A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 18

  “Don’t you want to do what you came down here for?” he asked casually as he smoothed down the horse’s mane. “You’ve never ridden a horse before, have you?” It was more an observation than a question.

  Her cheeks flamed. “How did you know?”

  The general smirked. “I didn’t.”

  Faythe ground her teeth, angry at herself for falling naïvely for his verbal sleight.

  Reylan grabbed the large saddle and reins hanging over the horse’s stall and maneuvered his way around the beast with expert precision. He was unflinching as he equipped the horse for riding in a few impressively quick minutes. Meanwhile, every huff or step of the horse had Faythe shifting around the space anxiously, keeping her distance. He must have noticed her unease because he flashed her an arrogant side-smile, which she responded to with a scowl. When Reylan was finished, he dragged a small stepping stool over and straightened before looking at her expectantly. Faythe didn’t move.

  “Go on then,” he challenged with a flick of his head.

  Faythe gaped from him to the massive creature. “I only came to admire them from this level. I’m good,” she rambled quickly as every shred of confidence left her completely.

  Reylan rolled his eyes. “A horse can sense your fear. If you don’t overcome that first, you’ll have no chance of getting up there.” He jerked his head again for her to come closer.

  She swallowed hard but took a few tentative steps around to the side of the beast. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand again, and when the horse didn’t buckle in response, she slowly stroked its sleek, toned body.

  “Good. Now, use the step, one foot in the stirrup, and you’ll have to use your strength to pull yourself up,” he instructed.

  Faythe looked to him, feeling like a child as she had no idea what he was talking about.

  Reylan sighed, pointing to a metal half-hoop that dangled from the horse’s side. It clicked, and when she realized what he expected her to do, she took a step back again, shaking her head vigorously.

  “You had to pick the biggest horse in the stables?” She blanched at the thought of being so high that one wrong fall would be fatal.

  He chuckled. “Kali is my horse. She seemed to take a liking to you, so I thought she’d be a good teacher.”

  Faythe scoffed at the implication of having the horse direct her rather than the other way around. It didn’t help as it was exactly what Faythe was afraid of.

  “Are we going to be here all night?” Reylan drawled, bored.

  She glared at him and mustered all her bravery to step up to Kali once again. She got up onto the stool, near to leveling in height with the general. His goading look had her bracing her hands on the side of the saddle and slipping one foot into the stirrup. It was false confidence as she really just wanted to wipe the smirk off Reylan’s face.

  “I’ve seen children with more conviction than this,” he gibed at her pause.

  Faythe knew it was his tactic to rouse her into committing to the mount. It worked. She pushed her foot down while simultaneously using her arms to pull herself up. She strained with the strength it required, but when she slung her other leg around and found herself finally on top, she was both shocked and stunned. The new height and vantage point made her slightly dizzy. The horse took a few steps where it stood, and she moved with each dip and shift, holding onto the reins tightly until her knuckles turned white. But when she adjusted to her new position on Kali’s back, she marveled at the powerful feeling.

  “Not so hard now, is it?” Reylan quipped.

  She ignored him, running a hand over Kali’s neck in silent thanks the mare hadn’t immediately launched her from the saddle.

  “It does make me wonder…why invite yourself to a hunt you have no interest or experience in?”

  Though he said it with casual curiosity, Faythe detected a hint of suspicion and accusation in his tone. “Who said I have no interest? You fae males get to have all the fun,” she answered loosely. She didn’t think it satisfied his inquiry, but he said nothing more about it.

  “Going for your first ride in the dark is probably not the best idea,” he said instead.

  Faythe didn’t even expect to get on top of a horse, never mind ride one out for a canter. “At least I know which way to face.”

  He released a short laugh, and she found herself also smiling with him as she looked down. She couldn’t figure out what it was about Reylan that made her torn between wanting to run from him, far and fast, or gravitate so much dangerously closer.

  “I have a rather dull territory meeting to attend tomorrow morning, but I should have the afternoon free if you’d like an escort for the ride.”

  The offer was tempting. Not only would it make Faythe feel at ease having someone experienced to guide her, it would also give her the perfect opportunity to get to know more about the mysterious general. Both for her own curiosity and to erase any doubt about his intentions in High Farrow.

  “Why are you helping me at all?”

  Reylan’s sapphire eyes were bright against the moon as they locked on her, and she resisted the urge to flinch at their shift in intensity. “Don’t make the mistake of believing everyone who offers you kindness isn’t only doing so for personal gain.”

  Faythe’s heart skipped at the obscure warning. “I think I have that covered with my particular talents,” she said warily.

  “Not with me.”

  Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Are you trying to tell me of your ill intentions toward me?”

  “I’m trying to tell you not to be so reliant on your ability. Even you can be tricked into false truths inside a person’s mind.”

  A twisted feeling settled in her stomach. She hadn’t considered the possibility that those who knew of her ability could alter their own minds to mislead her. There was no reason for her to be concerned about it as no one in the know had cause for her to use her talent anyway. Yet the warning in the general’s words was clear. Who he meant for it to be about, Faythe couldn’t be sure…

  Chapter 21

  Faythe

  The following morning, Faythe was on edge. Sleeplessness had returned like an old friend as her wild thoughts kept her alert and awake. This time, it was Reylan’s subtle warning to be vigilant with who she trusted. It was ironic she would pay his warning any notice considering he was first on her list of those to be wary of. It was completely illogical and brash that she should trust him in the slightest, but in her gut, the twisted feeling he’d left her with wouldn’t subside.

  Elise and Ingrid had left hours ago. Faythe was fully dressed for the day, opting for riding leathers for her afternoon with Reylan later. She’d spent hours pondering the possibilities of who had cause to alter their thoughts specifically to elude her. If it wasn’t Rhyenelle, there was only one party left—one she didn’t want to believe harbored a sinister side considering their warm reception.

  Olmstone.

  Suffocating between the walls of her rooms, she found her way to the castle library. A few of the scholars cast disgruntled looks at her invading presence in their ambient space, but she ignored them. She wasn’t even sure what exactly she was looking for. She strolled aimlessly through row after row of impossibly tall bookshelves. The scent of old books, like chocolate and musk, filled her nostrils, and she breathed deeply, savoring the safe and comforting smell.

  Then one set of books caught her eye. They stood out for their size and gold-embossed spines. Royal Histories and Lineage. She stopped before them, running her fingers along the titles on the sides. Pulling one free, Faythe walked over to a table before placing the large volume down and opening it onto no page in particular. Dust caught in her throat, and she coughed, fanning the air around her to catch a clean breath. It was obvious no one had touched the book in a very long time.

  Faythe haphazardly skipped through the pages, finding it was mostly a scripture on the noble houses in all kingdoms. Flicking forward some more, she paused. She had no reason to suspect King V
arlas of anything—he had been nothing but kind and welcoming since his arrival and seemed completely harmless—yet she couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling no one was exempt from suspicion.

  Tracing a finger along the elegant swirled inscription about the royal families, she finally found the lineage of Olmstone. Her eyes widened slightly to discover Varlas was over eight hundred years old, the same as Orlon, while King Agalhor of Rhyenelle was older by a century. It made Faythe feel insignificant with her twenty years’ existence and the knowledge she wouldn’t even come close to a quarter of their current lifespan. The kings barely looked middle-aged, so to discover they were likely only halfway through their years… It was an inconceivable thought for a mortal.

  She read over the rest of the Olmstone lineage before her finger halted, brow furrowing. Two separate branches stemmed from Varlas’s name on either side. Her gaze widened as she read them. The current queen, Keira Wolverlon, was not the first. No—before her, another wore the crown: Queen Freya Wolverlon.

  It wouldn’t have been surprising, except two things written above the previous queen’s name made Faythe’s heart shatter for the King of Olmstone.

  Mate—Deceased.

  Queen Freya’s death was dated back to the Great Battles. Faythe assumed her life was collateral damage in the war. She didn’t want to imagine the pain of losing a soul-bonded mate, and she felt even more guilty for thinking ill of Varlas at all considering everything he had suffered, yet he hadn’t lost his kindness and heart completely.

  The last piece of information she gathered was that Tarly was Varlas’s heir from Freya, while Opal was Keira’s child. The prince’s lack of warm reception and general sour mood felt all the more justified now she knew the truth.

  Faythe slammed the book shut, angry at herself for not taking the time to become educated on the Courts of Ungardia. She had allowed herself to remain ignorant, sheltered. Not anymore. Now, she wanted to know everything.

  About to turn back for another book, Faythe halted at the quick gust of wind that blew past her. Loose strands from her lattice of braids danced across her vision, and a chill rattled her spine. When she turned her head, there was nothing but a long, dark hallway with no door or window in sight. She held still, wanting to believe it was simply a draft drifting through the rows of bookcases from the front entrance, but her skin pricked all over, her senses set on a razor’s edge.

  Then she heard a whisper.

  Faythe jerked back a step. Still, she saw nothing, but she stiffened with fear. Logic deduced it was a mere whistle in the wind, or perhaps her own loose thoughts. However, reckless compulsion urged her to investigate the dark, beckoning stretch of passage.

  Her hearing was on high alert to pick up even the slightest shift of sound while her eyes adjusted to the creeping darkness. Halfway down, Faythe reached for the final torch on the wall as the rest of the slim hallway was cloaked in blackness. The blue wisps of flame were also soundless as it illuminated everything around her.

  The silence was deafening.

  The end of the hallway was a dead end, but to her left, it widened, and she discovered a deep hidden alcove with a few modest bookshelves, a table, and some lounge seats. It was a quaint space for private study, though it looked to have been neglected for years, perhaps even decades, everything coated in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The smell of damp and mold was pungent, and Faythe stuffed her nose into the crook of her elbow while casting her torchlight around the area.

  Three tapestries lined the back wall, and she walked closer to glimpse the wonderfully intricate pieces of art. It made her wonder why they were left to be forgotten in a cold, dark corner of the library.

  The center tapestry made her breath catch as she instantly recognized the moon-white hair and ice-blue eyes of Aurialis. It chilled her to see the Spirit in woven form. She could only guess the age of the tapestry. Whoever crafted it must have had contact with the Goddess of the Sun at some point in time. But Aurialis wasn’t the only character in the scene. She stood proudly with another female on each side. Faythe didn’t need Marlowe’s oracle talent to guess they were her sister Spirits, the Spirit of Death and the Spirit of Souls. One had hair of raven black that matched her eyes, while the other…

  Faythe lifted a hand to trace her fingers over Marvellas’s face. She knew it was the Spirit of Souls for her eyes burned a bright gold, complementing her striking amber-red hair.

  Faythe’s direct ancestor.

  It was an impossible thought, yet it was her reality. Part of her wanted to remain in denial of the fact, but now, seeing the ethereal beauty with eyes almost identical to her own, she couldn’t deny her ancient heritage anymore. As much as the picture fascinated her, it also shook her to her core at the coincidence of seeing them here, seeing them now, when she was tasked with finding the Spirit of Life’s ruin.

  Behind them, their symbols were woven in gold over the solar setting they represented, Marvellas against a striking eight-point star, Aurialis against a beautiful wavy-rayed sun, and Dakodas against a flawless half-moon. As she continued tracing the lines in awe, a flicker of movement caught Faythe’s eye. She turned her head to the edge of the tapestry, but everything was perfectly still.

  Just as she was about to tear her gaze away, the cloth rippled again. so fast she would have missed it if she blinked. Hesitant, Faythe raised a hand to grab at the corner, and before she could lose her nerve, she whipped the tapestry back. Bringing the torch around, her eyes widened.

  It was solid stone. Then she found a deep line that ran vertically before cutting horizontal halfway up.

  A door!

  Perhaps hidden for good reason, she thought as she braced a palm against it but made no effort to push. Her heart picked up into a gallop as she deliberated the possibility of what lay beyond. The fact someone had made an effort to conceal it screamed volumes, but Faythe’s curiosity sang above everything else. She strained against the door, and the sound of scraping stone snapped her senses awake. Her rational, cautious side hoped it wouldn’t open at all.

  Not wanting to cower out, she pushed again until it opened inward enough for her to peek inside. She listened first.

  Silence.

  A good sign, she hoped.

  She transferred the torch into her right hand and eased it into the forgotten passageway. Nothing revealed itself aside from a long void of black. Anything could be down there; it would be reckless and foolish to wander a seemingly abandoned passageway in a castle she had only vague knowledge about.

  Yet it was as if something coaxed her into the obsidian unknown.

  Faythe threw all caution to the wind and slid through the small gap she’d opened, letting the tapestry fall behind. She remained vigilant as she took tentative steps forward, straining her hearing so she might pick up on the slightest hint of movement that would alert her to any impending danger. But as a silent assassin herself, she knew stillness could also be deadly.

  Both the path backward and the way forward were cloaked in darkness with only the blue flame casting an orb of light around her. Her mind screamed at her to turn back, but her feet pressed forward almost of their own accord.

  After a short while, Faythe came to a junction. In front of her were two separate hallways. She was about to decide on the right-hand path out of unexplainable intuition…until she heard a faint echo from the left.

  Alert chose for her in her need to discover the source of the traveling murmur. As she inched toward the sound, she knew exactly what she heard. Voices. She was relieved it wasn’t some foul, lurking creature, but it made her panic surge to think she could be close to getting caught. The king had warned her thoroughly about wandering anywhere she wasn’t permitted.

  Her steps were silent, and she pressed her body closer to the wall, ready to abandon the torch and retreat at the first sign of anyone approaching. She came up to the end of the hallway that turned off to the left, seeing no flickers of light except from the flames she held. Not taking any chanc
es, she set the torch on the ground before reaching the corner and pressing her back flush to the wall. She held her breath, slowly dipping her head around enough to catch a glimpse of the voices that grew louder.

  To her shock, no one was there.

  Instead, a small rectangular window flooded a pool of warm light halfway down the passageway. Faythe ducked out of hiding and walked tentatively toward it. The gap in the stone was covered with ornate brass, but she could squint through the gaps.

  What she saw made her eyes bulge.

  She was in the council chamber. Or above it, so to speak, as she looked down on the gathered royals and nobles.

  The territory meeting Reylan mentioned was fully underway. She could hear everything clearly even with her human senses but was too stunned by the existence of the passageway to spy on the king’s council.

  “Olmstone has stayed quiet for long enough. Fenher was taken from us—we want it back.” Varlas was firm as he addressed the Rhyenelle general sitting opposite. It was unlike him to use such an aggressive tone.

  Faythe supposed she still knew little about him, and Reylan’s words from the previous night rattled in her mind louder than before. The longer she remained in the castle, the more she came to realize kindness was often self-serving. Court was a game, and its players were smart, cunning, and masterfully deceitful. She’d seen a glowing example of the excellent charade before, with her own king able to switch between his true malicious nature to wear a mask of pleasantry when it was called for. Perhaps Varlas wasn’t so different to his lifelong friend.

  As much as she wanted to deny it, Faythe was already sadly disappointed she had been misled by Varlas’s niceties. The only question that remained: Why bother with her?

  Reylan’s stern look was intimidating. “Fenher has been under Rhyenelle jurisdiction longer than you’ve been king. It will remain so long past your reign.”