Chapter 11 Lessia #2
“No one is killing anyone,” Iviry broke in, her words laced with the demand of a leader. “We’ve come to offer you the opportunity to join us. Let us stop the invasion and instead find a way to live together.”
“Don’t trust any of them! That golden-eyed one killed her uncle! Our king!” one of the Vastala Fae yelled. “And she betrayed the Ellow regent before that! She has mind control powers. Look at how she’s tamed the Death Whisperer, for gods’ sake! He’s clearly out of his mind, mating with a half-br—”
Merrick was gone from her side before she even had time to say stop, and chaos ensued as his hand wrapped around the Fae’s neck, dragging him against the bars. Merrick’s whispers—which awoke within Lessia, too—began booming through the room, and rebels and Fae alike started screaming.
Worry rushed over her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. She stumbled as she tried to get to Merrick, and she wasn’t sure whose arms slipped under her own to keep her upright as she closed her eyes, forcing those whispers away.
It was strange—she could feel Merrick fighting her, that golden thread so clear in her mind vibrating with anger. But when she touched it, only gently, careful not to tug, it was as if that anger evaporated, and the whispers faded from the room as quickly as they’d appeared.
Merrick’s chest heaved as he pulled the Fae against the bars once more—so hard that the Vastala male lost consciousness, his body crumpling to the floor—and then he was back at her side, replacing Kerym’s arms with his own.
She could feel his guilt, but there was also a tiredness in it—one that resounded within herself—and she only shook her head when Merrick started to say something.
“He was a bastard,” she said. “But you need to stop striking people. At least for now.”
Merrick seemed as if he was about to argue—she could tell an I won’t fucking promise that was at the tip of his tongue.
Still, when she slipped a hand under his tunic, letting her nails drag down his back like she’d done yesterday when he pounded into her, and threw him a pointed look, the Death Whisperer snapped his mouth shut.
She was tempted to praise him—whisper good boy, like he liked to commend her—but that might be pushing it, so instead she turned to Loche, who appeared entirely too amused by the situation, especially since some of the shifters kept Meyah back, one of them hissing, “You lied to us too. We would have died if it weren’t for the half-Fae. ”
A few others made concurring sounds, and that was enough for Lessia to go through with the idea that had started to brew within her.
Eyes bouncing between Iviry, who shook her head at Merrick, although she didn’t seem particularly annoyed—probably because this was normal Fae behavior—and Loche, Lessia asked, “May I speak?”
Their nods mirrored each other, and while a torrent of apprehension swept through her that had Merrick frown and try to step closer, she only caressed his back again before stepping out into the rounded space Loche and Iviry backed away from, allowing her more room.
“I did kill my uncle,” Lessia said as her shaking fingers moved to unclasp her drenched cloak, the fabric falling to the ground with a thud.
“But if I hadn’t, most of you would have been dead.
Rebel, Fae, human. It didn’t matter to Rioner Rantzier.
” Her eyes moved to the Oakgards’ Fae. “You as well. You said that you didn’t trust him…
I think that was clever. Because he’d have found a way to kill you all as well. ”
As her hands moved to the buttons keeping her tunic together, curious whispers swept through the crowd of people on all sides, but thankfully, it remained mostly silent, with sharp breaths and the occasional clatter of teeth the only sounds joining the wind that hit the broken stone walls.
“I did betray Loche,” Lessia continued as she undid the first button. “But if I hadn’t, Rioner would have killed me, and probably most of his people.”
Lessia undid another button, and she knew she’d decided to do this herself, but she looked to Merrick to gather strength.
He seemed to have understood what she was doing because there was a shine to his eyes that she knew he didn’t allow often—a softness and warmth that made her fall even more in love with him.
His gaze held hers the entire time she undid her tunic and let it join the cloak on the floor, the breeze that wrapped around her naked chest and stomach somehow seeming less threatening with every moment she stood there.
Lessia wasn’t sure if it was entirely silent only to her ears, but to her, it was deafening—almost suffocating—as she spoke again, her eyes never leaving Merrick’s.
“This is what Loche’s people did to me.” Her arm shot out, the flames flickering on the harsh traitor mark winding its way up her arm, the black letters somehow contrasting to her skin even more in these cellars.
Her other hand waved toward her torso, where Merrick’s name was branded every few inches, then to the weak outline of the snake that had been her blood oath.
“This is what Rioner’s people did to me.
And this”—she lifted her hand to touch her nose, where that nosebleed had started once more—“this is what you all did to me. This is what’s happening to me.
To Merrick. All because I died for you. We all keep doing this to each other! Don’t you see that?”
She waited for a second, hearing her sister’s soft gasp, and was grateful when Raine’s low voice joined it, soothing words being whispered into her sister’s ear.
“I have been branded.” She cleared her throat.
“I have been shunned by two people… I am never Fae enough. I am never human enough. I have lived on the streets and in hiding and in fear. I know what desperation tastes like!” Lessia’s voice carried strongly even as she watched a lonely tear trickle down Merrick’s cheek.
“I know what you all are fighting for! But we want the same thing! I died for it. Because I believe so much that we can all have that.”
Lessia swallowed when her eyes drew to the side and she realized it wasn’t only Merrick who was crying. Her sister, Raine, Loche, Kerym, the witches, and even Iviry wiped at her face with the back of her hand.
“Iviry and Loche are marrying to join our lands—you’ll have a shifter and a human and a Fae leading Havlands.
Help them build it up again! Help them unite us, rather than dividing us.
Because when we’re united… we’re unstoppable!
” Lessia moved her gaze to the Fae who had taunted her before.
“Let us save your people. Let us help you. We will find a way to survive together.”
Releasing a shuddering breath once the words she’d wanted to say were out there, Lessia bent down to get her tunic, and as soon as she did, the person she loved most in the world—her everything—was at her side, helping her into it.
While he didn’t speak any words… she could tell she’d done the right thing.
“You’re the one who rose from death,” a cracked voice whispered, and Lessia whipped her head to the Oakgards’ Fae again, watching an older male with gray streaks at his temples join the one with the black eye by the bars. “I heard one of you had come back… but I didn’t believe it.”
Lessia just stared at him. She’d never seen a Fae look old before.
Experienced, yes. But old? Never.
Merrick seemed to think the same thing, because he pulled her against his chest, his heart thumping so hard she knew he was preparing to get her out of there if needed.
“What do you know? And…” Pellie stepped forward, her nostrils flaring. “You’re half-witch.”
Soria stepped forward as well, her eyes sharp as they went between her sister and the old man.
“I am, yes.” The man grinned at the sisters. “And like I can see you’re realizing… that’s why I appear to be an old man at merely forty. Can’t be both Fae and witch without balance. Early death is my fate.”
“What’s the one who rose from death?” Merrick demanded, ignoring how both Pellie and Soria pressed forward, Kerym following them like a shadow.
“Oh, I don’t know much. The guardians aren’t too excited to share with those who decide not to practice, but there is a widely known prophecy that for the one who clings to life, there must be one who rises from death.
” The man’s eyes roved over Lessia, and she almost gave in to the urge to shrink into herself, feeling much more vulnerable under his stare than she had been when she was half naked before.
With a hiss, Merrick spun to Loche, who bowed his head.
“Old man, you’re going on a little trip,” the regent said, waving for Raine and Merrick to get him out of the cellars.
“For the rest of you”—Loche shared a look with Iviry before continuing—“I think Lessia said it all. We’ll give you the night to decide what you’d like to do: rot in these cellars or join us in a new world.”
With that, Loche spun on his heel, Iviry following as if they’d practiced their exit for centuries.
While Lessia cast the old man a final look, she couldn’t help the hope that warmed her chest as her friends placed hands on shoulders and backs, talking quietly to each other the entire way back to the cabin, no one wanting to spend the night alone.