Page 58

Chapter

Fifty-Six

“ M errick!”

Lessia dropped down beside the unmoving Fae, using two fingers to feel for a pulse on his neck. Blowing out a breath after finding a heartbeat, she searched him for injuries, wincing when she found a deep, bleeding wound in his back.

“Is he all right?”

Loche dropped down beside her, flicking his head to get his hair out of his face.

She stared back at him with guilt sloshing in her stomach, but there was no hurt in his eyes, only relief and worry for her guard.

Swallowing the lump of despair in her throat, she responded quietly, “He’s alive, but we need to get him back to the castle.”

Nodding, Loche rose to his feet. “I’ll help you.”

Together, they lifted him off the ground and dragged his body between them as they slowly made their way back across the dark cliffs .

Merrick’s large frame was heavy to carry, and Lessia tried to focus on keeping him upright instead of on the knot of shame that tightened in her gut every time she caught Loche’s eyes over his head.

They were both out of breath by the time they reached the light spilling out of the gates from the courtyard, and as Loche kicked open the creaking metal wicket, guards sprinted up to them, shifting Merrick’s arms over their shoulders.

“Take him to the healer wing,” Loche ordered.

“No.” Merrick regained consciousness, head slumping forward between the two men but voice surprisingly strong. “Just take me to my room. I’ll heal quickly.”

“Merrick, you need someone to look at your wound. It’s deep,” Lessia argued.

“Please, Lessia,” he begged, his voice quivering as he sucked in a breath.

She stared at the Fae.

Not once had she heard him sound like this.

Hadn’t even imagined he ever could.

The vulnerability in his plea tugged at her already broken heart, and when he whispered “Please” once more, she nodded reluctantly.

“Take him to his chambers. I will take care of him.”

When Loche opened his mouth, she shot him a dark glare, and he finally bowed his head, gesturing for the guards to follow her command.

She walked behind them while they half carried, half fought Merrick as he tried to walk by himself to his chambers, shaking her head when the Fae snarled at the two men as they tried to lift him.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the door to his room, but as the guards were about to walk through with him, Merrick hissed, “Only her. ”

Rolling her eyes, she thanked the guards and slipped under Merrick’s arm, ignoring his grumblings as she led him to the bed.

After walking back and kicking the door shut, she sat down next to him and started pulling at his cloak.

Merrick let her slip it off, but when she pulled at his tunic, he shoved her hands away.

“We need to clean it, at least,” she grumbled. “Stop acting like a child.”

He tried to push her off again, but when she didn’t give up, he eventually resigned, his head slumping even farther forward than usual as she peeled the blood-soaked tunic off his muscled back.

“Lift your arms,” she ordered.

Merrick hesitated for a moment but finally raised his arms over her head.

“Good male,” she joked as she pulled the tunic off. “Now—”

Lessia sucked in a sharp breath.

A silver snake tattoo twisted around Merrick’s forearm, coiling its way up his large bicep, the dark eyes of the snake glaring right at her.

“You’re—you’re—” she stuttered.

His head fell to his chest.

Merrick was blood-sworn to the king.

Lessia stared at the tattoo, and couldn’t help but trace it with her finger.

It was identical to hers, with the same twists and turns, a vicious reminder that the king had them in his grasp.

The mark of a Fae traitor.

But Merrick had been in the king’s service for centuries. Surely he couldn’t…

“How long?” she whispered .

His head tilted slightly, but no words left his lips.

As no words would have left Lessia’s lips if she’d been asked the same question.

“The entire time?” She almost didn’t want the answer.

But the small twitch of his jaw told her everything she needed to know.

“Oh, Merrick,” she whispered as she moved closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tight.

He stiffened at first but then leaned into her embrace, his heart hammering in sync with hers as the air turned thick with grief.

No wonder he understood her so well.

He was living the same life.

Had been living it for hundreds of years.

They sat like that, quiet and holding on to each other for a long time.

It was only when Lessia remembered his wound that she got up and cleared her throat. “I will get some water and cloths to clean you up.”

With heavy steps, she made her way to the bathing chamber, where she picked up a bucket already filled with water and a soft cloth hanging off the side of the bath. As she made to walk out, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and winced at the paleness of her face.

Staring into the lifeless amber eyes, she ground her teeth.

She should have figured it out.

The fact that Merrick not once had mistakenly looked into her eyes was surely a result of King Rioner’s orders. His insinuations about the evil men in Vastala. His attempt at protecting her from the king by choosing his words so carefully.

She dragged a hand through her damp hair, her finger getting stuck where the tips had frozen from the chill wind.

How had he ended up like this?

He was so powerful.

Not weak, like she’d been.

Lessia sighed.

He wouldn’t be able to tell her.

Averting her eyes from the mirror, she walked out into the softly lit chamber again.

Merrick had lain down on his side on the bed, blood dripping onto the pale blanket. Streams of moonlight danced over his bare torso, the silver in them mockingly mirroring the silver tattoo wrapped around his strong arm and the pearly hair splayed out across the covers.

She eyed him as she approached, and the tension lining his shoulders eased slightly as she sat down.

After dipping the cloth into the bucket, Lessia carefully cleaned his wound.

It was deep but had started clotting, his Fae blood already working hard to heal him.

Merrick barely seemed to notice, and once she finished, his breathing had slowed, his eyes closed, and his features softened.

She tiptoed to the closet, pulled out a thick blanket, and covered him with it.

Lingering by the side of the bed, she gently stroked his face, letting her finger travel from his high cheekbones to his strong jaw, pushing a strand of hair behind his pointed ear.

“What happened to you?” she whispered as he shifted in his sleep.

Merrick continued sleeping, his face seeming so young without the tension and contempt that usually lined it, and something tugged at her heart as she wondered whether this was what he’d looked like before he’d fallen into the king’s grasp .

How had King Rioner snared the Death Whisperer?

Merrick was one of the strongest Fae in Vastala—in all Havlands.

His face twitched, and as she smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows, she realized there was somewhere she could potentially learn more about him.

With a final caress, she sneaked out of the room.

Several guards stood posted outside, and as she started to walk down the hallway, two of them quietly followed her as she made her way up the spiral staircase to the library.

Outside the library doors, she managed to convince them she needed some time alone after allowing one of the guards to search the tower first. When he came back, assuring her no one was lying in wait, she thanked him and walked inside.

She hadn’t bothered with the books about the Fae when she was here before.

She’d seen them but hadn’t thought they would be very helpful in learning as much about Ellow as she could.

She made her way up toward the top floor, pausing on the final staircase to eye the beautiful carvings of Fae decorating the broad wooden railings.

The carved stories were of battle and fighting but also of love and friendship, one depicting Queen Trista, the original queen of Vastala, and her consort, Melekh.

Their love had been epic.

Lessia’s father had told her stories of how Trista had been promised to another Fae of royal blood but had fallen in love with a foot soldier and had refused to leave him, even as the noble Fae threatened her crown.

Lessia smiled at the defiance in the queen’s eyes, clear as day even in the wooden carving.

She’d hoped for that kind of love when she was younger.

Tearing her eyes away, she mounted the final steps onto the crescent-shaped floor, where she browsed the shelves until she reached one about the Fae battles.

Lessia sat down on the wooden table, as there were no chairs on this floor, placed the book in her lap, and flipped it open.

The first pages depicted the many wars fought in the early days after the Fae moved to Vastala—the power struggles between the elementals and the mentals.

Then Merrick was named for the first time.

His brotherhood had famously squashed a devastating war by killing an entire army of Fae that threatened Vastala.

Together with Raine—rumored to be the most powerful mental Fae ever to walk any realm—and the rest of their brotherhood, Merrick had stood against thousands upon the beaches of Vastala.

And came out victorious.

But nowhere did it mention why they fought for King Rioner’s family—why they’d stood against their own kin, the mental Fae.

Lessia slammed the dusty book shut when she didn’t find any more mentions of Merrick and was about to jump to her feet to look for another when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Whipping her head up, she found Loche leaning against the railing, his eyes thoughtful as he observed her. She couldn’t stop a shiver jerking her shoulders, and a smile pulled at his lips as he followed the tremor running through her.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Loche made his way over until he stood right before her. She tilted her head to continue meeting his eyes, forcing herself to hold back a wince at the rush of guilt that tightened her chest .