Chapter 34 - Meryn
MERYN
I can’t look away. Alongside my instinctive horror is a brutal, morbid curiosity. The woman’s head tilts back. She sighs with apparent pleasure, her expression transforming into ecstasy as Lucien drinks deeply, his amused gaze still on mine.
Around the table, the other Siphons similarly begin to feed from the humans who have joined them, treating the activity as casually as we might regard cutting into a steak.
Sintar brings her head up after feasting at her human’s neck. She runs her fingers across the woman’s bloody cheek, then lazily licks each finger. The human is now languid, sprawling across Sintar’s lap.
The fate we thought we were saving her from, playing out in a far more demeaning and public way.
It’s not surprising, theoretically—of course we know they drink blood.
And Elias did claim, on the road, that many humans are… willing participants. Even the woman from the town technically consented to this over other punishment.
Still, my cheeks grow hot with anger and dismay.
Something about this is so rude.
My friends agree. Stark’s chair screeches only slightly, like he was about to get up and act but just barely managed to stop himself, remembering our mission here. Venna’s hand moves to where her weapon is concealed, though her face remains carefully neutral.
Noemi’s face has drained entirely of color. She stares at Lucien in hatred and revulsion. It’s obvious enough that the Siphon next to her is glaring at her.
I can’t blame her. The woman in Lucien’s lap sinks further and further into her euphoric surrender—so much so that she lets out a soft moan. It’s a lustful scene and disturbingly similar to watching King Cyril play with his “companion” on his lap.
The air grows warmer. The sounds of the feeding are… distractingly wet. And as the humans give in to whatever’s happening, they all start sighing or letting out small moans.
It’s hard to imagine that my sister may one day feed in the same way.
In fact, she and our father might be feeding the same way at this very moment. I suppress a shudder.
The woman on Lucien’s lap gasps lightly as he removes his fangs. He reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb to his lips, then drags it over his bloodied mouth, licking it lightly as if to avoid wasting a drop.
Then those blue eyes dart down to my untouched plate of food. “Not fond of your host’s offerings?”
He’s implying I’m being rude, but he just sucked a woman’s throat in front of me for thirty seconds straight, so who’s he to talk?
“No,” I tell him coolly. “I don’t trust the food.”
Lucien chuckles. “Do you truly think I would have Elias bring you all this way just to poison you?”
He doesn’t wait for my response before reaching around the blissed-out woman in his lap and plucking a piece of meat from my plate. He reclines back in his chair and nudges the meat against the woman’s lips, who parts them and bites down.
I grimace as she chews. Lucien looks back, sees my disgusted expression, and bares his fangs in a grin like it’s funny.
“See? The food is fine.”
I lean forward and narrow my eyes. “Are you finished making a spectacle of yourself? I’m ready to talk about why you brought me here.”
Lucien sighs and mutters something under his breath. Then he runs a gentle hand down the woman’s arm and says, “You may go, sweetness.”
She smiles at him, bows her head, and stands to leave, swaying slightly. And when she does, so do the other humans, all standing and shuffling out at once—some in less than straight lines—toward the exits.
The human woman stands up at the end of the table. She picks up her breastplate and sword, movements slow and uncertain. My gut twists.
“What will happen to her?” I ask quietly.
Lucien waves a hand. “Oh, she’s fine. She’ll sleep it off and then be returned to where she lives.”
My eyes burn, and I start to truly hate him.
Lucien leans toward me. He’s not smiling any longer. His eyes are serious and clear.
“Alistair Brightbane is my older brother, but I inherited the throne instead of him. This entire war has been his vengeance. He wants to conquer Astreona and take back what he believes is his birthright.”
I stare at him, agape, sickness building in my stomach.
Five centuries of war, he’s trying to tell me—countless lives lost, endless hours of grief-stricken tears, a conflict that has shaped the entire history and culture of Nocturna—all stem from a family dispute over succession?
A squabble between brothers.
All the sacrifice and suffering my people have endured, the system of exploitation and oppression our false kings built around the war effort…
Could this possibly be true? That none of it was truly about protecting Nocturna from bloodthirsty monsters?
If Lucien’s being honest, we were all nothing but expendable toy soldiers. Pawns in a power struggle between immortal brothers who cared nothing for how many lived and died at their whims.
Shock passes through the communication bond. Everyone heard Lucien’s words echoing from the vaulted ceilings. Everyone’s grappling with the same loss and anger.
“Tell me I misheard that,” Venna begs. “Surely, surely, this entire war hasn’t been so meaningless.” Her voice silences the quiet conversations being shared by the other Siphons.
Lucien glances down the table at her, something in his gaze heating as he assesses her. Is he going to scold her for speaking out of turn? My hand creeps toward my dagger again, but eventually he says, “What is war if not a meaningless battle of egos?”
“How dare you?” I snap. “This may have felt meaningless to you, but we’ve lost so many lives. People with loved ones who believed they were sacrificing themselves for a greater good.”
I can’t think about my father. I can’t.
“And how do you expect me to believe this?” I ask. “You’re telling us that our entire history, everything our country knows, is a lie. Not just some of it. All of it. But you’re the ones with mind-control powers, not us.”
Lucien puts his elbow on the table and his face in his palm, looking at me with a bit of boredom, like I’m being dense. “Yes, that’s true, I suppose. But the Siphon on your throne had mind-control powers, too, did he not? Why would we also use them against you?”
I press my lips together. Yes—Alistair used blood magic and mind control to erase the history of my family line.
“To what end are you accusing us of using our powers against you?” he continues. “You think we’re the ones who have lied to you throughout history? Or do you think I’m trying to trick you right now at this moment?”
Before I can get a word in edgewise, he continues onward, his voice drawling.
“As with your accusations that I’ve poisoned your food, I think you’ll find that tampering with your mind would go against my purposes.
Why would I have brought you all this way to persuade you to work together, if I could have just had my standard-bearers alter your minds back at the border?
Besides, you seem to have a complete misunderstanding of how the power works.
I forget how little you Nocturnans know. ”
Would it be considered rude if I stabbed one of these fine forks through his hand?
“Enlighten us,” I say through clenched teeth.
Lucien pauses. I wait. If he’s going to earn our trust, he needs to be willing to share information with us. Real information.
Giving a dramatic sigh, he finally responds.
“The type of power you’re thinking of, like Alistair performed, requires incredible magical strength and constant replenishment.
Most Siphons are only capable of creating illusions, as vanishing as smoke.
Yes, some of us have a level of mind control ability, but only over those who are under a thrall or those we’ve recently drunk from. ”
Thrall. The word wriggles into me like a parasite, sinks under my skin.
His eyes glint with self-assured amusement. “The spies that have crossed our border over the years, for instance. We capture them, drink from them, alter their memories, and send them happily back to your country.”
“What you said—under a thrall?”
“A unique connection between Siphon and human that requires an exchange of blood from both parties. But enough magical theory. I understand why you don’t want to believe me, so why don’t you let me show you?” Lucien says. “Let me convince you that we’re on the same side, Meryn Sturmfrost.”
Stark leans toward me protectively as Lucien reaches up and lifts the sun-bolt crown from his hair. It glints as he brings it forward.
“Put it on,” Lucien says.
I eye the Tear in the crown. It looks identical to the two I have—the one in my crown, the one around Saela’s neck. “What is this?”
“Surely you know these jewels have power?” Lucien says with a little smile.
That’s one of the few things we’ve successfully deduced so far. The crown seems to give me more magical strength when I wear it, as did Saela’s necklace. The Tears clearly have some magical properties to them.
But Saela has come up empty on any other information about them.
“Yes, I’m aware.” I want to ask more, find out if he has information about the Tears that we don’t. This is not the time for me to show Lucien any weakness, though. “I’m asking you what you’re doing.”
“And I already told you,” he replies, keeping his offer aloft, “I’m showing you what you want to know.”
I still don’t trust him. The magic in the stones is ancient, and so is he. Lucien might know how to use his Tear against me somehow. But his eyes are keen. He’s seen how badly I want answers, and he knows I’m going to accept.
So I stop fighting it. Reaching up, I untangle my own crown from my hair and pass it to Stark for safekeeping. Then, I take hold of Lucien’s.
The moment the metal settles over my head, I plummet. It’s just like it was when I first put on my crown, if slightly less violent, slightly blurrier.