man triumphantly emphasized each letter he carved into her newly healed arm:

T

R

A

I

T

O

R

She didn’t even flinch when he poured coal dust into the wound, rubbing it in with his calloused hands.

She only looked into Merrick’s eyes, watching as emotions fought over his features.

Anger.

Fury.

Guilt.

Worry.

Love.

She was certain that was what it was.

Because she knew that pain.

Knew it as well as an old friend.

The devastation of watching a loved one hurt.

She didn’t brace herself when the men retreated from her chair and returned to Merrick without a moment’s delay.

If he allowed himself to feel every moment of pain watching her go through it, she wouldn’t deny him the same bravery.

Her eyes remained locked with his over the crouched backs of the guards, refusing to even blink the entire time they worked on his forearm.

They continued to stare at each other even as the men cleaned off the blade, even as they held a short conversation before announcing they were leaving them there to ensure their Fae blood would heal them enough for the coal to seal within their skin.

Neither of them spoke as the men left the room.

What was there to say?

They’d lived with a traitor mark before.

They’d do it again.