Chapter 17 Meryn
MERYN
Get her direwolf now!” a voice roars. The sound rings in my ears like a bell before I realize it’s me. I’m the one screaming for help. “We need a medic! Get someone, anyone!”
Stark appears by our sides in moments, wrapping strong arms around Izabel’s legs, trying to stabilize her.
“Grigore, get the palace medic!” Stark echoes, the look on his face grim. “Anyone with medical knowledge! Come up here, now!”
I lean back as Stark and Tomison try to steady Izabel’s thrashing form. All I can do is watch in horror as Venna appears next to us, tears streaming down her cheeks as she takes in the sight of her sister.
When I glance back down from Venna’s face, I know immediately that it’s too late.
Izabel has stopped moving. Her lips are blue, still flecked with that red foam, and her dark eyes are glassy, sightless.
“No,” I whisper, reaching for her hand. It’s cold, limp. I quickly pull my fingers back, stomach heaving.
The most vibrant person I’ve ever met, snuffed out in a senseless blink.
I meet Tomison’s gaze above Izabel’s still form. He’s ashen, shocked into a stupor.
Venna falls to her knees next to her sister’s lifeless body, and Stark and I both move out of the way. She wraps her arms around Izabel’s form, cradling her gently.
The primal wail that comes from her mouth is piercing. It doesn’t sound human.
Stark helps me to my feet. Penetratingly cold waves flood my body. My mind is frighteningly calm, like an icy frozen lake.
That emberwine was meant for me.
Izabel died drinking emberwine specially meant for me.
I shiver as another wash of cold settles deep in my bones.
It’s only then I notice how the shadows in the room have begun to writhe, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, twitching as my fingers flex. That pulse I felt in the arena echoes inside me like a dark heartbeat, urging me to give up, let it in.
As I instinctively tighten my hands into fists, threads of shadow curl up from all directions. They wrap themselves around my fingers, weave their way up my arms like an extension of the tattoos at my neck.
The power is heady, all-encompassing.
I flick open my right hand experimentally, and a thousand tendrils of shadow shoot out, climbing the walls and writhing around the chandeliers, finding every last flame and extinguishing each one by one, leaving more and more of the ballroom in darkness.
“Meryn,” Siegrid snaps from where she’s joined us on the dais.
Her disapproval doesn’t register.
My eyes cut to Stark, and he inclines his head. A nod, maybe… encouraging.
The darkness has taken over. Some small part of me registers that I’m not acting like myself, like the queen I want to be, but…
I don’t care.
I don’t care if I’m out of control anymore. I don’t care if I’m letting my emotions consume me, if I’m leaving myself open to something sinister.
The power gathering in my chest is wild and frightening and drives out any thought, any feeling apart from the sheer rush of freeing it. The darkness inside me is a deep, unending cavern.
Siegrid’s not strong enough to stop me anyhow.
I release the ball of shadow from my other hand. With violent satisfaction, I watch as every single door in the room slams tightly shut. The nobles flinch at the sound, and I drink in their fearful murmurs.
My voice is deeper than usual, calm and deadly. “Who is responsible for this?”
The hall falls silent, the only sound Venna’s strangled sobs.
“Who. Is. Responsible. For. Izabel’s. Murder.” I stride to the front of the royal dais, arms outstretched in a plea to the power that’s all around me, gathering the dark to me like armor.
I stare around the room, my vision sharpened, senses heightened as more and more magic streaks into my veins, through my very blood.
Nobody steps forward.
My mind races, replaying the moments before the toast. A server brought the goblet to me. The moment is sharp in my mind, the memory of the intricate cup, the face of the woman—it was someone I didn’t recognize, someone with fair hair.
Not one of my regular staff.
Deliberately, I step down from the dais and onto the ballroom floor, shadows streaming behind me like a living cape. My anger is bright and hot behind my eyes, white heat clashing with the icy, shadowy tendrils that curl around my wrists, my neck, tangle in my hair.
Nobles and Bonded and servants alike shrink back as I approach them.
I take my time, methodical. Nobody is leaving this room. Not until I say so.
I spot her finally in a cluster of servants I do recognize. She stands behind them, trying to blend in.
Get her.
Like the other times I’ve used shadebending, I don’t tell it what to do. I just give a shove of emotion, and the shadows react, do what they will.
A dark rope of power winds around her ankles, yanking her forward across the polished floor. Shocked nobles scramble out of the way, gawking as the woman sprawls before me. People push to move farther from us, the circle widening around me.
I see Stark out of the corner of my eye, note as he stays close, positions himself behind me.
Good. He’s not going to interfere.
“Who are you?”
The woman sobs, writhing against the shadowy restraints. They slither up from her ankles, fastening her arms to her sides, ringing her neck, leaving her helpless.
“No one, I’m just—I’m no one, Your Highness!” Her voice is thin and reedy. “This was just a job. I didn’t know what I was doing, I swear to the goddess!”
Her body thrashes uselessly on the floor, a grotesque echo of Izabel’s final dying throes.
“Explain yourself,” I growl. Anassa’s anger grows stronger and stronger in my mind as she races toward the castle, needing to be here by my side. Her presence in my mind renews my strength.
The woman’s whimpers are loud in the silent ballroom. A few nobles start to edge toward the doors.
Stop them.
Shadows shoot across each of the doors, visibly barring the exits. Sobs start from a few more directions, but I ignore the sound, turning back to my quarry.
She cries and snivels, begging me to let her loose. “I didn’t know what was going to happen! He told me I could trust him, that I was doing the right thing for Nocturna! He just said this was the queen’s goblet, that it was important I give it to you and only you!”
“Show me.” Without my instruction, the shadows drag the woman upright and loosen one of her arms. “Who was this man?”
Her arm shakes as she lifts it, pointing tremulously at a man.
A man I know well from our Council meetings.
The Councilor of Sturmfrost.
That slimy piece of shit whose oversight of my city has been nothing but a curse.
On instinct, I throw my hands toward him. The shadows take it as a command, streaming in his direction faster than thought itself.
Gathering pools of darkness twist into thorny ropes, tangling around Councilor Gerhold’s legs. The shadows hoist him into the air, pulling him up, up, until he’s dangling from his feet above his family’s table.
His wife lets out a bloodcurdling scream, stretching up, trying to reach him. Their two sons, men around my age, cower in fear with their eyes glued to their father.
I ignore them. “Did you honestly believe you could kill the rightful queen? And make it out of here unscathed? You did this. You robbed the world of a true bright light, and you will pay for her death.”
The councilor is red in the face, his clothes flapping awkwardly, but nevertheless he snarls at me.
His look is as supercilious as the portraits of him hanging all over the city.
“Who gives a shit about some Bonded dying? I was only doing what others were too cowardly to attempt. You’re not my queen. ”
His wife moans, covers her eyes.
“Long live King Killian!” the councilor shouts defiantly, and several nobles near him try to school their expressions.
My jaw clenches, vengeance and fury clashing into something deadly inside my chest. My vision darkens.
The shadows respond, engulfing the entire councilor’s table, including his family.
His table winks out of existence for a moment. Councilor Gerhold’s strangled scream echoes and then is cut off.
The sudden lack of sound snaps me back into myself. Whatever furious wave I was riding abates, and I suck in a panicked breath.
No.
No.
I was trying to avoid this show of violent power; I was trying to prove today that I wasn’t someone to fear—
The shadows recede, but their task is already done.
Four bodies lie broken on the floor. I didn’t just kill the councilor—I killed his wife and sons, too.
My hands start to shake, and I fight to stop it. I can’t let anyone see how rattled I am by my own actions.
I would do anything to protect the people that matter to me—and the shadows understand that darkest part of me, pull it out even when I shouldn’t show it.
My head and heart are aching and empty as I stride back up the royal dais, turning until I’m sure every single noble in the audience is looking my way.
“Now you’ve seen what your queen is capable of.” My throat scrapes like broken glass, the voice that emerges from my mouth strange and terrible.
Who have I become?
Siegrid was right—I never should have allowed the shadebending to take over. I should have remained in control.
Still, I lift my chin. I have to look strong and commanding in front of all these people. Somehow, somehow, I need to convince them I’m not insane.
“The former Councilor of Sturmfrost’s treason could not go unpunished. He attempted to murder your sovereign. He killed one of my closest advisors. He killed my—”
I can’t speak anymore around the tightness in my throat. Thankfully, Anassa’s presence perks up in my mind, a warm slide of fur against my brain. And more—her approval. I may have felt out of control, but my vicious wolf would do it all over again.
I’m not sure that I’m comforted by that.
“Treason against the kingdom will not be dealt with lightly,” I say. “And it seems I need to be clear: In my eyes, nobles, Bonded, and the common people are all of equal standing. Everyone’s life is of value.”
And yet, you took lives so easily, my conscience jeers. I press my lips together to hold back the thought. I’ll have time for self-loathing and regret later. Right now, I need to get these people in line.
Muffled sobs are now heard from nearly every table. I can almost smell the fear off the nobles in the room. The common people in attendance, too, are cowering. The Bonded, however, are looking at me in respect.
“I do not intend to rule Nocturna with an iron fist,” I announce. “But if I discover any more plots against me, or against the kingdom, they will be dealt with swiftly and with the appropriate level of justice. I will protect you and your families with the same fervor.”
I scan the room, meeting the eyes of a few of the nobles I met earlier. Each gives me a nod of acknowledgment as I stare them down.
The tension around me is thick and hideous. I stand there a minute longer, until every head in the room is bowed in submission.
“Stark.”
“My queen,” he says, stepping toward me.
“See that the bodies are removed.” Distantly, I register his agreement. Turning to Siegrid, I say, “Make sure that nobody leaves the castle grounds until I say so. We must ensure that this entire conspiracy has been… eliminated.”
She nods, gesturing to a few other Bonded, tersely sharing orders with them.
They move to the doors, and the shadow barriers I’d somehow created melt back into the floor. The Bonded open the exits, and nobles and commoners stream out, rushing to put as much distance between them and me as possible.
I ignore them, turning to look where my eyes have been unwilling to go. Down at the motionless body of my friend.
Her head is still cradled in Tomison’s lap. Nevah squats next to him, rubbing his back, whispering in his ear. I can tell she’s trying to get through to him, to snap him out of the wordless daze he’s been in from the moment Izabel’s body stilled.
My first friend in all this, now lifeless on the floor.
Because of me.
Venna stands up from her sister’s side, silently looking at me, appealing. As if there’s something I can do, something I can offer. But what can I say?
This was all my fault—because of my decision to claim this throne, because of the enemies I’ve made.
Venna’s face changes as I stare helplessly back at her, tears streaming senselessly down her cheeks, expression shifting between grief and wrath.
Finally, I close the distance between us, taking her into my arms. She clasps her arms around me tightly, and something breaks open in my chest.
I cry.
It might be minutes or hours later that I sense Anassa’s presence approaching, her claws scratching against the floor. Venna’s wolf, Skaia, pads behind her.
Venna and I break apart, both going to our wolves, clinging to their coats for some semblance of comfort.
But no direwolf magic can heal this pain.