King of the Unblessed

by Michelle M. Pillow

  Hugh glanced around at his guests. Bellemare’s hall overflowed with visiting nobles and their families. Minstrels played lively tunes as a jester danced around the crowd, tripping over his feet. Outside near the marketplace, the servants and many of the knights enjoyed their meals by bonfire. At Euric’s call, the crowd fell quiet. All eyes were on the earl. Hugh didn’t mind. He was used to the attention.

  “What is it, Euric?” he asked, not standing from his chair.

  “My lord.” Euric bowed. “Sir Nicholas arrives.”

  “Ah, he must be with his father,” Hugh said, nodding. He waved his hand, dismissing the guard. “Well, man, let him cross.”

  “I have, my lord,” Euric said, his eyes widening as he tried to impart some unknown meaning to the earl. “He wishes to speak with you. It’s most urgent.”

  Glancing at Thomas, Hugh motioned for his brother to follow. They stepped down from the platform and followed Euric to the stairwell. When they were away from the great hall, Hugh asked, “Is Lord Eadward with him?”

  “Nay, my lord,” Euric said. “Sir Nicholas is alone.”

  Hugh shared a look with Thomas. He knew his brother well enough to interpret his blank expression for concern. All three men were silent as they climbed down the dark stairwell to the courtyard. A warm breeze filtered in, the temperature pleasant.

  “Sir Nicholas, welco—” Hugh began, as he walked outside. Nicholas’ look cut him off. The courtyard was empty, but they could hear laughter from outside the bailey walls. The walls were illuminated by the outside bonfires, casting the darker yard with a soft orange light. The night sky was clear, littered beautifully with stars that blanketed the heavens for miles.

  Nicholas’ green eyes were swollen red, though they looked more angry than sad. His short brown hair was tousled about his head, attesting to a fast ride. Hugh assumed he must have come straight from his father’s castle to get there. His father’s head knight, Vincent d’Avre, was with him. He looked just as upset.

  “What is it? What has happened?” Hugh demanded.

  “I have come…to…” Nicholas said, his voice hoarse. He shook his head, unable to say more. He turned his back on them, lowering his head into his hands.

  “Master d’Arve?” Thomas prompted.

  “Lord Eadward was attacked,” Vincent answered. The man looked at Hugh. “He’s dead, my lord.”

  “Attacked? By whom?” Hugh demanded, scowling in outrage. “Who here would dare attack him on my land? Coming to my home?”

  “He was attacked in his sleep last night, my lord,” Vincent said. Nicholas’ shoulders stiffened. Faint shouts followed by more laughter rolled over the night sky from the marketplace. “At his home.”

  “Who?” Thomas said, anger thick in his voice.

  “We don’t know,” Vincent said.

  “He was murdered.” Nicholas turned back around. He was stiff with control as he eyed the two brothers. Hugh’s gut tightened with anger and grief. He’d known Lord Eadward for years, and Nicholas had been his friend since boyhood. He knew Nicholas for a good, honest man whose bravery on the field of battle was well known. “Massacred in his bedchamber, gutted like a pig, torn apart until only his face was recognizable. We couldn’t even carry the body from his chamber. We had to wrap it in a blanket. I have never seen anything so…”

  Nicholas choked on his words, but his look said more than his voice ever could. Whatever it was he’d seen, it had to be horrific to make a knight tremble in such a way. And to see it done to his own father? Hugh couldn’t imagine.

  “Nicholas, we will punish the man responsible,” Hugh swore. “Are there no suspects? No witnesses?”

  “None,” Vincent answered when Nicholas couldn’t.

  “My father’s sword was still sheathed. He didn’t try to fight back.” Nicholas took a deep breath and Hugh knew he fought to stay calm.

  “Or didn’t have time to,” Thomas said softly to Hugh.

  “Was anyone unusual seen about the castle?” Hugh asked.

  “Nay, my lord,” Vincent said. “The gates were down all night. We had no visitors into the keep. It’s as if…”

  “As if it were someone he knew,” Nicholas finished, his tone cold. “Someone he trusted.”

  “You said his bed. A woman?” Thomas asked.

  “My sire took no lovers at Tyrshire these many years past,” Nicholas answered.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Hugh said, scratching the back of his head. “Lord Eadward has no enemies, none who would profit from his death. He hasn’t even been active in the king’s court for nearly ten years. Aside from the wedding to…”

  Hugh tensed, glancing back at the castle.

  “Juliana,” Thomas whispered. The men exchanged looks before running up the stairwell to the great hall. They crossed through the room, drawing the looks of those gathered. Hugh motioned his knights to stay seated.

  Jogging up a second stairwell that led to the noble bedchambers, Hugh called, “Juliana!”

  “Juliana,” Thomas repeated, sounding just as concerned.

  They rushed through the darkened hallway to her bedchamber door. Hugh held his breath, stopping to pound on the thick wood. The door creaked open with the force of his blows. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace. The four men made quick work of checking her chambers. Her bed was made, her wedding gown untouched. There was a pair of her shoes and a broken bowl on the otherwise clean floor. She wasn’t there.

  Thomas reached beneath her mattress. “Her dagger’s gone.”

  “Juliana wouldn’t have…” Nicholas instantly defended, shaking his head. Hugh studied Nicholas, watching how the man’s eyes turned away as he said Juliana’s name. His face was pale, drawn. “Nay, you mustn’t think she would…my lord father…”

  “We don’t,” Hugh assured the man. “She was here all day with us.”

  Nicholas nodded once.

  Hugh’s gut was tight with fear, but he forced the emotion down, locking it away. Frowning, he said, “She would only take the dagger if she suspected danger. Vincent, go to the front gates, tell them that Lady Juliana is missing. Don’t let any carts pass until she’s found. Tell them to send knights into the marketplace.”

  Vincent glanced at Nicholas, who nodded that he should obey. Vincent ran from the room.

  Nicholas looked lost. “She’s probably about.”

  The brothers ignored his words, as they went to check the remaining chambers. Their bedchambers, the sewing chamber, all of them were empty.

  “I’ll go to the hall,” Thomas said. “If she passed there, she would have been seen.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Hugh followed him down the stairs. “We need to send out search parties. No one will rest until she is found.”

  * * *

  Giles poked his head up from inside the barrel of ale, covering his mouth as he hiccupped. Liquor dripped off his small cap, running over his sticky face, but he didn’t care as his kicked in the ale to keep his small body afloat. He knew the lady who passed through his dusty pantry wouldn’t see or hear him. None of Bellemare’s humans could see him. He was a brownie, Bellemare’s household brownie to be exact. It was a sweet life, for he’d been blessed with keeping stock of the ale. Everything he needed was right here in this room—food, drink, bolts of cloth to make clothes for himself. Looking down at his ragged suit of green and blue that he’d worn for the last hundred years, he hiccupped again. Aye, maybe someday he’d make new clothes.

  The two small holes that made up his nostrils expanded and contracted on his flat face with each rapid breath. Only a foot tall, he had to climb on top of the barrel’s edge, hefting himself up with his long, nimble fingers, to see Lady Juliana better. All the creatures of Bellemare liked Lady Juliana. She was kind and they loved to sit around listening as she told stories from their world. She didn’t always get the tales right, but it was a piece of home.

  Whenever she gathered the mortal children, the immortals would come too, sitting around in
the blades of grass to watch her. They’d been there earlier that day as she spoke of Nixies. Giles rubbed his backside. A mortal boy had nearly trampled him to get to the marketplace.

  “What is she up to?” Giles wondered, squinting to watch her. He smacked his lips, frowning. She looked worried. Perhaps he should follow her, just to make sure she was all right. Hiccupping, he looked down at the barrel. “Ah, but first, hiccup, a drink!”

  He fell back into the ale, a drunken grin on his face.

  * * *

  Juliana hugged her wool cloak tightly around her shoulders as she made her way through the castle undetected. She passed under the great room floor, crossing through the pantry so as not to be seen. A few servants were about, but most were too busy serving the guests to pay her much mind. She knew every inch of the castle, had played in it since girlhood, and it was easy to slip through unnoticed.

  Luckily, the children weren’t being kept in the gatehouse prisons, but in the lower dungeons of the main castle. Pressing her hand against the cool stone wall, she hurried down the stairwell. Seeing the dungeon, she froze. It was as Merrick had said. The children were gone.

  She shivered, wondering if Hugh had let them go. Seeing the half-eaten trenchers of food, she frowned. The door was still locked as well. Going to the bars, she looked in. No, the children hadn’t been let out. They were just gone.

  “You didn’t believe me?”

  Juliana gasped, jumping in surprise. She turned to look at Merrick. He lounged against the wall, watching her expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “I’m hurt.”

  “Stop this.” She took a step toward him, casting her eyes down. “Tell me what you want from me. I’ll give you…anything. Just stop this.”

  At that he merely smiled. His gaze dipped over her body and she shivered to imagine just what his “anything” would be. So help her, she’d succumb to his demands almost willingly. Fortunately for her sanity and virtue, he didn’t make them. He lifted his hand, brushing his fingers over her neck. Juliana shivered at the light caress. His nearness did something to her, despite her hate for him, which grew with each passing second.

  “You waste precious time, my lady,” he said. “The King of the Unblessed awaits.”

  “I’ll find your King Lucien and I will get those children back.” Juliana lifted her chin and walked past him, head held high. She hurried up the stairs, leaving him to watch after her.

  When Juliana looked away, Merrick waved his hand, lowering the glamour over the children. They appeared once more, though he blocked the sound of their laughter from her ears. The children couldn’t see or hear him and he preferred to keep it that way. What did he want with a bunch of human children? So long as she believed he had them, she would go on his adventure.

  He moved to follow her up the stairwell. So, she thought he meant for her to seek out King Lucien? Merrick easily saw how she had come to that conclusion. He said Lucien controlled the demons. Being human, she naturally assumed his unblessed goblins were demons.

  This would be easier than he’d first imagined. The whole of a week could go by before she even realized she sought the wrong man. Merrick laughed. She’d be bound to him for an eternity and it would be of her own doing. She asked him to come and give her an adventure. She’d offered her soul for it. In the laws of magic, her soul was worth far more than obedience and the amendment he’d made would keep the bargain between them. Regardless of what happened, she would be his until he let her go. King Merrick knew he would never let her go.

  A cold wind whipped down the stairwell, too cold for the spring evening of the mortal world. Juliana was stopped at the top of the stairs, staring out at the courtyard. The land was covered with snow where there had so recently been grass. The courtyard was empty, the snow so fresh that tracks had yet to be made in it. She glanced at him as he moved to stand beside her. Her eyes were hard and her cheeks flushed red with both anger and cold. He grinned, enjoying their silent battle of wills.

  Merrick was glad she didn’t smile at him, didn’t offer her lips. He’d been tempted to kiss her in the side courtyard, tempted to take her mouth and her body for his own right there in the garden—had he been more than a glamour to her, he might have. He was unable to visit her realm in person, at least not wholly. It was too hard to keep a solid form for too long, but he could appear real enough to her. However, if he just wanted pleasures of the flesh, he could easily find them. He wanted more from Juliana. He wanted to see her soul shining out of her eyes. He wanted to hear her heart race in fear, longing, anger. Most of all, he wanted to control her completely, wanted her pledged to him, not magically, but by her own will. Know it or not, Lady Juliana would be his slave…for an eternity.

  That was, if he didn’t kill her first.

  * * *

  Juliana sighed, surprised to see that Merrick followed her as she trudged through the snow to the gatehouse. He didn’t say a word. Snow fell in light flakes over the land, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. There was no sign of the guards, of the visiting nobles and their servants, no songs from the minstrels, no glow of a campfire along the wall.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked, going to the front gate. Merrick merely smiled. The surrounding landscape looked the same, only it was snow-covered and barren. A large black-colored bird squawked overhead. Juliana pulled her cloak closer to her body. She didn’t know if she trembled from the cold or from fear. Understanding it was pointless to again beg him to end his madness, she asked, “Which way to the Otherworld?”

  “You’re already here,” Merrick said. He lifted his hand, gesturing to the far off forest. “Your adventure begins, my lady.”

  Juliana shivered, pulling her cloak tight. He disappeared, fading into nothingness. She walked toward the nearby trees. The landscape looked the same as her home. As she marched through the snow, she put her head down, blocking the cold wind. The moon was bright and the silver light guided her, glistening on the snow like diamonds. She hadn’t slept, but her heart beat so fast in uncertainty that the fear kept her moving, kept her immune to the weather. After several paces, she glanced up, turning to look back at her home. She gasped. The castle was gone. All that lay behind her was the long stretch of snowy fields.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” she told herself sharply. “You will not be weak. You will find this Lucien, King of the Unblessed Demons. You will find him and ask him to free the children.”

  Fear and anger could only keep Juliana moving for so long before the cold forced her to seek shelter in the forest. Icicles hung from the tall trees, like shards of broken glass, so eerily smooth. They reflected the moonlight, illuminating the pathway before her. The trees blocked the wind, but her breath still came out in white puffs and she couldn’t feel her nose. Seeing a small outcropping of rocks, she crawled beneath it, away from the snow, and huddled in a ball.

  “I really, really hate you, Merrick,” she whispered, closing her eyes to sleep. “I will make you pay for this.”

  * * *

  Merrick frowned, glancing up from the garden basin. He waved his hand, making Juliana’s image disappear before threading his fingers behind his back. He was used to people hating him. Why should her hatred be any different? It was too bad the wizards had decided to pick this night to make snow, but what could he do about it?

  Turning on his heels, he strode from the black garden. The stone maze parted to let him pass, soundlessly changing. His black overtunic fluttered behind him. The red flowers bloomed and died, rippling like a wave over stone as he walked by.

  The Black Palace was vast, reaching up into the dark night sky. It loomed before him like a mortal’s gothic cathedral, only the spires arched and twisted in a way that would never be possible in the mortal world. They were decorated with hooked stone spurs.

  The pointed lancet windows gave off a soft orange glow from within. The torches always burned, never needing to be replaced. Above his private entryway to the gardens was a small round wind
ow, the stone carved with great detail, depicting the silhouetted head of a dragon. The round window was a smaller version of the one on front of his palace.

  Inside, the black stone swallowed the light into its inky depths. The orange glow of torches mixed with moonlight streaming through the long windows. The narrow halls were plain, except for the decorative arches overhead.

  The castle was alive with magic and it was all connected to him. Merrick hadn’t built the castle. It simply was, because he was. Merrick could walk along the hall from his garden and get to any place in the castle just by reaching the single door at the end. All the doors in the palace were like that. They led to wherever he wished—the hall, his bedchamber, the dungeons. For everyone else, the doors were simply doors.

  The moment he stepped foot into the great hall it would change to his mood. Most of the time, the décor was black, gothic, dark. It was the same with his clothing. With the mere suggestion of his mind, his tunic would change to suit him. Sometimes, very rarely, he’d dress himself, as he had in the old days, pulling his pants on, lacing his own boots.

  Merrick opened the door at the end of the passageway and walked into the great hall. The room stayed black, all but the dark blue tapestries behind his throne. They fluttered, changing to crimson red with gold embroidery. The pattern looked suspiciously like Juliana’s coverlet. Seeing a goblin huddled in the corner, his face scrunched up in mischief, Merrick ordered, “Iago, fetch me a wizard. Any wizard.”

  “Aye, my king,” Iago answered, his voice rasping. He didn’t move right away and Merrick turned to look where the goblin stared. Iago snickered behind his hand. A fireplace surged, lighting the goblin Borc on fire. Borc yelped, jumping around in circles before finally dousing his head in a bucket. The bucket steamed. The goblins laughed, a jeering sound that filled the hall.