King of Always: Chapter 18

as soon as Temnen has announced our betrothal and brought an official end to dinner, Riven rises from the royal table, the sharp points of his silver shoulder pauldrons flashing as he adjusts a jeweled sword belt over his black tunic.

I watch him hurry down the stairs onto the marble floor and then make a hard right behind the dais. Chin raised, he speaks to no one, staring ahead as if in a trance, his expression cold and regal. His shock of silver hair is the last thing I see before he disappears.

Throughout dinner, I was surprised to find myself left in peace to eat my meal with Elas and his Meritorium crew of sweet-faced light elves. But for the betrothal announcement, I had to stand by Temnen’s side, grinning at the courtiers until my cheeks hurt, as both our pendants strobed wildly.

Still seated at the high table, I put down my cup of wine and glance at my new fiancé. “Temnen,” I whisper near his ear, rubbing my stomach like an alien might explode out at any moment. “I’m sorry, but tonight’s excitement has completely overwhelmed me. I’m feeling unwell. Would you mind if I returned to my chambers early?”

Black brows pinch together. “If you must. Humans have weak constitutions, and I suppose I must learn to tolerate yours. A guard will escort you to the tower.”

Leaning close, I squeeze his arm. “Thank you for the offer. But while you announced our betrothal, you sparked an incredible idea for an invention, and I can’t wait to run it by Elas. He can see me home.”

His eyes widen. “You must tell me about it now.”

I suppress a shudder at his quivering wet lips. “A fiancé must keep some secrets. This may well turn out to be your wedding gift, so you must be patient.” I kiss his cheek, drop a curtsy, then flee toward Elas who will by now be waiting in the archway through which Riven has disappeared.

“Quickly,” says Elas, passing me a torch and opening a metal-strapped door.

“Thanks. I took far too long to get away from Temnen. Riven will be way ahead. How will I know which way to go?”

Black wings flare out, one wrapping around my shoulders and nudging me through the doorway. “There’s a secret door off the second landing. Look for a triangular recess in the bricks and press it. Simply follow the stairs downward. And for Merits’ sake, don’t trip.”

Grimacing, I suck on the corner of my lip.

“Go. You will be fine.” Elas waves his hand and the torch bursts into flame. I step through the archway. Light spills over the jet walls as the door closes behind me, cutting off the noise of the Great Hall.

I take a few slow breaths to steady my nerves and then start walking.

A narrow, gently inclining passage leads me up to the second landing. I pass the torch over the walls and find the triangle above my head. Cold fear seeps into my bones as I press my palm against it. A door appears, cracking open to reveal a narrow stairwell.

I listen for Riven’s footsteps, for rats, for monsters sharpening their claws in the shadows but hear only the ragged sound of my breathing echoing off the walls.

Down to the depths I go, my heart in my mouth, my mind racing as I try to form a compelling case to present to the severe silver prince.

The damp, musky air is heavy in my lungs. I keep my eyes on my slippers, not looking too closely at the walls around me in case lots of friends of Rothlo’s are hanging from webs above me ready to drop inside my dress, crawl into my hair, and lay eggs that will hatch a billion tiny baby spiders and—arghhh! Stop it, Isla. Focus.

Finally, the passage widens, and a stack of boulders probably three times my height blocks the path forward; all but a tiny section I could probably squeeze through if I had to. I peer around the wall of rock, my eyebrows leaping at what I see.

Four torches burn at the curved corners of a large cavern, the walls and floors dripping with sparkling limestone—stalactites and stalagmites reaching eternally toward each other like parted lovers.

Water floods the bottom of the cave. A small island of jagged stone stands in the middle from which a quartz-colored column grows into a chest-height well or font, its surface glowing brightly with a magical, mercurial liquid.

This must be the druid’s well that King El Fannon spoke of.

From where I stand, I have a perfect view of the silver prince, his hands fisted against black-clad thighs as he stares into the mirrored surface. Rainbow colors flicker and dance over his face and the cavern’s walls. Other than the sound of dripping water, an ominous silence fills the mystical space.

Next to the crown’s black spikes, the owl, Meerade sits on Riven’s shoulders. She swivels her head, the black-scaled half of her face and penetrating green eyes now aimed in my direction. Despite the deep shadows enveloping me, I’m certain the creature can see me.

For long seconds, my heart pounds hard, then the owl turns away, ruffling her black and white feathers. “The future comes close. It creeps in dark shadows,” says a raspy voice that sounds like it’s coming straight out of the owl’s hooked beak.

“What?” says Riven, flicking his gaze up to Meerade who’s still perched on the sharp silver plates covering his shoulders. Yep, his creature definitely speaks!

Frowning, Riven peers back into the well.

“A girl! A girl!” says the bird.

“Yes, I am not blind, Meerade. I can see she is here again.”

What? Can he see me? I jump backward, my ears straining to hear their conversation. And what does he mean by again? I’ve never followed him down here before.

“And each time I look into the druid’s well,” Riven continues, “she grows older still.”

He’s talking about a girl he can see in the well, not me, thank God. I creep forward, wedging my body into the gap between the rock and wall. The owl rotates its head again, and this time looks straight at me. “Come,” it says.

“Yes, Meerade,” says Riven answering distractedly. “I hear you.”

But the owl wasn’t speaking to the prince. She’s telling to come forward, to reveal myself. I shake my head no. I’m not ready for Riven to discover me snooping in the shadows.

“Come. Come quickly,” she repeats.

“Be quiet, Meerade. I cannot focus with your prattle.”

She bobs her head, beckoning me forward.

I pad carefully around a narrow shelf of silt and fine rock, skirting the outer edges of the cavern until I’m directly behind Riven, but at a safe distance. Arms braced on the edges of the well, he’s so absorbed in the image reflected upon its silver surface that he doesn’t notice my intrusion.

I wait a few moments then dip my toe into the water, testing its depth. Ankle deep, I wade closer, my pulse pounding in my throat. If I can hear the soft swish of water as I move, then surely the prince can too. This is risky, but I need to see what he’s looking at and can only pray he isn’t too angry when he realizes I’m here.

A blurry image of a girl passes over the water, and his knuckles whiten as he grips the edges of the well.

Before the image vanishes, I need to see who the girl is. The intense heat building inside my head and my gut, tells me it’s important. Maybe fatally so.

To get a better view, I move a little to the side. Something about this scene strikes me marrow-deep, and I know I’ll never forget how Riven looks at this moment. A curtain of silver hair falling over one high cheekbone. His expression full of agony. The hopeless curve of his shoulders. Sorrow washes through me, tears stinging my eyes.

I wade two steps forward, the water cold on my legs.

The bird watches my approach, but deep in a trance, Riven remains statue-still, frozen in his grief. Two more steps and I’m standing directly behind him, peering around his broad shoulders. Instantly, the image of the girl reflected in the well sucks me in.

First, I’m captivated by a delightful spread of freckles, then the long tips of fae ears parting bright-red hair, my attention settling on a brilliant pair of silver eyes. It’s unbelievable, but this girl looks exactly how I imagine Lara’s child will look when she’s grown up. A terrible thought leaps into my mind.

“That’s Merri!” I blurt.

Slowly, the black crown turns. Blue-tourmaline eyes skewer me, the shock and anger flickering in them terrifying. Oh, shit! This wasn’t how I planned to announce my presence.

Wondering how he’ll punish me for invading his privacy, I cover my mouth with a shaking hand.

“You!” growls Riven, the angry vibrations of his voice cracking stalactites from the roof. With great splashes, they pierce the water around me like sharp spears, forming a cage around my body.

Like a real-live deity, he steps toward me, black boots barely dinting the water’s surface. Creepers—he’s walking on water! Grasping the bars of glittering limestone that surround me, he leans in close, and I look up, up, up to his furious face. Hulking body shuddering, his lips compress, a deep scowl marring his ethereal beauty.

Prior to this moment, I’ve only seen Riven from a safe distance across a crowded banquet hall, and it’s quite another thing to be this close to both him and the intense, all-knowing stare of his owl.

Right now, I’m in a perilous position, and my stomach fills with dread as I prepare for anything. Possibly even death.

Seconds pass and he and the owl stare into my eyes.

Drip, drip, drip goes the water.

Bang, bang, bang pounds my heart.

“Speak,” he shouts, and I nearly leap out of my skin.

“Riven, please… I’m sorry to disturb you, but Lidwinia sent me here to speak with you. She promised you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You lie. My sister would never send a human into the sacred druid’s chamber. You are my brother’s betrothed, a spy sent to report on the family’s bad seed.”

I take a quick breath, then a small risk. “And you’re that bad seed?”

Those glowing eyes narrow further. “Some refer to me as this, yes.”

“I’m not a spy. I’ve come for your help. I know you want peace with the Elemental Court, and because of that, you’d probably like to set Raff free. But I also know that because of your father, you can’t just let him walk out of here. But if you were to help me plot an escape, the king wouldn’t have to know. Temnen won’t—”

“Temnen!” he scoffs. “What vile creature plots against their beloved’s wishes?”

“Whoa—hold up! I don’t want to marry him! He suggested it, and I only agreed because I’m desperate to get information about how to get the hell out of here before the curse finishes Raff off. As a wife, I’d make Temnen miserable. The betrothal is nothing but a necessary ruse, Riven. I couldn’t see any other option.”

Hopping from one leg to the other, the owls says, “The girl speaks true. Isla tells truths.” It punctuates each word with three hard bounces on Riven’s shoulder, then screeches, “Truth. Truth. Truth!”

Fists releasing the limestone bars, Riven turns and strokes the owl, a wide grin splitting his face. “Yes, Meerade, I heard you the first time. I am not deaf.”

Beautiful when he’s scowling, Riven’s smile is like the sun bursting through storm clouds to drench the land in warmth. It settles my pulse, calming my terror. Perhaps he won’t kill me or leave me to wither away in this cavern for all eternity after all. My shoulders sag in relief.

The corners of his lips curve gently. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to get Raff out of that cell. Do you know they’ve got him chained to the wall in the Black Tower, his power being constantly drained by the iron? They’re barely feeding him while they let the poison slowly kill him.”

Riven’s lips part with a sharp intake of breath. He shakes his head, silver hair cascading over black leather.

“When you’re king, is this what you want the Land of Five fae to remember? The way your people degraded their heir? If he dies, you’ll be at war with them forever. And his death will be the legacy you build your rule on. Is that what want?”

“No,” says the owl. “Meerade wants to help the fire prince.” She sinks her beak into the point of Riven’s ear.

“Fine.” He reprimands her with a gentle tap on the head, then waves his fingers through the air, dissolving the crystal bars of my cage. “I will help you.” The prince beckons me forward. “First, you must look within the druid’s well.”

I take a breath and gaze down. The silver surface ripples, and when it clears, the red-haired girl is there again. Merri.

“As you see, you are correct. The girl who appears in the vision is Prince Everend’s daughter fully grown.”

“That’s just…weird. Why? And why are you in pain when you look into the well? Does scrying hurt?”

He flinches. “No. It does not hurt. But…” His gaze slides away.

The owl slaps his head with its white wing. “Tell her and you will help yourself, Riven.”

The prince shoots a death glare at the bird, but draws me closer to the well, waving his palm above the silver liquid. I get the feeling that only the silver prince understands Meerade’s riddles. Understands and obeys.

The image of the older Merri’s face melts away, the water darkening. Then she reappears, this time seated on a black horse that looks like Jinn, riding through a gray, dismal land, her face pinched and body slumped. She doesn’t look happy.

“Is she okay?”

“What you see is only a possibility. It has not happened yet.”

“This is the future.”

“Perhaps. Are you aware that the Black Blood curse has a final verse, one which Merit druids have kept secret for hundreds of years?”

“It’s not a secret. Ever says his court has always known it. Their heir must marry their fated mate to keep the curse from killing him, but there’s a rumor that if the prince should kill her instead, it might end the curse forever and stop it passing to their sons. Ever had actually planned to test this theory and murder his mate but, luckily for my cousin, Lara, he fell in love with her first. Maybe Prince Raff will try to break the curse by killing his girl.”

What am I saying? Apparently, that girl is me!

Riven’s chest rumbles with a humorless laugh, the sound setting my teeth on edge.

“Ah, yes, of course. I believe this is the part of the curse you refer to:

”

I nod. “Yep, I think that’s pretty much how it ends.”

“It does not. Look into the scrying waters.” He moves to the opposite side of the well and waves a hand over it.

Another image of Merri emerges, but this time, she isn’t alone. A smiling male faery stands close, his fingers entwined with hers. His crown is black and twisted, long silver hair tumbling over his shoulders. It’s Riven, and shock-horror, he looks extremely happy!

I gasp, and his gaze flicks to mine, the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Listen closely.

is the final verse of the Black Blood curse.” In a crisp voice, he begins to speak.

“

”

Bumps break out over my skin, prickling like tiny needles. “Oh, my God. Could that… Do you think that’s about Merri and you?”

“Yes. I believe so. For many years, I did not understand those words. I knew they were about me because my court likes to call me the silver prince. When my father dies—a Silver King is what I will be.”

“And Merri is the halfling?”

“I first saw this verse as it was presented to the druids, written on a stone tablet, and I must admit that the spelling of the word misled me… I thought its meaning was to be joyful, happy. It made no sense in the context of the curse. From the exact day of Prince Everend’s child’s birth, I began to see the scarlet-haired woman in these crystal waters. And, of course, Ever’s daughter is called Merri.”

I blow out a long breath. “I can’t believe that you and Merri—”

A silver eyebrow rises. “I too was skeptical. But then I was informed of Merrin’s full name.”

“Merrin Airgetlám Fionbharr,” I say.

“Yes, and do you know the meaning of her middle name?”

“Nope.”

“Airgetlám means silver hand or silver arm. Fae kings and queens rule by the power in their dominant arm, the hand their magic moves through. At the beginning of time, when Faery was an incorporeal land, the first king, Nuadu Airgetlám, brought the Tuatha Dé Danann, or the fae as we are commonly known, from the land of spectral mists. I believe Merrin’s middle name is a sign that she may be the queen to rule by the power of a silver hand.

will be Merrin’s hand, this Silver King the curse refers to, and she will control me. But whether by good or evil, for better or worse, remains to be seen.”

Riven’s eyes are filled with sadness and pain, as if he’s unhappy about the meaning of the verse. But I’m not. Warmth fills my chest—and a strong feeling of hope.

Merrin is good through and through, and I’d bet my life, no matter what her future holds, she will remain so. An alliance between Merri and Riven could bring about the end of the curse, and if what I suspect the true nature of their relationship is turns out to be true, then it could bring everlasting peace between the Elementals and the Merits. Their courts will become one. No Black Blood curse. And no more horrific Blood Sun ceremonies.

Holy cow—this is huge! I can’t wait to tell…but, no, I can’t tell anyone.

My promise to Sally Salamande ricochets around my brain. “

But how can I keep this from them without going insane? And when Merri’s older, how will I manage to not very strongly hint that she should go and hang out at the enemies’ kingdom, fall in love with a possibly insane Unseelie prince, and be doomed with Temnen as a brother-in-law forever and ever?

And what if Riven’s interpretation of the vision and the curse is wrong? What if I were to send Merri into the cruel hands of the Unseelie court, sentencing her to life as a prisoner? Or worse to a horrible death.

God, I hate the games faeries play.

“After seeing the vision of you and Merri, the thing with you not aging makes a lot more sense.”

An icy stare is his only reply. It lasts so long and is filled with such dark emotion that my knees tremble in response. I force a smile and surprise flickers in his eyes.

Feeling daring, I lay my fingers on his chest, and he flinches as if my touch burns. “But, Riven, think about what that vision means. All you need to do, is find a way to keep peace between your courts until Merri is older, then simply go to her. Meet her. Maybe if you let yourself fall in love with her, Aer’s terrible curse will be destroyed, and your union will bring lasting peace between your courts. Everyone wins.” Except Temnen. But who cares about him?

Anger spikes in his iridescent eyes. “No. That will never happen. Merrin is the daughter of my father’s sworn enemy, and in addition, she is half human! The pictures that float like dreams across these waters are nightmares. Untruths sent to torment and torture me.”

“If they’re so horrible, then why do you look at them? I know you come down here every night. If you don’t like what you see, then why put yourself through it?”

His gaze drops. “I do not know. It is an addiction. A sickness. And, for some reason, I cannot sleep unless I come here and look. In these images, I see myself smile at this girl. I cannot believe that I appear happy. But I do not wish to be wedded to a halfling Elemental or to bring further harm to the Prince of Fire. But I wish for there to be peace between our courts.”

Okay, so he’s obviously in complete denial. But I can work with that.

“So, the perfect solution is for you to help me and Raff get home. If you do that, you’ll have the Elemental Court’s undying gratitude. And I can vouch for the fact that you had nothing to do with our capture and Raff’s imprisonment.”

The owl’s wings stretch and flap. “Sorrow comes in tear-sweet cupcakes. Anger baked in flames.”

Riven and I turn toward Meerade.

“The Fire Queen. The Fire Queen’s banquet!” she squawks.

The prince silences her with a hard scowl, but her words tumble around my mind.

Riven paces over the water, a real-life miracle before my eyes. “For the sake of the girl in the vision, and for future peace, I must help you and think of a way for you and Rafael to escape. You will need to trust me.”

A warning twangs through my blood. In the old tales, faeries are always fickle and full of tricks. Untrustworthy. Everything Lara has told me confirms this. But Elas and Lidwinia have sent me to Riven, and I’m certain they wouldn’t lead me astray.

“I do trust you. One thing that’s bothering me though… What happened to the Merit druids?”

Fury twists his handsome features. “When techno-magic first flourished in our land, my father had the druids poisoned. While they were unconscious, every last one of their throats were slit. The king is a coward. And now I am the only Merit who possesses enough natural magic to scry in the priests’ well.”

“It’s only a matter of time before he realizes I’m useless and tries to get rid of me. That idea makes me incredibly keen to get out of here.”

“A wise wish.” He spins and faces me. “Now, I imagine your prince is iron-sick from the chains Temnen has him wrapped in.”

“Yes, and the black poison isn’t helping either. He’s in a bad way. Why doesn’t the metal in your city make you Merits ill?”

“It’s not the same as the iron in your human cities. If it has been dug from the ground, it does not affect us. But Rafael’s chains contain a mix of metals, one of them being cold iron, forged in the hearts of stars and rained down into our realm from the skies. With prolonged exposure, this type makes all fae sick. High enough doses are fatal.”

“His weakness will make it so much harder to get him out,” I say, despair curdling my stomach.

“Yes, but it is not impossible.” Hands linked behind his back, he resumes his silent pacing.

I take a moment to muse over my unfair plight. Just as the fire mage predicted, I now hold the answer to the riddle of the curse—I know how to end it yet can do nothing about it. If I don’t keep my lips zipped, Raff will die. He may drive me insane, but I don’t want him dead. He’s not that bad. And I wouldn’t even mind kissing him again—just the once. Okay, maybe twice.

The idea that I could take away the Elemental Court’s worries by speaking a few sentences fills me with gloom. To be fair, maybe it wouldn’t be quite that simple. If Ever heard his daughter had to hook up with a Merit prince to save the realm, I can only imagine the damage the ensuing hurricanes and gales would wreak upon the city, and that’s if he’d even believe me.

Oh, but if an escape bid doesn’t kill me, keeping this a secret from Lara surely will. How will I manage to keep my promise to Salamander?

The more I contemplate the complicated fix I’m in, the hotter frustration burns at my core, spreading to my fingertips.

A sudden laugh shocks me out of my self-pitying trance. “You have fire magic!” says Riven.

I look at my hands and see blue flames curling around them.

“Maybe. Just a little.” I shrug. “I can barely control it. But what I do that might be useful is to make people feel strong emotions when they eat the food I cook. I can render them weak with sorrow and pain and all manner of debilitating horrors. So if you can think of a way to get me into the kitchen at the right time safely…”

“Yes.” His lips curve into a smile. “If we are plotting the same path, and I believe that we are, the night of your betrothal feast will be perfect.” He rubs his hands together. “A plan forms! Let me think through the details. Meet me here tomorrow night, for we have much to discuss.”

Boy, do we ever.

I can barely wait to tell Raff!