Chapter 35 Merrick
Merrick
As they rode toward the small white house on the hill, a foreign sound permeated the air, joining the waves crashing against the cliffs to their right and the soft wind rustling through the green grass to their left.
Merrick’s ears perked, and he turned his face toward the sea at the same time as Lessia, her head lifting from where she’d sat leaning against his chest, when the strange melody floated toward them.
They stiffened in unison. Lessia’s long hair and the horse’s white mane were the only things moving as the animal also halted—the mare knowing exactly what made that noise.
War drums. That’s what rumbled far in the distance, the waves carrying it over the sea, even though no shadows of ships reflected against the sky meeting the water.
Merrick could tell that Lessia had stopped breathing, her chest no longer moving in sync with his own, and he cursed silently when he felt cold guilt creep up her spine, driving one of those horrible noises that sounded like a dry sob out of her.
Nudging the mare forward, Merrick got her into a trot, wanting her hooves beating against the ground to mute the sound of doom and terror that would soon be unleashed upon their friends.
He’d known it was a risk, bringing Lessia here. The north side of Vastala wasn’t just where his commander lived or where the small town he hoped they’d make it to, to officially make her his, lay, but also where they’d need to board a ship to get out of Havlands and to the other Fae realms.
Of course, this was also where the Oakgards’ Fae would come through.
Merrick laid his hands on Lessia’s thighs when a breath rushed out of her, her eyes seemingly fighting to move inland again, and finally, with a jerk of her neck, she forced her face toward the white house, which grew bigger and bigger as they rode closer.
He didn’t say anything as they continued the ride, and neither did she.
While he knew Lessia felt the weight of leaving her friends, Merrick struggled yet again with whether he should just command the horse into a gallop and get them onto the waiting ship before it was too late.
But as she leaned further into him—for comfort or to hold herself back from getting off the horse, he wasn’t entirely sure—Merrick sighed and pushed the possessive, controlling thoughts away.
It would be her choice.
When he came up with this plan, he’d known it would be her choice in the end.
The marriage.
The time.
The life.
He’d vowed to follow her wherever she decided she would go. So, that’s what he would do.
The horse neighed softly when a beaten path revealed itself through the thinning grass, and Merrick cleared his throat when the smells of smoke, food, and ale alerted him that at least someone was living in the old, decaying house despite its boarded-up windows.
“Commander Aixle is very old,” Merrick mumbled as he moved his hands from Lessia’s legs to the reins she kept loosely in her hands, pulling them to slow the horse. “He wasn’t particularly trusting when I knew him, and it appears he might have held on to that.”
Aixle had also been quite strange, even by Fae standards.
He was the oldest Fae Merrick had ever met.
There were rumors he’d even fought the gods all those years ago, and given all the other whispers of his adventures and the battles he’d led for the Rantziers, Merrick didn’t blame the male for being odd.
Merrick had seen too much war not to know how it could warp and change and destroy a person.
“Is he dangerous?” Lessia whispered, her fingers brushing the hilts of the two daggers hanging by her waist.
Merrick glared at the blade with amber stones—the one that had killed her—as he responded, “Yes. He is not only a strong mind wielder, but the best fighter I’ve ever seen. He’s to be both feared and respected.”
I’m glad you think so highly of me still, Guardian of Death.
The voice rumbled through Merrick, and he could tell from how her eyes flickered, shining their golden light on the horse’s neck, that Lessia was fighting the mind invading her own.
“It’s all right,” Merrick whispered when Lessia huffed a short breath, her fingers curling. “He won’t hurt us. He just wants to get to know you.”
She is strong, Merrick. Aixle’s voice was familiar—the way his mind wrapped around his own, not the way Raine clawed his way in, but gently—almost welcoming.
Aixle had never used his gift to force anyone on his own side to do anything they didn’t want to.
No, he used it to understand—to foresee actions, give silent instructions, and make sense of the people and the world around him.
Somehow, people had allowed it. Had let Aixle’s strange mind feel their own, perhaps not fearing whatever he’d find out, as he never spoke out loud, as he never used the information to punish anyone.
It had made his company lethal in war.
Aixle had known exactly where to place his soldiers, and while he himself had always fought, he’d kept track, making sure those who needed a break got one and those who didn’t were at the forefront.
But she is also weak. You both are weakening. There was a hint of worry lacing the words. I can feel it in your every thought, Merrick Morshold.
Merrick didn’t respond. In the beginning, he’d tried to talk back to Aixle—had tried to get him to respond to direct questions—but that wasn’t how the Fae worked.
So Merrick let his thoughts wander back to the horrible moment Lessia took her last wheezing breath.
Then to how he’d broken the veil, or whatever he’d fought for centuries to keep up. Then to the souls around him.
His parents.
Thissian.
So it’s true, after all. A humming echoed in Merrick’s mind, as if Aixle was debating himself. Come inside. We must talk.
“Are you okay?” Merrick slid off the horse, offering a blanched Lessia his hand.
She nodded as she accepted his help, even though he could feel that she was anything but.
“He knew my father,” Lessia said softly. “He knew him since he was a child. And he knew of me and Frelina. He’s known the whole time what my father hid from his brother, but he didn’t say anything.”
Merrick pulled her to him when she swayed as her feet landed on the ground. “He does not have any interest in gossip or spying. I think he respects his gift enough not to share what he learns.”
Lessia’s eyes moved to the closed door, and Merrick continued. “Don’t… don’t stare when we get in there. It makes him uncomfortable.”
A small frown appeared between her golden brows, but she bowed her head, and Merrick didn’t want to waste any time, so after securing her hand in his, he led the way to the door.
He didn’t bother knocking, only pressed the squealing handle until the door swung open, revealing a living space as run down as the wood encasing it.
A ripped dark couch, its seats sunken and used, stood before a crackling fire, and by its side was a single chair where Aixle sat, his face turned away from them.
A rug with threads sticking out every few feet decorated the sooty floor, and that was it, apart from a small teapot and a few broken plates piled high beside the chair.
Come sit. Aixle waved with a white hand toward the couch, and Merrick drew a breath of outside air before stepping over the threshold, holding Lessia close as he led the way to the couch.
He let her sit down first, and then Merrick folded his legs, pretending not to notice how the couch screamed under his weight, shifting so much he worried for a second that it would break.
When Aixle turned his head their way, Lessia—to her credit—didn’t move.
Only the quick squeeze of his fingers told Merrick she realized why he’d warned her.
Aixle’s eyes were as pale as the skin on his hands, white as snow. The Fae had apparently been blinded at birth, but that hadn’t stopped him from becoming one of the most—if not the most—feared Fae in all Vastala.
His hair lacked color as well, and the clothing he wore—the white shirt and breeches—did little to counter the nickname the children had whispered when he wasn’t around: the Wraith.
Aixle’s lips twitched as Merrick remembered. Perhaps that is why we got along so well. The Wraith and the Death Whisperer.
Lessia snorted, and Merrick knew then Aixle was speaking to both of them.
It was silent for a moment, only Lessia’s shifting on the couch and its whining under the pressure reverberating through the room, and Merrick began wondering whether he would need to ask after all when Aixle finally spoke again.
Do you know the story of Queen Trista?
I do. Merrick almost jerked when Lessia’s beautiful voice caressed his mind—the sound like light itself, settling into Merrick’s bones and soul—and Aixle smiled wider as he tilted his face to the fire.
Trista Rantzier was the first queen of Vastala, Lessia continued, and Aixle must have linked their minds somehow because an image of the library in the castle of Ellow—of a beautifully carved railing telling the queen’s story—appeared in his thoughts before Lessia spoke once more.
She was supposed to marry another Fae of royal blood, but she refused when she found her mate, Melekh, and married him instead, even though he was only a foot soldier, and the nobles threatened to take her throne for it.
Yes, Aixle agreed. She married Melekh Morshold, but it wasn’t because he was a foot soldier that people were outraged.
Merrick shot straight, and when Lessia’s wide eyes found his, he opened his mouth, but Aixle raised a hand, the gesture so foreign—he’d barely ever seen Aixle react outwardly—that Merrick swallowed his question.
Yes, a Morshold and a Rantzier found each other, and their love was so strong—so consuming—that they believed it would conquer everything. But instead, it led to their demise.
A flicker of rage kindled in Merrick’s gut when worry seemed to take hold of his mate, her hand holding his so firmly it would have hurt a lesser male. This was definitely not what he had planned when he brought her here.
Melekh Morshold? Why had Merrick never heard of this?
You haven’t heard the whole story because almost everyone who knew it died.
Melekh was a foot soldier, yes, but he was one of the best. He was what was then called a soulbinder, or a Guardian of Death.
He could call upon the souls of the restless dead and ask for their help.
He saved Trista this way when they fought the gods, and…
something happened to her then. She was a water wielder—just like Rioner—but with Melekh?
She was something more… something different.
Even if she fought it all the way to the end, refused the name and the powers that came with it, they called her Queen of Shadows.
Lessia’s face was void of emotion as she stared at the pale Fae, but Merrick could tell so many thoughts, so many worries and emotions fought within her.
But she was too strong. Aixle moved to hang the teapot over the fire, somehow easily avoiding the flames.
Her fierce love made her too strong. That’s why her parents—your great-great-great-grandparents, Elessia—opposed the marriage and made her step down from the throne, giving its seat to her brother instead.
No one should be stronger than the gods, not even after they’d been driven from our realms. And the two of them?
Aixle shook his head. They were magnificent.
It was magnetic being around them. Until… it wasn’t.
There was no balance. Without the gods… there was no countering their powers.
Lessia didn’t phrase it as a question, but Aixle nodded anyway. Even after Trista no longer led Vastala, she stayed to keep her people safe, and the more they fought for the people—and they did, because Trista’s large heart didn’t just beat for Melekh—the weaker they got, until one battle…
Merrick snarled as the image flashed before his eyes of a golden-haired female falling to her knees before an enemy who didn’t hesitate as he severed her head, a silver-haired Fae screaming out his pain until he also took a sword to the gut, his eyes raging as he tumbled down a steep cliff, his body already broken before it reached the dark water.
What can we do? Merrick knew Aixle wouldn’t respond, but he couldn’t… fuck, that would not be him and Lessia. There must be a balance out there, there must be something—
Five queens. There must be five queens awakened to save them all.
Aixle moved the pot off the fire, pouring himself a cup of flowery-scented tea.
That’s what Trista used to say. We didn’t…
we didn’t know what it meant, but she kept dreaming about five girls—about a world burning and breaking and fracturing.
We thought it meant they were out there… that she just needed to find them, but…
What if they don’t live at the same time? Lessia stared into the flames, the golden sheen on her face doing little to bring color to her cheeks as the imagery in her mind showed Merrick she believed she might be the second queen, another female doomed. What if there is no balance?
No. Merrick refused to accept that. My parents told us to find the one who clings to life. If she is a queen, we’ll find her. How many can there be out there?
There was no fucking way he was giving up because of someone who’d died centuries ago, and who hadn’t even tried. No. Fucking. Way.
You can try. Melekh wouldn’t give up either. That’s why he wasn’t by her side to save her that day. He’d been traveling, trying to find any information he could, only getting back as they were ambushed, and as you saw… he didn’t make it in time.
He was a fucking idiot, then.
Merrick would never leave her side. There was nothing that could stop him from saving her. And besides… Lessia had agreed to come with him. They weren’t going into battle.
I hope you’re right. Aixle sipped from his cup. I really hope you’re right.