28. The Bargain
The wind couldn’t have flown faster than the speed at which the elves fled the throne room. Only four remained.
Wilder, Otto, Ridge, and Maelys.
Lyra gave them a quick once-over and tried to hide the alarm on her face. They were different here in their true forms. Maelys had been lovely before, but now she looked like a ray of sunshine.
Glimmering golden-brown hair, a smattering of freckles across her pert nose and cheeks, eyes sparkling. The very air seemed to swirl around her, giving her the appearance of floating as her blush gown rippled and swirled. A tiny blue bird was perched on her shoulder, nuzzling her neck.
Otto had iridescent skin and milky eyes that looked more through you than at you. Long white hair was decorated with black beads that had markings carved into them. His light gray tunic and matching breeches matched the color his eyes had been in the mortal realm.
Ridge was the most startling. More tree than elf. His dark skin was marked with black ink, a swirling pattern that hadn’t been visible in the mortal realm. He had cropped hair that looked similar to the dark green moss that grew on the majestic trees in the Valewood.
Each of them had an otherworldly glow to them and sharply pointed ears that marked them as elves. As if they could have been anything else. Now that she thought about it, even their human forms hadn’t seemed very human.
“Now that the prying eyes and ears are gone. Allow me to welcome you, Princess Lyra of Atlantis,” Oberon said.
His voice had shifted. It wasn’t the powerful booming of the King that had sat before her. It was softer now.
“Come closer, Princess.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed, and her eyes darted around the room. She couldn’t decide whether he was being serious or if this was all some elaborate ruse. Hadn’t this elf ordered her abduction?
Guards appeared on either side of the colossal throne, and a few descended to her level. They wore evergreen tunics and golden capes with stag horns embroidered on their chests.
Before she could decide whether she would like to walk up the stairs, a guard with dark hair and a sneer gripped her arm right above her elbow and began dragging her to King Oberon.
Lyra struggled against his grip, but he didn’t let go.
“Unhand her,” Wilder snapped. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”
Lyra turned to see Wilder snarling in the guard’s face. Relief coursed through her, and blood pumped through her arm once more.
Oberon monitored the entire exchange and rubbed a finger across his jaw.
Wilder stood beside her and tilted his head towards his father.
“Please listen. For once in your life,” he murmured.
Lyra had an argument on the tip of her tongue, but the crease that formed between his brows silenced her. He was truly concerned about this meeting. She hadn’t been—until now.
“Fine,” she huffed.
Oberon’s brows raised when she agreed to Wilder’s plea.
She gripped the train of her gown, refusing his outstretched arm, and stomped up the stairs. Her velvet slippers slapped against the stone steps.
The king rose and met her halfway. She steeled her spine to keep from trembling.
An elvish king, the High King, was standing mere feet from her. Talk of his power was legendary, as were the battles he fought in and the enemies he’d slain.
He was a direct descendant of Fionn.
She was nothing compared to him, and she felt it deep in her bones.
His eyes raked across her, and a small smirk curved his lips.
“I’ve heard whispers of your beauty and, for once, the rumors were not wrong. You are very beautiful—for a mermaid,” he said, stepping closer to her.
Her hands squeezed into fists as she fought against the desire to take a step away.
He smelled of the earth, ancient and never-ending. There were leaves braided into strands of his long hair and a crown of golden antlers upon his brow. His emerald tunic and pants were intricately embroidered with golden thread in the swirling patterns of the trees and flowers of his kingdom.
For all the wealth she was accustomed to, it shouldn’t have surprised her the luxury of this place, but it did.
Oberon leaned in close to her. “A little birdie has whispered to me of your power.”
Lyra’s eyes slid from the king to Wilder. “I have no power.”
King Oberon tutted. “Now, now, there’s no need to lie, Princess.”
Lyra focused back on the king before her. She had to tilt her head to stare into his eyes, but with her clenched jaw and frosty gaze, she let him know it did not make her feel inferior.
“I do not touch it.”
The king tilted his head at that. “Does it not live within you?”
Lyra’s nostrils flared.
The maneuvering here was different from in Atlantis, and it was so quiet, not a shifting foot or the unending pull of the current.
“It does. But that does not mean it should.”
“Interesting,” he stroked his chin, “is that why you won’t use it now? You could but speak the words and return home.”
All this talk about her power had her heart racing, the golden thread of magic pulsing with each beat. Lyra could only shake her head.
“What could I offer you to wield it?”
Lyra swallowed and breathed through her nose.
This was dangerous, extremely dangerous.
One did not make deals with the elves. Hell, one should not even be conversing with them.
“Nothing.” She shook her head.
She needed to get out of here. This had been a rotten idea. She should have taken her chance with the humans or lived wild in the forest over this. She should have escaped when she had the chance.
Oberon circled her before heading back to his throne. He sat with a graceful flourish before addressing her again.
“Ah—it’s because you don’t know how. You never learned.”
Lyra’s heart stopped, and the very air vanished from her lungs. But she had mastered her face into one of boredom, like she had done for years and years surrounded by her father’s court.
She learned not to give anything away, even if he was right.
Lyra had never learned to wield and was afraid even now that it would kill her the moment she tried.
“What if I told you that I could teach you not only how to wield it, but that I could also grant you your true form and thus return you to the water?”
Her eyes narrowed on his face, his magnificent and wondrous face.
“How?”
He smiled then, knowing he held her interest. He offered her exactly what she wanted—a way home.
“There has been an imbalance of power for far too long between the humans and the merfolk. Help me right it, and I will grant you your freedom and your form back.”
She feigned a chuckle and tugged at the silk fabric on her thigh. This was all a ruse. A cruel trick. She could never return, and she would never be free.
It wasn’t possible. She hadn’t completed the tithe—there was no going back. This is what every book warning her about the elves had said about their impossible bargains.
“I didn’t complete the tithe,” Lyra replied.
King Oberon crossed one long leg over the other and stared at her with the maniacal delight you see when someone knows they are winning.
He had her, and he knew it.
“You mean the tithe that is disrupting the delicate balance of magic? The very thing I want you to undo?”
Lyra ground her teeth to keep from reacting as she wanted to. Had she retained her sharp claws, she would have raked them across his neck. She locked her knees into place to keep the wrath from vibrating her legs.
Typical elfish arrogance to think anything the merfolk did was unnatural.
“The tithe balances our magic and increases the fertility of my people.”
Lyra hadn’t felt Wilder approaching, but when he brushed beside her, she took a breath. She had stepped forward without realizing it.
King Oberon stared at where Wilder’s tunic brushed against her bare arm.
“It doesn’t allow for anything of the sort.”
Lyra’s vision was clouded red. Her fury pulsed inside of her, right next to her beating heart.
A roaring filled her ears, and it was only Wilder’s voice that broke through.
“Breathe,” Wilder whispered, and brushed a cool breeze against her face as she inhaled.
“The tithe was a deal struck between the merfolk and the humans,” Oberon explained.
“It had nothing to do with fertility or keeping your magic balanced. In fact, the very bargain of only taking twelve human lives for the life of one mermaid had strengthened your magic beyond its normal bounds for a time.”
His words were a blow to her heart.
A bargain? The merfolk had made a bargain with the humans and exchanged one of their own for a sacrifice?
Lyra shook her head. This could not be true. Females, although not in any position of power, were coveted because of their breeding potential.
“That’s not true.”
King Oberon smiled at her then, a gleeful, wicked smile. “Is it true that births have decreased throughout your population even though there is still a tithe every year?”
“Yes, but—”
“And is it true that one mermaid never makes it back from the tithe?”
“Again, yes. But—”
“But what? Everything I have said is true,” Oberon said as if that put an end to things.
“Well, if you would allow me to speak, you would have known what my answer was,” Lyra seethed.
Her chest heaved, and her nails carved little crescent moons into her palms.
Oberon’s smile fell away, and his brow rose. “Do you speak to your father in such a manner?”
“Always.” Lyra smiled then, showing a bit of the monster under her skin.
Wilder swallowed then, and she could feel him shift towards her. She was prodding this king of kings and didn’t care about the consequences.
They had kidnapped her and were now coercing her into a bargain.
“I’m not sure what else you would have expected from me.
You ordered your son to kidnap me, hindering me from completing the tithe and returning home.
I was raced across the realm in abhorrent conditions,” Lyra glared at Wilder before swinging her gaze back to the king, “ambushed by wulvers, bitten by a spider, and now you’re telling me my entire life has been a lie?
Did you expect me to rejoice in these circumstances and willingly accept your offer? ”
The king opened his mouth to speak, but Lyra cut him off.
“I’m only in this predicament because you males think you can just take whatever you want and damn the consequences. I will not be a part of this. So kill me now or set me free.”