Merlot's Eyes

Chapter Six

My heart was dropping lower and lower into the ground with every step I took towards the royal family's hall. Many tapestries depicting the Threefold daemons filled the walls. Bloody battle scenes and decapitated humans and exalted creatures were painted on the walls between the tapestries. It sent chills down my spine, as if the ghosts of the creatures themselves were breathing down the back of my neck. Stopping in front of the largest set of double doors, I inhaled.
Exhaling, I shoved open those doors.
"Your Highness," I said, cursing as I realized I hadn't knocked, "you wanted to see me?"
The room was lavish and full of furnitures. Weapons galore were hung on the walls. Swords and claymores, bows and decorated arrows. A set of silver and ruby scythes caught my eye, hanging above the large, unlit fireplace. The handles were untouched, glistening in the dying sunlight. The blades were unscathed and long, glimmering brand-new. I wanted to touch them, yet I knew I shouldn't. Instead, I walked about the room, wondering where His Highness was.
"In here, Merlot," a raspy voice called from the bathing room.
Upon entering, I gasped, my body going ramrod straight as I took in the state of King Dren, on the floor.
Pools of blood were scattered around on the marble. The king himself was curled, knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He was shirtless, his chest and back heaving as he took in abject, rattling breaths.
I dropped to my knees beside him and asked, "What happened? Where are you hurt?"
King Dren growled deep within his throat as I retained from putting my hands on his physique. He uncurled and lifted his left arm, showing me the source of the blood. There, betwixt his ribs, was a gaping hole. A knife wound. Hastily, I pressed my hands to the wound, causing him to cry out. "We have to stop the bleeding," I said quickly, taking his blood-stained tunic from off the floor and ripping it. "What happened, Your Highness? Who did this to you? Was it one of the Three?"
"Cease your questions," he spat.
Ignoring him, I stood and called for Nilou. The nymph showed up quickly, along with two handmaids beside her. "I need herbs. Medicines. Whatever you have."
"Since when were you skilled in first aid," Dren mumbled as I kept pressing down on the wound opening.
"When you don't have anyone to care for you, you learn to do it yourself," I answered, feeling his eyes upon me. "You called me in here without knowing if I knew how to take care of this sort of problem." I looked at him. "So don't give me your sass. Whether it be the loss of blood or your true self, I don't appreciate it. Keep your gob shut and let me help you."
Dren's face was that of comical surprise. I didn't care in that moment if he was the king or not. Hells know if he died, Lex wouldn't be too accommodating to me and I would end up back at my bakery. Not that I didn't love my bakery... I was just fed up with being alone.
Nilou returned with a basket of herbs and malted medicines and cloths. Quickly, I searched through the basket looking for afni leaves, which had fast healing properties. I'd used some on myself when I had cut myself accidentally whilst slicing bread. "This will sting quite a bit," I warned, and then pressed the afni patch to the knife wound. Dren did naught but grunt at the pain.
Carefully, I wrapped cloth around his broad chest, tightening it and pinning it in place with a golden pin. "The fact that you're still alive means it didn't penetrate anything vital. You're lucky," I told the king, helping him stand. In his nymph form, he stood as tall as me, if not a bit shorter. He was definitely more bulky and muscled, yet I found it comical he was shorter. "Rest. Stay in bed and off your feet."
"Thank you," he murmured as I helped him into his unmade bed. "I don't know what I would do without you, Merlot." The king's hand grabbed mine. I froze. Looking at him, I shook my head, pulling my hand away. "You would be fine without me; your staff knows how to dress a wound as well—it isn't hard to learn." I didn't care if I sounded cross; I was still upset that he had the nerve to snap at me after summoning me to help him. Pulling the comforters up to the king's chin, I patted the blankets down and walked over to the door. "I'll have Nilou bring you in some herbal tea to help with the pain and tonight's dinner."
Before Dren could say anything else, I left.

—

Wake up, Merlot.
I opened my eyes. It was dark in my room. Not even the moon shined past the curtains. Was there a moon? I was disoriented. What had happened?
"You fainted."
Gasping, I looked to where the voice came from. A man stood in the corner of my room, hands clasped behind his back. Clad in dark robes with bare arms, the man walked out of the shadows. His hair was that of silken midnight, brushing his shoulders in an inky cascade. Horns of dark material glittered upon his head, curled and pointed near his elongated ears. Eyes of the palest blue watched me as I stood from my place on the floor. I recognized him as the man from my nightmares. Yet that didn't faze me. Had I really fainted? What had caused it? I wasn't new to the sight of blood, yet bandaging Dren is the only thing I could remember. Blood didn't make me dizzy. And I had eaten enough...
"Calm," the man said.
"I'm calm," I answered. "Who are you. What are you."
"My name is Raziel. Raziel Hellebore. I am a wraith."
"What is a wraith doing visiting me outside of my dreams," I questioned. Though this man was a sight to behold, heinous yet hauntingly beautiful, I didn't sense a sort of danger from him. I was calm and collected, as if I knew him. His voice was just as I had remembered it: deep and crooning, raspy and hoarse.
"You had an episode," he continued, walking around my room with bare feet. "You then fainted."
"Episode?"
"You were triggered. You were alone. You slipped back into old habits." Raziel gestured with a dark talon at my arm. Lifting it, I saw red marks scratched into my skin. They burned as I stared at them, counting the marks and cursing myself. I promised myself that I wouldn't hurt myself anymore... yet I'd failed—fallen back.
"I need, cloth," I breathed, panicked breaths clogging my throat. What is happening to me...
"Calm." Raziel's hands reached for me, yet went right through me.
I looked up at him, at his closeness. He was naught but an... apparition. "You're not real..." I laughed at myself. "You're a hallucination."
Raziel stared down at me with silent eyes.
"Go away," I murmured, dragging myself into bed. "I'll deal with myself in the morning."
"I can save you."
"Save me from...?"
"This war."
"So Dren wasn't successful," I quipped, throwing my hands in the air. My head was full of clouds, vertigo creeping into my consciousness. I felt faint again and held my head in my hands. "Köd Kunta will destroy these lands."
"I can save you from this. You do not deserve to be slain amidst turmoil that has nothing to do with you. Come with me. Say my name thrice—summon me. I can take you away from this before it turns into a bloodbath."
I waved my hand at the person I knew wasn't there. "Go, go away. I'm ready to die."
"Living this pompously has changed you, Merlot."
"You don't know me... you are me. Yap, yap, yap." I mocked the hallucination with my hands, settling myself into the mattress and closing my eyes. "I live to serve others. It's how its always been."
"You were happy with your bakery; why did you leave it."
"I was afraid of being alone."
"I'm with you."
"You're not real!" I shouted. My voice echoed in the silence. I looked over my shoulder. Raziel was gone. Groaning, I sat up and ran my hands through my hair. What the hells was wrong with me? I'd been seeing things for years—all stemming from my days with Azzaro. Yet since moving to Korath and doing what I love, the voices and delusions had vanished. Yet, why were they returning now? Why were all of these detrimental thoughts creeping up on me? I didn't want to die—I wanted to live.
And I was living in the only way I knew how. Serving others and baking things that I love for others to enjoy. Bringing others joy brought me happiness. Never had I spoke to anyone about my past, and never had I wanted to. And I'd never had someone to sit down and talk to. My trauma was naught but locked in a box in the back of my mind and I needed to keep it there to avoid things like... I rubbed my raw, cut arm. This.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I curled into a fetal position and squeezed my eyes shut. If Dren knew how fucked up I was in the head, he wouldn't have asked me to be his chef. I would still be in my bakery, crying myself to sleep every night and praying to gods who didn't give a shit about me.
Nothing my hallucination said was real... it was simply me putting my thoughts and insecurities into dramatized words. Like a theatre play, except with my mind. Even I didn't know the deepest recesses of my mind; I mostly locked every negative thing out of my day so that it wouldn't get in the way of my daily work. I preferred to bake with love and compassion, to stuff my breads and pastries with joy and glee. If I let my mind take control, my buns and sweet pockets would taste sour and pungent.
Only when I was alone, did my mind come alive. Whether in physical forms or voices, it mocked me; making me shiver in fear and quiver from not being able to separate delusion from reality... so I mocked it back.