Page 15

15

Merrick

M y mother was an ass. If we weren’t related, would I find a way to love her? Her behavior since I brought home my queen battled with the softer, almost sweet mother I remembered from when I was a child. She’d changed after my father’s death, and despite my attempts to find common ground with her since, she’d turned into…whatever had entered my throne room now.

With a smile containing too much cunning, she strode forward as the herald announced Reyla.

I lifted one eyebrow. Mother’s gaze met mine, and she almost appeared chastened, before she smoothed her features into her usual, haughty mask. With her nose held high enough she might be able to sniff the ceiling, she strutted ahead of her ladies and guards, along the aisle to the seat she took in the front each day .

Those watching erupted into hisses, cackles, and titters.

My court was dissolving around me, and I couldn't determine how best to fix it. I needed to hand Reyla a court that could march forward, not one shattered by disarray.

Since I'd arrived from the port with Reyla, I'd been bracing myself for a confrontation with my mother, but it still surprised me how my hands tightened into fists as she glided toward her seat. Her ladies helped her settle and took seats for themselves around her.

It would be easy to let this slight go. Yet this court needed to know who was in charge.

It was not her.

The herald announced Reyla again, and everyone rose, even my mother. My wife walked sedately toward me with two of her ladies behind her. Only the twitch of her hand on the hilt of one of her blades showed her unease. She knew the protocol, which meant she was aware of the slight my mother had delivered.

I stood as she ascended the stairs to the dais. She carried herself with grace and determination, the kind of spirit that could light up any darkness, even the shadows dooming the latest Evergorne king.

As she came close, I extended my hand, taking hers, our fingers intertwining despite the furor pressing down on the air. Hoarse whispers slashed through the room as she settled into her throne beside me.

“Still doing alright, Wildfire?” I asked, focused solely on her.

“The pain is gone, thank you. No more potion needed.” Her bright smile held only a touch of sadness. Seeing it made me even angrier at my mother. “I have a few odd occurrences to discuss, but they can wait.”

What now ?

She settled on her throne, and Calista and Moira arranged her skirt before easing to the side to be nearby in case she had need.

As the herald stepped forward to announce the first supplicant, I held up my hand. The man stopped, giving me a deep bow.

“Mother,” I called out. “You will join us on the dais.”

Her brow furrowed and a flash of irritation cut through her facade. With a lift of her chin, she stood and strolled toward us like this throne was her birthright, which it would be if her hissed rumor of my parentage was true.

She came to a halt in front of me, ignoring my bride. “You wish to speak to me, dear son?”

“You fucking need to respect Reyla.” I kept my voice low, for her ears and Reyla's alone.

Only Moira, standing closest, must’ve heard, because her eyes widened.

Mother’s gaze flicked to my bride. “Is she teaching you this appalling behavior? You will not swear at m?—”

“I do whatever I fucking please,” I barked. “And you do what I fucking please as well.”

Moira snorted. Calista frowned.

I reminded myself to remain in control.

“Merrick,” Mother chided softly, like I was still ten and couldn’t get the advisors to listen to me instead of her.

“Treat my wife with respect or else,” I growled.

“Respect?” Mother flicked her fingers out, adjusting her skirt. “It takes more than a crown to make a queen.”

“She does not need to prove herself to you.” Only to the court, who already saw her grace, dignity, and sharp mind. “Reyla is the queen of Evergorne. My queen.” Despite the anger boiling beneath my skin, I kept my voice steady.

This woman thrived on disarray, and I would not show it to her. I’d lost control for a moment, but I’d strapped it back down again.

Mother's lips tightened, and fury churned behind her eyes. “Do you think they look up to her, Merrick? An outsider has no place in our court, one you’ve made a mistake inviting?—”

“Don’t,” I spat. “Do not question her place here. You undermine this court with your bitter jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” Her glare now encased Reyla as well. “Of…this?”

“Continue on this path, and by the fates, you will face my fury.”

Mother leaned in closer with rage swirling in her eyes. “Do not challenge me, dear son.”

I already was.

“Behave or else,” I snarled. “I fucking mean it.”

A deadly gleam shot through her eyes, and the look she sent Reyla dripped contempt. With a turn, she started striding across the dais, only to pivot back. “Kings come and kings go, but queens are forever. Remember that, Merrick.”

She stomped down the stairs and across the open area, not stopping when she reached her ladies but breezing past them and out of the room. Her ladies rose and scurried after her.

As the doors banged close, titters swirled through the gathering.

Even Moira and Calista appeared shocked.

Reyla remained still beside me, her face flaming. Her growing frustration would not surpass mine.

“Should I have said something?” she asked quietly. “Soothed her in some way?”

“I had to confront her.” Weariness settled in my bones. “There is no good time.” I'd acted in response to her behavior, and I could see now that my mother had probably driven me to it.

She’d made me snap. Half-bellow .

At her subtle command, I'd shown the court that there was a feud within the royal family, that she and I were at odds. I could not allow this to continue.

It would take time to repair their perception. Time I didn’t have.

I took Reyla’s hand and lifted it, kissing the back while keeping my eyes locked on hers. “I'll fix this, somehow.”

“If you can. I want to help. I hate that she's doing all she can to undermine you when…” When I could be dead soon. But my mother didn't know that. The entire court was bound by the curse. A few facts might slip through, and they had with Reyla, but if I died on my thirtieth birthday, it would be as much of a surprise as when my father passed, and his father before him. No one would connect my death to theirs. And so it would go for each new generation.

Unless we ended it now.

If Reyla did not give birth to my son, he wouldn't grow up only to die on his thirtieth birthday.

The curse would stop with me—as would the male rule of Evergorne Court.

Yet, by the time I died, my mother would have planted enough seeds of doubt that the high lords and ladies would select her as the new queen, shoving Reyla aside. The only thing that would keep this from happening would be a pregnancy that would deliver a new heir.

I wanted to snarl and gnash my teeth, but I told myself to be patient. The thread of hope I'd clung to since I met Reyla was a fragile, shredding thing. I worried it would snap before long.

“I'll fix it,” I said again. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

“She makes the mistakes, not you.”

“Yet she's dragging you into this battle. You should be settling easily into your role here at Evergorne, not dealing with all this. ”

The curse.

My mother.

My imminent death.

So much needed doing, but I only knew a fraction of how we could end this. What sucked the most was that I couldn't tell her much of anything. She had to arrive at each destination on her own and without my guidance. That much I'd learned from my father, though I’d added to the small amount of knowledge he’d shared.

“My role here is still being defined,” Reyla said. “We’re going to rule this court together.”

This was why I could still cling to the belief we could break the curse.

Because I had this woman by my side.

As the court ended and the lords and ladies left, Talvon, the head of my guard, signaled he'd like to approach the throne. At my nod, he bounded up the stairs and stopped in front of us. “Lord Briscalar has returned. He’s waiting to speak with you in the Gold Room.”

“Excellent.” I turned to Reyla. “You may have noticed I'd borrowed the head of your entourage.”

“I was going to send for him soon. Days ago, he said he needed to speak with me, but we were caught up with other things, and I didn’t find time to seek him. Where has he been?”

“That—” I swept my gaze across those lingering in the back of the room, their attention, and likely their ears, on us and not whatever they were pretending to do. “I'd like to share that news with you in a different, quieter location. Plus hear of your earlier concerns. ”

Her attention flicking to the doors on the opposite side of the throne room, she rose. “Moira? Calista? I’ll join you in my suite later.”

They dipped forward in curtsies and left the throne room.

Talvon waited for them to leave. His gaze slid to my wife before returning to me. “This relates to the borgons.”

“And the meeting we interrupted the other day?” My mother and her sycophants. I was looking forward to hearing what he might’ve discovered there.

“I’m still collecting information on that matter but should have a report for you soon.”

“The borgons it is, then.”

Talvon’s gaze shot to Reyla again, and he frowned, but it smoothed quickly. He dipped his head forward. “Of course, my king.”

We exited through the back door and strode down the hall, turning left at the end and walking out into the main corridor with rooms on either side.

“What were you concerned about?” I asked Reyla softly, unsure if she’d want to discuss it in Talvon’s and Lord Briscalar’s presence.

She related two incidents, one in the kitchen and the other with my mother in the hall. Hearing about them only made my insides start snarling again. I was sure my mother had glamoured the floor, though I couldn’t imagine why other than to concern Reyla. As for the kitchen… I’d speak with my guard. A chall might’ve been an accident. My mother was not.

“If either incident was related to the curse, it would’ve triggered the veil,” she said.

“I’ll handle this.”

Nibbling on her fingernail, she mentioned that my mother was coming for tea the next day .

“Be careful,” I said. “Remember her skill and how she loves to manipulate others.”

Reyla lifted her chin and gave me a sly smile. “I’m not bad at manipulation myself. I dare her to try again.” The grimness in her eyes should stand as a warning to everyone, including the wizard. “If she misbehaves again, I’m not above using my spicy lightning.”

“There’s my wildfire. Just remember that whatever you do or say to her can be used against us.”

“I’ll be careful.”

We continued down the hall, and Talvon hurried ahead to open the door to the parlor. “The lord is waiting inside.”

The Gold Room lived up to its name, though gold didn’t quite capture the warmth of the space. It was sunlight trapped in thread; horig woven into walls. Rich tapestries hung on either side and between the three tall windows, showing stories from Evergorne’s distant past. Heroes standing beside creatures shooting flames and distant Evergorne kings standing beneath the twin ravens of our family crest, all stitched in hues of amber, ochre, and shimmering gold. Each tapestry was bordered with intricate ivy patterns that seemed to creep and climb to the edges of the ceiling. The walls had been painted pale cream with gilded floral designs curling in each corner.

A grand fireplace had been built into the right wall, its mantel carved from gleaming trillastone and embedded with clusters of gold that caught the flickering flames. Above, a striking, round mirror etched in gold reflected our images back at us. Two plush armchairs with high backs flanked the hearth, their fabric dyed the deep amber of autumn leaves.

The central seating area had been arranged around a golden-threaded rug embroidered with faint swirling patterns that were almost imperceptible unless the light caught them right. A settee upholstered in yellow fabric faced the fireplace with matching cushioned chairs on either side with a large, polished low table between them.

Lord Briscalar rose from one of the yellow chairs, bowing to us both. His gaze shot to Talvon, and his smile curled up before smoothing.

“Wait outside,” I told our guards.

Talvon shut the door, and the four of us settled, me and Reyla on the sofa, him taking the remaining high-back chair opposite the lord.

“Tell us what you've discovered, Lord Briscalar,” I said, Talvon listening intently. As head of my guard, he'd have to deal with whatever might be coming. No, he'd insist on standing in front of me when I dealt with whatever might be coming.

The lord dipped his head toward Reyla. “My queen, first I must apologize for not being present over the past few days. I’ll make it up to you with diligence and devout service.”

“It hasn’t been long,” Reyla said, her voice light. “I was otherwise occupied, but I missed you.” I was probably the only one who could hear the touch of humor in her voice. “Please don't worry one bit, though I appreciate your concern. My ladies are more than enough to attend to my needs.”

She cared for Lord Briscalar. Why hadn't I seen that? She'd grown up without a loving father, and she might actually see the lord as a small substitute for that role. The fact that she would take the time to reassure him showed me again that she was already an amazing queen.

“You’re much too kind.” Briscalar straightened in his chair, his lips curling into a humble smile. “I truly appreciate it. As always, it’s a delight to serve you.” His sharpening gaze landed on me. “My king, as you requested, I traveled into the hills beyond the wall. Visiting relatives provided the perfect cover for my inquiries.” His attention shifted to Reyla. “I’ve been snooping , one might call it, though I’m not a person who would ever use such a… How shall we say it? It’s a silly term for this grave a matter.”

“Of course not.” Reyla’s mouth twitched, but she stared at him with a touch of concern.

Briscalar inclined his head toward her, appreciation softening his otherwise somber expression. “I prefer to call it a strategic investigation, my queen. Done with the utmost diligence and discretion.”

“I'd expect nothing less.”

I leaned forward. “What did you discover?”

“Troubling news about the borgons, Sire. The attack suffered by the farmer near the northeastern grove wasn’t an isolated event. Reports of similar incidents have sprung up across the stretches of land outside the city walls. Livestock torn apart, though never stolen.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I believe once I’ve finished, you may have the beginning of an answer,” he said gravely.

Talvon watched the lord with considerable interest—and a touch of concern that went beyond regular friendship.

Was it like that, then? If so, I wished them both well.

“What about the towns closer to the walls?” Reyla asked. “How are the people there preparing? Have they placed guards, sent flights overhead…” She frowned. “Oh, that's right. You don't use dragons in the same way I did while growing up.”

To ride into battle, she meant.

Although, long ago, we’d…

I frowned, trying to grab hold of the thought, but it slipped from my mind before I could latch onto it and hold it up in the light.

“They're doing what they can,” Lord Briscalar said carefully. “Securing their homes and animals. Rotating guards at night, though there have been some attacks during daylight hours as well.”

“This can’t be true,” Talvon breathed, turning his widened eyes my way. “They only come at night. Never during the day. And the last attacks… They were so long ago, I don’t remember when. I was a child.”

“Except recently,” the lord said sadly. “Our people are terrified. Some have abandoned their homes and fled deeper into the forest. Others are discussing packing up and moving within the city walls for protection. They don't feel safe out there any longer.”

My people. Our people. How best to handle this?

“Why are they attacking now?” Reyla asked, deep in thought, her gaze focused on the table. Her attention snapped to the lord. “You said the daylight attacks are new.”

Talvon nodded, watching her. Judging her, perhaps. He'd soon discover what I already had. This woman had the cunning of ten Evergorne kings.

“Why are they suddenly attacking frequently?” Her brow furrowed. “They've lived in the area all this time, correct?”

“They have, my queen,” Briscalar said. “Other than a few random-appearing attacks on the wall, and many years ago, they've lived in isolation, ignoring those farming in the hills and the city, for that matter. We’ve maintained the walls, naturally. We can do nothing less. But honestly, it’s been so long since the borgons tried to breach them that even I barely remember.”

“Are the borgons beings with complex thought processes like us?” she asked.

I shook my head. “They're fierce creatures with wings and furry bodies. The size of a small shed. They have fangs and vicious claws as poor Lord Ferlaern discovered. I don't think they're capable of thoughts beyond those of a feral beast. ”

A shiver rippled through her. “Then they’re not stealing livestock for their own farms. Is their prior food supply dwindling?”

“If anything, it's increasing,” Lord Briscalar said. “My relatives spoke of the vast herds in the fields beyond their homes. The hunting has been excellent, they say, and I’m grateful, since their flocks and domesticated animals are being taken.”

She frowned. “Then why are they attacking defended farms when there are herds available?”

“One of their elders had a wild suggestion.” The lord shifted on his chair. “At first I dismissed it, because it cannot be true.”

“Tell me,” Reyla said.

“The elder believes the borgons are attempting to reclaim something they believe belongs to them.”

I frowned. “Territory? They’ve crawled out of whatever cave system or dense thicket they’ve been hiding in to collect…what?”

“No one truly knows. It's not like these creatures can speak and tell us.” The lord’s voice dropped, his tone coming out reverent. “The village elder also said the borgons want their history back. Their purpose.”

Reyla leaned back in her chair, her elbows bent, and her hands clasped, lying snug on her chest. “What could that be?” She held up her finger, frowning. “In the library, I read a book that stated… No, wait.” Her shoulders sagged. “It’s not related to this.”

“What did it say?”

“It’s related to dragons.”

“Ah, yes, then.” Briscalar shook his head. “Please remember that what the elder mentioned are merely stories told around a fire, and it’s hard to give such things credence. A few say that the borgons once patrolled these lands. If this is true, I cannot imagine in what capacity.”

“Patrolling implies protection.” Reyla looked down at her hands before her gaze sought mine. “Attacking our people’s livestock does not.”

“These killings…” Briscalar sighed. “This is what’s frightening our people the most. Rather than take what they kill, the borgons are leaving messages behind. They’re not feeding on the poor animals. The livestock are left maimed, and their bodies are arranged in a pattern that—” He glanced at Reyla. “A pattern that stunned me, quite frankly.”

She sucked in a breath. “What sort of pattern?”

Talvon drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, staring forward in thought. “Can you recreate it for us?”

Briscalar nodded. “Easily. It's…quite chilling, actually. I do hope I’m only misreading it, because, if I’m not… Well, allow me to show you, and you can decide for yourselves.” A snap of his fingers and his magical pad of paper and pen appeared on the table in front of him. “Draw—” He shot Reyla a grim smile. “ Please draw a pattern at my direction.” He leaned close and whispered, asking for corrections as needed.

As the pen scratched across the surface, the room felt smaller, the walls pressing close in a way that had nothing to do with the old stone.

When Briscalar finished, the pen dropped to the table with a sharp click and remained there.

The lord turned the paper around for us to see. “Please tell me I’m mistaken, that this does not look like—” He winced as he looked directly at me.

I lifted the pad of paper and though the posed bodies were gruesome by themselves, it was the fact that they’d been arranged to form a perfectly executed drawing of the Evergorne crest that horrified me the most.

Two ravens facing each other with their tails and wings outspread behind them.

What in the fates could this mean?