Stone Queen

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Aye, but she wanted to go with us on an adventure. Juliana always resented being a lady because it kept her home.” Thomas kept to the side as the path widened. Hugh once more rode up next to him only to have William join them. “All she ever wanted was an adventure and here when her chance came, she seized it.”

  “All I ever wanted was to keep my family safe,” Hugh said. “To live honorably and die a good man.”

  “And so you shall.” Thomas nodded.

  “A good faery anyway,” William smirked.

  “With wings.” Thomas leaned back on his seat, staring behind Hugh to where he’d hidden his wings from them with faery magic.

  “I knew I would never hear the end of it!” Hugh lightly kicked his horse, sending it forward along the open path. The faery magic went with him, taking the barrier that kept them from the rain. Thomas and William gasped in protest as the chilled water hit their flesh, soaking into their clothing.

  “Hugh!” William yelled.

  “Come on, Will.” Thomas raced after the king. “Never will I say I was outridden by a faery!”

  Merrick wasn’t sure what he was doing, he only knew he needed to do it. Every bit of his heart and soul called out to the fates, begging them to save Juliana and his son no matter the cost. He’d give his own life for theirs, as unworthy of a trade as it was, if only fate would take it.

  The mountain paths took him higher, but Kalen’s horse was used to climbing the steep inclines and did not pause as he carried his rider up. Below, in the distance, he saw the rain, but the storm had yet to reach where he was. Instead, fog covered the land, rolling gently over the flowers and grasses, but not so thick as to hinder the way.

  He felt the trolls in the nearby caves, living alone in complete isolation and happy that way. They crawled all through the mountain systems, beneath the surface through natural tunnels formed in the earth. On the mountain surface, other creatures roamed. He glanced to the side, sensing creatures in the distance behind a large boulder, near a high rock face that would protect their fire from the evening wind. Merrick avoided them, not needing the council of mountain gnomes or rock faeries, no matter how unblessed they were.

  Merrick came to the mountains for one reason, to speak with the troll elder, Fowler. She was the meanest, ugliest creature of the whole race, but she also owed her allegiance to the unblessed crown. And, she had the great talent of locating anything in the Immortal Realm with the magic crystals that grew in her cave.

  If anyone could find Ean, Fowler would.

  Suddenly, he thought of his brother. Part of his mind constantly concentrated on sensing the Blessed King and Merrick felt the connection pull down the side of a cliff. Merrick reined the stallion hard, causing it to kick out its front legs as it reared up.

  Turning, he galloped back down the way he came. Ean was on Valdis land. Perhaps the fates had heard him and had taken pity. Ean being on his land could only be a good sign and Merrick dared to grasp the thin thread of hope that washed over him. Nothing would bring the king of all that was blessed onto his land, not even the war.

  “Thank you, fate,” he whispered, leaning back so that the horse could make his way swiftly down the mountain. He pushed his magic out toward his brother, concentrating on the thin thread that joined them, willing Ean to hear and come to him. “Anything you want brother will be yours, only help me save them.”

  They will be saved. They will be saved. They must be saved.

  “What was that?” Ean jerked around in his seat as the horse’s hindquarters jarred violently to the left. The rain had let up to a drizzle, giving dreary relief to the foul weather. Nerves knotted his stomach and though every fiber of his being urged him to lie to himself, he knew the truth. He was losing Wolfe and this time death was taking him for real.

  “I will check.” Adal swung from his unicorn, absently patting the beast along its side as he walked back to the cot. Ean glanced around the dark trees. The hour grew late and he’d hoped to have been at the Black Palace before now. He turned, about to speak, only to jolt as Adal swore. “By all that is blessed!”

  “What?” Ean jumped from his horse, landing in the sticky mud. His feet squished, clopping and sucking against the slippery land as he trudged to where Adal stood next to Brodor, his fist filled with long hairs. “What is it?”

  “They do not look well. Brodor’s beard has fallen out.” Adal opened his fist and knelt down, working to pull at the straps. “They struggle. Methinks they cannot breathe.”

  Ean barely glanced in the fallen warrior’s direction as he went to Wolfe, automatically reaching for his chest to start releasing the stiff, wet straps. Wolfe’s features were corpselike, pale and sunken. Black circles marred the flesh around his closed lids.

  “Wolfe,” Ean whispered, feeling the heartbeat beneath his hands weaken more. Already it had been faint. This was it. He’d lost. “He’s dying.”

  “Brodor, too.” Adal sounded panicked. “I do not know what else we can do.”

  Ean pulled at the straps, his fingers slipping on the knots as he tried to untie them. Finally, he gave up and reached for the knife in his boot. Franticly, he began slicing open the ties, cutting his way down to loosen the hold on Wolfe.

  “He darkens,” Adal said. “His flesh. I do not understand how…”

  “Darkens?” Ean looked at his brother. Wolfe was still pale.

  “Fur.” Adal’s features hardened. “He sprouts dark fur.”

  From the corner of his eye, Ean saw the man stand. Realizing he’d been so worried about Wolfe he hadn’t looked directly at Brodor when he came back, he pushed to his feet to see the fallen soldier. Brodor’s face was no longer pale as fine little hairs grew all over.

  “What is happening to them?” Adal asked.

  “He is turning,” Ean said, shaking. As he watched, the fur grew. Brodor’s mouth and nose elongated slightly and his lips parted to show dangerously long, sharp teeth. “He turns into one of them.”

  “This makes no sense. The lycan’s bite, it does not do this.” Adal shook his head, automatically reaching for his sword. Drawing it, he held it up toward Brodor. Without warning, the warrior’s body jerked, moving freely without the straps to bind him down. His dark eyes opened wide, their depths flecked with hints of the glowing blue of the werewolf clans. “We cannot kill him. How can we? He is one of us. A cure—”

  “There is no cure,” Ean whispered, instinctively knowing it to be true. “King Lucien planned this. The wizard betrayed us. The lycans knew we were coming and yet they waited until after you freed Wolfe from the prison instead of stopping us before. And after they bit these two, they ran off. They did not stay and fight us. They did not give chase.”

  “Mayhap we merely bested them.” Adal’s tone was weak and unconvinced.

  Ean didn’t want to look, but he forced himself to see Wolfe’s face. His brother’s pale features were slowly sprouting fur as Brodor’s had done. A low gurgling roar sounded in the back of Brodor’s throat, the beginning rumble of a predator’s growl. His body jerked and his bones cracked as if breaking apart. The unicorns pawed the ground skittishly, but the well-trained animals did not run. Ean’s breath rasped as he shook his head in denial. “Nay. This is what Lucien wanted. He wanted me to fail Wolfe and I have.”

  “This is not your doing,” Adal asserted.

  “I took him from the prison.” Ean watched Wolfe’s face change, each second like a stab to the heart. The prince’s jaw worked, as if biting the air as the fangs grew.

  “What choice did you have? To leave him? You said it yourself. He is your brother. How could you not try?”

  “Wolfe, I’m sorry.” Ean made a move to touch his brother, but Wolfe’s eyes opened. His blue gaze glowed eerily, slivering until the unnatural color completely overtook his eyes. “Wolfe?”

  Wolfe’s eyes moved back and forth rapidly until finally focusing on the Blessed King. His blue eyes shifted with gold flecks, narrowing in what Ean could only hope was recognitio
n.

  “Wolfe, fight this. Do not give in. Fight.” Ean dropped his blade hand, knowing he’d never attack his brother. How could he? “Wolfe, please.”

  Brodor roared, jerking violently from the cot. Adal lifted his sword. “Do not make me, Brodor.”

  Brodor’s hands lifted, the nail beds extended with claws as sharp as daggers. He breathed heavily, salivating as he looked at Adal.

  “Wolfe,” Ean whispered, vaguely aware of thundering hooves as he offered his hand to the shifted prince on the cot. Claws cut through the remaining material that bound the prince down, as he struggled to be free.

  “Nay!” came a shout, the voice familiar and unexpected. Brodor instantly fell forward onto all fours. Pawed hands thumped the ground as he pushed forward, running down the path the way they’d come, back toward Hades.

  “Defend yourself, Ean,” Merrick demanded. A blur of movement darted along the forest path toward them. The unicorns neighed in protest, darting to the side to let the Unblessed King pass. Wolfe turned, snarling as Merrick rode past, sword drawn. “Put silver to the heart!”

  Instead of stabbing Wolfe, Ean lurched forward to stop Merrick. “Nay, it’s Wolfe!”

  “Aye, a wolf. Lucien’s lycan.” Merrick nearly thrust his blade into Ean, but was able to draw his arm off course at the last instant. “Move so that I may dispatch it back to the hell from which it spawned!”

  A distant howl echoed over the forest. Brodor called for Wolfe and the prince leapt into the distance, hurrying away on all fours. Merrick made a move to give chase, instinctively ready to face the fight. Ean grabbed his arm. “Nay, Merrick, it is our brother, Wolfe. The lycanthropes infected him.”

  Merrick stopped, breathing heavily as he turned back to Ean in disbelief. He looked worn, tired. The usual smirk in his expression was gone, replaced by ultimate despair. Ean felt the anguish hit him, knowing it wasn’t nearly as strong as what his brother could feel of the misery. “Wolfe is a…wolf?”

  “I found a way into the prison. I—” Ean began. They did not touch, merely stared.

  “And you did not send for me?” Merrick growled. The Unblessed King stalked forward and Ean stumbled weakly back, out of his brother’s reach.

  “We are at war!” Ean defended, helpless over Wolfe and more than ready to fight with Merrick because of it. His whole body ached and he just wanted to be home, back in his Golden Palace surrounded by beauty and life. He wanted to forget his brothers, his failure and knew that nothing would ever take the memory of it from him. “Why would I send for you?”

  “Because I know…” Merrick stopped, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “I know darkness. I know Lucien’s games. He will not stop until he has taken everything from me.”

  “Your battle with Lucien is your own.” Ean stared Merrick down. Neither of them moved toward the other. “I cannot help you.”

  “My king.” Adal still gripped his sword firmly in hand. “We should go.”

  Ean nodded once. “Aye. There is nothing more for us here in Valdis.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You cannot,” Merrick whispered, keeping his brother from leaving. The shock of finding Wolfe only to discover him even more lost would have to wait. The fates had led him to Ean.

  “And you plan to stop me? Are you mad? You cannot be both blessed and unblessed! That is not how it works,” Ean fumed. The Blessed King was worn, but was still as youthful and handsome as Merrick remembered him being. “You took your crown. You should have waited for us to help you, but you ran toward your fate and now you must live it.”

  “I was blessed.” Merrick tried to think of how best to explain, how best to ask. He didn’t expect the words to be so thick in his mouth.

  “I know, brother, but no more. It is as you told me, death and fate can undo much.” Ean had hardened some since he took the throne. It was right and fitting that he should do so. A king, even a blessed one, could not be weak. “You took the reign—”

  “Juliana,” Merrick interrupted. “I was blessed with Juliana and my son. The unblessed can know a blessing.” He pointed toward where Wolfe ran off. “Just as the blessed can know an unblessing.”

  Ean glanced down the path and Merrick felt him hardening more at the reminder of Wolfe. “You dare to mention them to me? You dare to blame their imprisonment on me? For I see well your accusations, Merrick. If not for you they would never have left Tegwen to stop you from fighting the old Unblessed King.”

  “You dare to blame me?” Merrick asked. “It is your fault they came after me. You told them where I was going. You fought with them—”

  “So it was better that I go along and die as well? Or find myself in the prison, the blessed throne, our legacy abandoned?”

  “I have no time for this, Ean,” Merrick growled. “You must come with me. My son—”

  “A boy?” Ean said, as if finally hearing the fact. “You have a son?”

  Merrick shook his head in denial.

  “The baby is not yours.” Ean nodded. “It would make sense that it is not yours.”

  “It is mine. I felt his power,” Merrick said.

  “Felt?” Ean arched a brow.

  “The baby is not born. It sleeps in his mother’s stomach.”

  “Dead?” Adal asked softly, reminding both kings that he was there.

  “Trapped.” Merrick turned his black gaze back to Ean. “I need your help.”

  Ean hid the shock he had to feel. Slowly, he moved to the empty cot, slicing the ties that held it to the back of his horse. He tossed it to the side of the path. His actions prompted Adal to do the same, though the warrior did not take his gaze from King Merrick.

  “She was once your blessed ward.” Merrick knew neither man trusted him. And for all his eagerness to force them along in a hurry, he kept his calm.

  “And it is your doing that she is no longer such. Her family is blessed and under my protection.” Ean went to his unicorn, gripping the mane. “I asked you to free her from whatever game it was you played. I begged you to let her go. Whatever this favor you ask is, the problem is of your own doing and I will not help you.”

  “You must,” Merrick demanded, losing his temper.

  “Why should I help you? We are at war!” Ean swung up onto the unicorn’s back. He gripped the horn.

  “A war you wanted,” Merrick argued. “I did not ask for this, any of it. But it has been my burden.”

  “Me? The war started because of you.” Ean glared at him, thinking of all the men he had lost. “You instigated everything and now you think to blame me. You stole Lady Juliana, my blessed ward, and took her into your home.”

  “I made her my queen!” Merrick’s words came out in a screaming rush as they fought. “Need you a nobler gesture than that? Or was it your jealousy that caused you to light the bonfire of war? It was your ego that caused you to shoot the first gold arrow!”

  “I shot?” Ean gasped in affront.

  “Aye, and now because you did not get my Juliana for yourself, you will not help me to save her? To save my son? She was your blessed ward! Does that mean nothing?” Merrick trembled and knew Ean saw the desperation in him. Even now Merrick tasted Juliana’s lips, smelled her fragrance, felt her body on his. His blood stirred to claim her, but he could not. He might never hold her again. “All she wanted was to stop the war you started and now she will die of the spell that holds her trapped. Lucien will kill your nephew as a sacrifice. If you will not help me because I…” Merrick hesitated, touching his heart as he gasped at the pain it felt. “If you will not help me because I love her, then do it to keep Lucien from appeasing the evil magic with the blood of my son and my wife.”

  “Love?” Ean’s tense body drew back. He closed his eyes.

  “You once told me I was not dead to you, Ean,” Merrick pleaded. “I beg you now, as a brother, please help me save her. If not for me, then for your kingdom. She is my light. Without her, I turn to darkness. Do not let Lucien win.”

  M
errick knew his brother searched him and he let him in, letting him discover anything he would know.

  “I will agree to anything,” Merrick said. “Just come with me now to the Black Palace. Already it might be too late.”

  “You will end the war you started?”

  “I did not—”

  “And I did not,” Ean broke in. “I saw your arrow.”

  “And I saw your arrow.”

  “Why would I want a war?” Ean asked. “I have much to gain from peace.”

  “Lucien,” Merrick whispered, nodding in sudden understanding. “He instigated this war. I felt the battles coming, but I did not call for it.”

  “Then we fight for nothing. All those dead, for nothing.”

  Merrick reached forward, gripping his brother’s arm. “We are still blood, Ean. I feel the goodness in you, the forgiveness. Please, feel whatever of those emotions I have left in me. Come with me to my palace. Help me to save what happiness I am allowed to have in my reign. Only death will free me from the title, but Juliana saves me from myself.”

  “You do not know what you ask of me,” Ean whispered.

  “Ean, please. This is my son.” Merrick didn’t need to tell his brother what that meant. As Unblessed King, he should not be able to father a child. In the history of the unblessed throne, the Unblessed King did not have an heir. The kingdom passed from one king to the other with death. Whoever killed the old king became the new. It was the same for the damned. Only the Blessed King had children to whom he passed his rule.

  Mating was hard enough for the elfin race, but for Merrick? With the power he held? It should have been impossible. But then Juliana came.

  “Ean.” Merrick lowered his voice, stepping closer so that Adal could not overhear. Almost desperate, he willed his estranged brother to understand. “We lost our family. Wolfe and Ladon were thought dead and now they are gone. We are enemies, will always be on some level, made so by an eternity of battle between blessed and unblessed. There can never be a true peace between our kingdoms.”