Devoted - Merritt's Story 2 - Chapter 12

Whew, I made it!  Here's part 2 chapter 12!

January's Secret Gallery art is about half-done, and I'm also trying to get monthly letters out tomorrow.  Cross your fingers for me! XD

You can read the chapter inline or download the attached PDF.  Btw, I promise the next chapter after this one is a fun one! ^_^

[Table of Contents]

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Book 2, Chapter 12

Yep, his shirt is open. Just… all the way open.

Merritt clung to the edges of his poker face as Mercury met him in the foyer of his suite, dress shirt unbuttoned to his navel and tie draped around his neck. In the wake of Belmont’s comments about Mercury, Merritt had to fight back the urge to crack an ironic smirk..

“I hope you had a pleasant commute,” Mercury said, arriving at Merritt’s side and placing a hand on his arm.

“Yes, Damen.” Merritt swallowed, adjusting his grip on the thick paper files filling his arms. He’d been attempting to hold his breath as an experiment. The moment he opened his mouth to speak, Mercury’s scent enveloped him. He immediately felt the change in his head and his heart rate. He tried to maintain his focus, taking only measured, shallow breaths. “I hope it’s not a problem that I got here early.”

“Not at all,” Mercury said. “I told you, you’re welcome to come any time I’m home and accepting guests.” As he began heading further into the suite, he glanced at Merritt out of the corner of his eye. “You haven’t taken me up on that offer yet.”

“I-I didn’t want to impose,” Merritt fumbled. He hadn’t realized Mercury had wanted him to just show up unannounced on any given day. “But thank you, Damen. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The meeting with Mercury felt strange, as if he was somehow betraying Belmont by coming. He wished he could have at least talked to Belmont about it, but in the week since their all-nighter, the tension between them had only grown. Merritt had responded to the tension by instinctively retreating to what he knew best: a strict, no-nonsense military relationship with his superior. No more lunches or drinks, nor meetings in Belmont’s office where they gladly allowed business to be derailed by casual chats.

He hated the change. He’d grown to rely on Belmont’s company more than he’d realized. The only thing that hurt more than their new distant relationship was Belmont’s silent acceptance of it. Belmont didn’t push for more; he simply followed Merritt’s lead, conducting his official business with an infuriating, know-it-all smirk on his face.

Mercury led Merritt into the kitchen where a young female servant stood at attention. “Terra, two glasses of orange water.” Terra retrieved a pitcher from the sleek refrigerator while Mercury turned to Merritt. “Merritt. Have you ever had an orange?”

“You mean the fruit? I’ve read about them. But I thought we couldn’t grow them in the underground.”

Mercury smiled haughtily. “I have a source who was able to get his hands on some seeds from the surface. His team has been working with them for years, and we’re now finally able to grow dwarf orange trees in our labs. Each tree only bears one or two oranges per year, which makes them highly sought after. A single orange can sell for over five thousand dollars.” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to try one?”

“I’d love to,” Merritt said, following etiquette despite his discomfort at accepting such a valuable gift. The memory surfaced in his mind of Troy boasting about his collection of rare Hegewisch grapes. What was it with elites and their fancy fruit collections?

Mercury gave his servant a snap with his fingers that Merritt found jarring. “Terra, the bowl.”

Terra set the pitcher on the counter and retrieved a silver bowl full of round fruit, each about the size of a baseball. The glistening skin of the fruit was a marbled orange and white, its texture reminiscent of knee skin. She picked up one of them and expertly peeled it as if she’d peeled a thousand oranges before, revealing the pearlescent inner flesh. Then she split the inner sphere in half and began peeling off individual segments.

She placed the plate of wedges on the nearby kitchen table alongside the pitcher of water before retreating behind the counter.

Merritt eyed the peeled orange. The wedges looked just like the photos he’d seen in books from the surface, except they were a pure translucent white. “I thought oranges were supposed to be…orange?”

“The loss of color was a byproduct of genetic modification. But from what I hear, the taste and texture remain identical to oranges on the surface.” Mercury beckoned toward the plate. “Try one.”

Merritt’s eyes darted around the kitchen. His arms were still occupied by the stacks of files, and he saw no place he could set them down that didn’t seem like a violation of etiquette. “I just need to put these somewhere,” he said clumsily.

“No need,” Mercury said with a wicked smile. He lifted a wedge from the plate, holding it up to Merritt’s lips.

Merritt stammered. “Is there a place where I can just put—”

“Open your mouth.”

He didn’t want to. It just felt weird. He glanced at Terra, who was avoiding eye contact and repetitively wiping an already-dry glass like a programmed background character in a video game.

There was no proper way to decline. He did as ordered, and Mercury slid the orange wedge past his lips.

The tip of Mercury’s thumb brushed his lower lip, perhaps intentionally. Merritt bit down on the orange, allowing the tart juice to splash inside his mouth. The intense mix of sweet and sour startled him. As he chewed, countless juice-filled buds burst between his teeth.

“Good, isn’t it?” Mercury asked.

Merritt nodded, his head spinning as he continued to chew. Mercury stood terribly close to him, and despite his best efforts to resist, the cologne was getting to him.

He felt better after breathing in the cologne. His discomfort turned to euphoria, and Mercury’s hovering presence began to feel welcome instead of invasive.

Hold your breath, Merritt!

Snapping back to reality, he put his waterways training to the test, seeing how long he could go without another breath. At last, Mercury nodded toward the kitchen table, again flashing his wicked smile. “You can put your files down right here.” Merritt circled to the opposite side of the table, setting down his files and sucking in fresh air.

As they took their seats, Terra poured two glasses of water from the pitcher, which Merritt now noticed contained thin slices of pearl white orange wheels.

Whatever the price of oranges, the water lover in him felt disappointed that he wouldn’t get to taste Mercury’s water in its pure, unadulterated form before tasting the fruity infusion. He remembered a time last month when Belmont had caught him double-fisting two glasses of tap water from two different bars in the business district during happy hour after work. He’d been too embarrassed to admit that he was comparing them side by side. If he had, Belmont would have called him a nerd and laughed at him for five minutes straight then teased him for the rest of the week.

He missed Belmont.

“So,” Mercury said, drawing his attention back to the present, “we have a lot to talk about.” He glanced at the stack of reports on the table. “And it looks like you did your research.”

“Yes, Damen. This subject has interested me for… a long time.”

“I know. I remember when you and I discussed it before. You were only a captain back then.”

Mercury had called that morning asking Merritt to prepare a full military profile of Samsid, right hand to the East Sphere’s King Cannon. Merritt had brought his profile and then some.

“You have quite the collection here,” Mercury said as he paged through the top file. “This one dates back six years. Samsid wasn’t even of age yet.”

“He isn’t quite two years older than me. And even though he hasn’t been in sphere leadership for long, he’s been in the public eye for years. When I first started following him as a teenager, he was getting a lot of media attention as a motorcycle racer.” After Mercury flipped several pages ahead, Merritt pointed, the excitement showing in his voice as he spoke. “This was the news coverage of the race between him and Freya in the South’s sub-Riverdale cliff and high-wire course two years ago. It was legendary. A narrow defeat for Samsid, but no one else had ever come so close to beating Freya. And Freya’s considered the greatest of all time—still undefeated—so that’s saying something.”

Mercury silently absorbed Merritt’s words. His energy was difficult to read, but it felt less than positive. “I didn’t realize you’d followed Samsid quite so closely.”

“He’s amazing,” Merritt gushed before he could stop himself. “Not just as a motorcycle racer but especially as a soldier. And as a leader.”

“You think he’s a good leader?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you?”

“I agree that his sphere sees him as a good leader. I’ve known this for a long time. But I’m asking what you think.”

“I think his sphere is right.”

Mercury’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Why is that?”

“He advocates for his people, and they’re passionate about him. Everyone in his sphere from ace to jack is proud to have him represent them. He’s multitalented—a top-rated gunman, hand-to-hand combatant, and strategist. He has all the qualities that are important to armbands, from his fearlessness to his physique. And he’s charismatic. When he smiles….”

Okay, Merritt, time to reel it in.

Mercury remained silent. Despite his solid poker face, Merritt could feel that he was put off by the effusive praise of Samsid.

Mercury turned a few more pages in the file, skipping ahead to a North Sphere news article written shortly after Samsid gained the spot of right hand.

“Oh, I don’t think that article is very fair,” Merritt said, waving his hand. “Actually, most coverage of him is unfair outside the East and South Spheres.”

“What do you believe is unfair about it?” Mercury asked.

Merritt gestured toward the headline. “They’re always labeling him an ace lover, trying to denigrate him for the way he interacts with his sphere’s lower ranks.”

Mercury gave a sharp laugh. “He is an ace lover, Merritt.”

Merritt fell silent at the note of contempt in Mercury’s words.

“Samsid has that reputation for a reason,” Mercury continued. “Our journalists in the North see him for what he is.”

“Ace lover” was a pejorative term on the same level as “offal.” Elites liked to throw it around at any fellow elite who ever dared to stand up for the peasant class. But that was the very thing about Samsid that had captured Merritt’s admiration. He’d somehow balanced the needs of every rank in his sphere—a superhuman feat if ever there was one. No one in the East called him an ace lover.

The distaste in Mercury’s tone bothered him. Mercury himself had been labeled an ace lover by various journalists who disagreed with his assertions that lower-ranking citizens should be allowed to rise the ranks based on performance instead of just lineage. That was what had earned him Merritt’s respect in the first place. To hear him criticize another person as an ace lover was disconcerting.

He tried to regain his footing. “I just mean that Samsid has the support of his sphere and the respect of his military—and that makes him a formidable rival. The more we can understand him, the better we’ll fare against him.”

Mercury examined Merritt as he spoke. “Samsid is only a right hand. You talk about him like he’s a King.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how much longer Cannon has as King.”

“Oh?” Mercury’s eyebrow gave a slight twitch. “Why do you say that?”

“The East Sphere was built by private militias, but when Cannon absorbed all of them into the national military last year, he failed to show proper respect for the culture and values within each militia. As you know, tensions have been growing for a while. But the way it is now, I could imagine it rising to the level of a full-blown revolt. If it does, I think Samsid would take the side of the militias. He was a militiaman himself, and he has their loyalty. They have the strength to overpower Cannon and the national military. Troy is head of the national military, but I think even he would side with Samsid over Cannon. Cannon’s been alienating his subjects for too long, while Samsid’s only getting more popular.”

At last, the disapproval left Mercury’s eyes. He looked… impressed? “Very astute observations, Merritt.” He paused, shooing Terra out of the room before lowering his voice and leaning forward. “What I’m about to tell you is confidential. Tell no one, not even Belmont.”

Merritt swallowed. “Understood.”

“Samsid has come to me for help. He believes that Cannon is out of control, and that a schism in his military is inevitable. He wants to tackle the issue before it hits a head.”

That was momentous news. A sphere leader wouldn’t go to a rival sphere for this kind of help unless the situation was dire. “By ‘tackle the issue,’ you mean….”

“I’ll have to leave it at that for now.” Mercury seemed to take pleasure in leaving Merritt hanging. “I’ve invited him over for a dinner meeting at my suite tomorrow at seven, and I want you to come as well. Samsid may eventually need the assistance of the North Sphere military. That said, we likely won’t get into it during this preliminary meeting. It’s purely for diplomacy’s sake, to forge a relationship before making further plans.”

“I take it the dinner is formal?”

“This is the East Sphere we’re talking about. He’s Cannon’s second in command, but he’s still just a foul-mouthed, uneducated armband. He probably won’t even be wearing clean clothes. Be presentable, but there’s no need to put on your best suit.”

“Understood. Will anyone else be there? General Troy, or Belmont?”

“No. Just you, me, and my domestics to serve the meal. Like I said, this is a confidential matter.”

Dinner with his two greatest idols? There were worse ways to spend a Saturday night. “Noted. I’ll be there at seven.”

*   *   *

The first time Merritt had met Samsid, he’d been humiliated in front of his longtime hero. He’d taken a beating from Belmont in the Yackley’s stairwell, and Samsid had scorned him for being a soldier who couldn’t defend himself. Now, he finally had a chance at redemption.

He’d spent the previous night reviewing military briefs about East Sphere culture and etiquette. As Troy had said during their mission in the waterways, armbands didn’t shake hands—at least not in greeting or goodbye. They only shook hands to seal a deal. Sappy, heartfelt compliments were frowned upon, while pejoratives were often used as genuine compliments. In the East, “gentleman” was an insult and “motherfucker” was high praise.

Merritt wouldn’t make any silly mistakes. He’d meet Samsid face to face, as a respectful and respectable rival. He was General of the North Sphere Army. Even if blue-ties looked down on soldiers, his title meant something to the East, whose military was the pride of its sphere.

As blue-tie and armband, scholar and soldier, Mercury and Samsid were diametrically opposed. But Merritt would find a way to satisfy them both. If Samsid could please an entire sphere from ace to jack, then anything was possible. Merritt would facilitate both Mercury’s and Samsid’s diplomatic efforts. It was nice to see diplomacy in the underground for a change, instead of the usual mindless rush to war.

Following Mercury’s texted request to let himself in, Merritt entered the suite at two minutes to seven, where an unfamiliar butler led him down a winding hall toward a pair of gleaming onyx double doors. The butler stood waiting for him to enter, but he hesitated. He could hear the sound of discussion drifting out from the room.

“How are your eyes, though?” Mercury asked. “Any pain or headaches?” Getting no reply, he continued, “I’ve done miraculous things for you once already, Jasper. You should have faith that I can do it again. You came to me for help, didn’t you?”

Merritt’s brows furrowed. Jasper. That must have been Samsid’s given name, but it was strange that Mercury would call him that. Only people intimately acquainted with each other would address the other by their unused given name or surname.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doin’?” came Samsid’s sharp reply. “Just casually bringin’ up my eyes, tryin’ to remind me of every favor I owe you? I didn’t ask for these. I didn’t want ‘em. They’re hell, and I don’t owe you shit for ‘em.”

“Would you be Cannon’s right hand without them?”

“Don’t talk down to me. I could just as easily go to Freya, ya know.”

“Is your cause really dire enough to get a South Sphere Queen involved? The South only takes charity cases. I hadn’t realized you were one.”

Merritt winced at the slight. He could almost hear Samsid’s anger in the silence that followed.

This was hardly what he’d expected of a diplomatic meeting. He didn’t want to enter at such an awkward moment, but he feared that if he waited longer, it would only get worse. He gave a soft knock before letting himself in.

“King,” he said to Mercury, giving a short bow. “Samsid.” He fought the urge to add a “sir” to his greeting, minding East Sphere culture. Instead of offering a hand, he gave Samsid a shallow, respectful nod.

Samsid gazed at him through narrowed eyes—those brilliant green eyes that were at odds with his dark complexion. He was as handsome as always, his dreadlocks pulled back from his face and cascading past his muscular shoulders. He wore an East Sphere military style uniform suited to his rank—crisp and black, adorned with straps, buckles, and reinforced metal accents. While standard East Sphere armbands were simple—basic black leather gauntlets stretched from the wrist nearly to the elbow—Samsid wore ornamental armbands denoting his role as King’s right hand. They were thick and rigid, each with five evenly spaced straps circling the forearm and fastened with steel buckles.

The look on his face was just short of hostile. Merritt could already tell how steamed he was from the conversation he’d heard through the door. Samsid spoke in an East Sphere militiaman’s brogue, but when his emotion peaked, his accent often slipped, revealing a twang and cadence Merritt couldn’t quite place. The heat that had oozed out of his every word was still visible in his glowering mouth. His anger didn’t seem directed at Merritt; rather, it appeared to linger from his conversation with Mercury. 

There had to be a way to diffuse the tension. 

Mercury stood up. “Jasper, allow me to introduce you to Merritt, the new General of the North Sphere Army.”

“We met,” Samsid said without getting up. He casually looked Merritt up and down. “But you weren’t a general back then.”

“Merritt is now at the top of the North Sphere’s military,” Mercury continued, sitting back down. “With the East Sphere being a military sphere, I thought it was only fitting that I bring the North’s most powerful soldier to meet the East’s most powerful soldier.”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you again, Samsid.” Merritt gave an admiring smile. “If we’d met under better circumstances the first time, I might have asked for an autograph. You had me practicing motorcycle jumps back when I was fifteen and all I had was a North Sphere Sparkler.”

Samsid’s frown softened. With a teasing quirk in his mouth, he asked, “What kinda jumps do you think you can do on a Sparkler?”

Grinning, Merritt replied, “I’ll have you know I perfectly replicated the hundred-foot jump you did at the 2144 Steel Cup Championship. Just… both the wheels came off when I landed.”

Samsid laughed—a genuine laugh that further softened his face. “I wish I coulda seen that.” Again he narrowed his eyes, but this time the gaze felt playful instead of threatening. “You really watched the Steel Cup? You’re the only person I talked to who even knew I raced in that one.”

“I watched it live in the stadium,” Merritt said. “It was armbands only, but I wore all black and hid behind a giant guy and snuck in.”

Samsid’s charming smile broadened. “Who in their right mind would risk a beating from an entire stadium of armbands just to watch the fucking shitty Steel Cup Championship?” He gave an admiring shake of the head. “A blue-tie with more balls than brains—first time I’ve seen that. You’re hardcore.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment, but Merritt knew it was. And damn, that smile made Merritt glow. It was the kind of smile that made a person feel richer just for being in its path. How did Samsid do it?

Mercury cut in, his poker face at its peak. “Glad you two are acquainted now. Merritt, have a seat.”

Merritt took the chair beside Mercury, and a servant entered the room from a nearly invisible door at the opposite wall as if by command. He poured Mercury a glass of water from a sleek pitcher, within which Merritt could see ice and white orange slices. Next he served Merritt. For some reason, he didn’t serve Samsid. Was this some part of inter-sphere etiquette Merritt had missed?

“Leave the pitcher,” Mercury said before the servant left. Merritt waited before taking a sip, heeding North Sphere etiquette. Mercury, the host, would take the first sip as a gesture to prove that the water wasn’t poisoned. But didn’t Samsid need to be served first?

“Jasper,” Mercury said.

Samsid’s face shifted back to its previous hostile state. He did not appear to enjoy being called that name in front of Merritt, or perhaps at all. “What,” he snapped, more a statement than a question.

“Have you ever had an orange?”

“An orange what?”

Mercury chuckled, almost as if he were laughing at the silly mistake of a toddler still learning the basics of human language. Merritt was stunned; he knew Mercury’s composure was flawless, so he had to have laughed intentionally. “An orange. The citrus fruit grown on the surface.”

“We don’t grow ‘em down here. Why would I eat ‘em?”

“The water I’m serving today is infused with the flavor of oranges we modified to grow in the underground’s conditions.”

“Okay,” Samsid said, stone-faced.

Mercury glanced at Samsid’s empty glass. Then he looked to Merritt. “Merritt. Would you pour our guest a glass of water?”

Merritt hesitated. Mercury had plenty of servants at hand. A blue-tie would never ask a guest to do service work in lieu of an available servant. If a servant was unavailable, etiquette dictated that the host serve their guests. As far as Merritt knew, there was no situation in which it would be appropriate for Merritt to serve Samsid. In fact, such a request from a host was generally considered unforgivably rude.

Mercury’s stare intensified. He appeared displeased by Merritt’s moment of hesitation.

Right. This was an order from his King. Etiquette didn’t matter.

With an obedient nod, he rose to his feet. The table was too wide for him to comfortably pour from his seat. As he grabbed the pitcher and filled Samsid’s glass, he could feel a sudden burst of rage emanating from Samsid. He set the pitcher down and hurried back to his seat.

At last, Mercury took his first sip. Then he gestured toward Samsid’s glass. “Try it.”

Samsid fixed his heated glare on Mercury.

“You don’t want it? Then by all means, speak up, Jasper.”

Samsid continued to glare.

“Perhaps you’d rather have coffee?” Mercury turned to Merritt. “Merritt, would you please serve our guest some coffee?” He pointed to the door from which the servant had entered. “You’ll find a freshly brewed pot and mugs in the kitchen, with the servants.”

“Mercury,” Samsid spat.

Mercury’s attention remained on Merritt. “All right, Merritt?”

Merritt’s gaze flickered across the room, but there was no Belmont to stand up and say, “That’s not his job,” as he had with Pratt. And it wouldn’t have mattered if there was. Merritt answered to no one higher than Mercury. “Right away, King,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for the kitchen.

The three servants in the kitchen fell still upon Merritt’s appearance on their side of the door. They stared at him with wide eyes and tense bodies, clearly uncomfortable with his presence.

The coffee pot and mugs were in plain sight in front of him. “I was asked to take these,” he said to the servants. Grabbing the pot and one mug, he returned to the dining room.

Mercury and Samsid sat in heated silence. Merritt set the mug down next to Samsid. Did he put it on the correct side? He could never remember. He held out the coffee pot and began to pour.

He barely felt the pot being knocked from his hand before hearing it crash against the wall behind him. Only after it clattered to the ground did he realized Samsid had taken a lightning-fast swipe at it. “I don’t fucking need this!” Samsid yelled at Mercury, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. Then he turned his fiery glare to Merritt. “You’re the lowest scum in the underground. Both of you!” He shoved Merritt aside with his forearm and stalked out of the room.

Merritt stared after him, stunned. He burned with shame from head to toe. “I’m so sorry, Damen. I didn’t think he’d leave.”

Mercury chuckled, waving away Merritt’s apology. “I get a certain sense of enjoyment out of watching these volatile East Sphere fighters lose control of themselves. It doesn’t matter how high ranking they are. They still snap so easily.”

“You told me this meeting was for diplomacy,” Merritt said cautiously.

“This is the underground, Merritt. Sometimes diplomacy isn’t about making nice. Sometimes diplomacy is about making a person realize just how small and powerless they are without you. Samsid came to me for help because he’s desperate. But I won’t give him that help until he begs for it. It’s the only way he’ll understand who’s in charge.”

Merritt watched as one of the servants cleaned the spilled coffee. “Maybe I can catch up with him and convince him to come back.”

“He’ll come back,” Mercury said, his confidence tipping past arrogance. “But not tonight. He’s an overemotional East Sphere fighter. He’ll need some time to cool down.”

Merritt didn’t know what to do. Adrenaline still coursed through his body, with no outlet. “Then… the dinner is over?”

“That’s correct. That’s all I needed from you. Thank you for attending.”

Merritt headed for the door, waiting until he was out of the dining room before relaxing his poker face. After a few steps, he spotted the butler in the distance and flattened out his tormented frown. He backtracked out of Mercury’s suite, took the elevator down to the first floor, and headed out through the main entrance toward the guest parking lot. Firing up his motorcycle’s ignition, he rode out of the lot.

He’d only made it to the end of the headquarters driveway when he saw a lone figure standing beside a parked motorcycle, head down, fists clenched. It was Samsid. Merritt slowed and came to a stop. He’d thought that Samsid had already left, but apparently he’d been lingering outside the building.

He looked conflicted. Maybe what Mercury had said was true. Samsid was too desperate to turn away help from the North Sphere, regardless of how insulted he was.

He raised his head, noticing Merritt’s presence. He looked less hostile than Merritt had expected, as if he was analyzing the situation—and Merritt—before deciding how to react. 

Merritt felt compelled to fix what had gone wrong, even at the risk of making it worse. He climbed off his bike and tentatively approached. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I was never formally trained in serving etiquette. Please don’t hold my mistake against my King.”

Samsid stared at him, green eyes glinting. Merritt endured the long, scrutinizing gaze in silence. Finally, Samsid curled his lip and said, “I thought you were in on it, which would make you scum. But if you weren’t in on it, you’re just stupid.”

That stung. Not wanting to confirm Samsid’s accusation of stupidity, Merritt held his tongue.

“Everyone knows blue-ties think service work is some nasty, degrading job that only aces should do. Even the cheapest casual restaurants here have waiters because you lazy asses want to go out and feel like you’re superior to someone. Then Mercury asks you to serve me, and you do it. You’re General of the North Sphere Army, and you let your King degrade you like that?”

Do you really want to give up your body and mind and soul—to him? Do you have any idea how little he thinks of you?

Merritt shoved Belmont’s words to the back of his mind. “Mercury wouldn’t degrade me,” he said adamantly.

“Like hell he wouldn’t! He degraded you so he could degrade me. You know he doesn’t respect my sphere, or anyone from it. We’re soldiers, and he thinks soldiers are brainless. So he invites me, the top soldier in my sphere, and makes me watch while he treats you—the top soldier in his sphere—like a fuckin’ dog. That’s his way of tellin’ me he’s got no respect for who I am or what I do.”

Merritt’s poker face was unyielding. “You must have misunderstood,” he said, his voice firm but passionless.

Samsid hadn’t misunderstood. Merritt knew that. If anything, his cynicism didn’t go deep enough.

Merritt remembered the nearly imperceptible tightening of Mercury’s lips when he’d listened to Merritt sing Samsid’s praises the night before. Mercury’s stunt hadn’t just been about bringing Samsid to his knees. It had been about humiliating Merritt in front of a man he’d admired more than Mercury deemed acceptable. Mercury had found a way to put both Merritt and Samsid in their place at the same time.

But Merritt couldn’t say this out loud. He couldn’t undermine his King, much less to a rival.

Samsid sneered. “I got no idea why Troy thinks so much of you. He’s always sayin’ how smart you are, how good you’d be in our sphere. And maybe you woulda been, if you’d been born there. But not the way you are now, lettin’ your King treat you like you’re nothin’. Where’s your fuckin’ pride, man? I thought you were a soldier.”

Merritt gritted his teeth. What pride was there for a soldier of the North? Samsid came from a sphere that treated soldiers like royalty. He couldn’t possibly understand. “My job is to serve my sphere and King,” he said at last. “My personal pride will always take a backseat to my sphere’s security and prosperity. I have faith in my King’s ability to lead. If he requires me to sacrifice my pride, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“This is the underground. People get traded. People get captured. People get killed—even Kings. What’re you gonna do if you lose everything you have?” Samsid climbed onto his motorcycle and revved the engine. Before he took off, he looked over his shoulder at Merritt. “It’s not your King that’s gonna pull you up when you’re hangin’ by a thread. Nah, not in the underground, not when you’re a general. Mercury won’t pull you up—he’ll cut your thread. And when it’s your turn to fall, you better have your pride to land on.”

He shifted gears and sped off down the street, leaving Merritt to ponder in his cloud of dust.

Merritt lost track of how long he’d stood beside his motorcycle when a single headlight turned the corner, slowed its approach, and finally stopped a few feet in front of him. A long leg stretched out from beside the bike, and a polished dress shoe slapped down atop the pavement. Belmont tipped back his cap and raised an eyebrow at Merritt. “You look a little lost. What are you doing here?”

Merritt gave a listless shrug and said, “I don’t know.”

“You weren’t waiting for me, were you?”

Merritt faltered. He hadn’t been waiting, but now that Belmont was here, a flood of emotion washed over him. Relief, gratitude, even happiness—and finally shame for how much power Belmont’s presence had over him. “I… I don’t….”

“Wow,” Belmont said. “Let’s hope no one ever tortures you for information. I can read the guilt all over your face.”

There was no point in fighting it. Belmont’s false assumption was the perfect cover story for the dinner plans he wasn’t permitted to divulge. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I’m not looking for what you think I’m looking for.”

“I think you look hungry,” Belmont said. “And you’re looking for something to eat.”

Merritt narrowed his eyes. “Is that some sort of euphemism?”

Belmont snorted then broke out into a hearty laugh. “Oh my fucking god, Merritt. You kill me.” He caught his breath. “No, I mean dinner. I’ll order room service from Fleming’s.”

“That’s really expensive,” Merritt said.

“Not to me.” Belmont gestured with his head. “Come on, follow me. I’ll get you into the VIP garage.”

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