The bond is strangely quiet for a few moments.
“No one knows about this place,” he eventually says. “Not King Theron. Not Commander Ashvale. No one.”
He turns briefly to place the torch into a bracket set in the wall. When his eyes return to me, I sense a shift in his emotions. Not quite shame, and not quite sorrow… but what? I draw in a deep breath and send him a wave of encouragement through the bond, letting him know that I am here and I am ready to listen.
“On the day I was born in the province of Vaelnor, a strange black frost swept across the land, and in the days that followed, the faefolk started getting sick. The faefolk of Vaelnor blamed me, saying my birth was a bad omen, and they soon fled the province. The lands never recovered, so my parents eventually built a manor on a mountain overlooking Vaelnor, in a place that was still green and teeming with ussha… at the time.”
His story, I realize. He’s telling me his story. Not just the reason he often feels lonely, but the reason he often seeks solitude. And somehow, this cave is connected to it. Or maybe it’s the contents of the cave. I remain silent as I hold his hand, patiently waiting for him to continue.
“The Lord of Nothing,” he says with a bitter laugh. “That is what my people used to call me, what they used to whisper behind my back after I joined the Winter Court army just over four hundred years ago.”
The Lord of Nothing.
My heart squeezes.
Gods, what a cruel nickname.
I don’t have to ask him to explain it. The province that was his birthright as a highborn lord faded to ruin on the very day he was born, and so, there was nothing left for him to inherit.
No faefolk, and no lands.
“Oh, Merak,” I breathe. But I don’t say anything else.
He has more to say, and I am eager to hear it. I won’t rush him though. I resolve that I will give him all the time he needs to explain his past. The gods know how patient he’s been with me. He deserves some of that patience in return.
“About a year ago, I received a missive from a neighboring province, telling me that my parents had died during a blood ritual gone wrong. Apparently, they’d sought the help of a dark mage to bring Vaelnor back to life, a foolish plan given that ussha was already starting to leave fae lands by then, but theritual demanded more than a few drops of blood. It consumed them, leaving naught but bones on the ground. A servant that witnessed the scene ran to the nearest province for help, but it was already too late.”
“Oh gods, Merak. I’m so sorry. Truly, I am.” Moving closer, I place a hand on his arm, continually sending him surges of warmth and understanding through the bond.
“I took a brief leave of absence from the army so I could bury my parents and salvage what I could from their manor, but I needed somewhere to put everything—a place in the human or orc lands.” He glances around the cavern at the wooden boxes. “I did not know if I would ever settle down, so I brought everything here for safekeeping.”
My breath catches, and I feel a pang of sorrow on Merak’s behalf.
The boxes contain his memories, pieces of his old life.
He clears his throat. “I brought you here because we needed a safe place to spend the night. But I suppose it also serves the purpose of finally revealing the truth to you—my people believe I am cursed.”
Before I can respond, before I can refute his assertion that he is cursed, he grips my upper arms and pulls me closer. He emits a soft growl and leans down, resting his forehead against mine.
Then he sends me a series of images, thoughts, and memories.
It’s a replay of his life. The most important things he can recall. The moments that shaped him. He doesn’t hold back. He shows me everything, even the violence. His worst deeds. Like the faefolk he killed for taunting him, and all the human and orc soldiers he ruthlessly slaughtered during battle. I even see a memory of him placing a young fae soldier’s head on a spike. Gods.
Then come the dreams. The dreams that haunt him. Black frost and a shadow figure he can never quite see when he turns his head. He reveals his worries that the dreams might mean something, but also his hope that the dreams are harmless, nothing beyond simple nightmares.
My knees start to buckle, and he immediately sweeps me into his arms. He carries me to the cold firepit and places me down on the bedroll. He retrieves the torch from the wall just long enough to light the firepit, then he settles next to me on the bedroll.
I am not sure what to think.
Merak has more darkness in him than I would have ever imagined.
Yet he showed it to me. All of it. All his secrets.
“Why?” I whisper, my voice coming out hoarse. I become aware of the tears coating my face, tears I don’t recall shedding. “Why did you show me all that? Why did you tell me…” My voice trails off.
He cups my face, brushing my tears away with his thumbs.
Knowing what he has done, every sordid deed, I should pull away from him.
