A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 30

  “How does a human from High Farrow come to possess fae fighting attire from Rhyenelle?” he pondered curiously.

  Though he didn’t expect an answer, she said, “It was a gift.” Not entirely a lie, but she had fully paid her friend Ferris back for the garment after she fought in the notorious underworld of the Cave.

  She waited for him to mock her, to say she wasn’t worthy of it.

  “It suits you,” he said, and she was surprised at the sincerity in his words. “Though it’s a little outdated. If you win, perhaps I’ll see to it you get an upgrade to the latest model.”

  She didn’t let it curb her focus. Instead, she angled her blade in silent invitation for a dance of swords. He didn’t take a counter stance, as if he thought he didn’t need to brace himself against her. He was about to be proven very wrong.

  She moved fast. Seeing his intention to step out of her way, she switched her maneuver at the last second. Reylan caught her blade with his own before it could tear the flesh of his thigh, and the sound of kissing steel echoed through the training hall. The vibrations of the blow crawled delightfully up Faythe’s arms, and she smiled deviously at his raised eyebrows.

  Retreating, she twisted Lumarias once before angling it again in a soundless taunt.

  Reylan looked quietly taken aback by her swiftness. She almost dared to believe it was approval in his eyes.

  “Okay, Faythe, I see you.”

  She raised her chin, taking a breath to channel deeper and deeper into the well of lethal tranquility that focused her in combat. On her exhale, she said, “Good. Now, I want you to hear me.”

  Faythe became spellbound by sapphire orbs, lost in the stormy sea as she captured Reylan’s premeditated movements. She struck again and again, forcing him into his defensive stance while she shot out a round of offense attacks. She knew he could switch the order anytime he liked, but he allowed her to lead.

  He was impossibly fast. It took every drop of mental focus to strike as quickly as he could deflect. Faythe reveled in the challenge, not registering the rising burn in her lungs nor the pulsing in her head as they darted around the sparring ring. She twisted, thrusting her sword forward. It would have gone straight through his abdomen, but Reylan’s blade clanged loudly against it, batting it out of the way before it could. Faythe backed up a step to regroup, panting hard. They circled each other slowly. It riled her to no end that while she used significant physical energy, Reylan remained unfazed by the exercise.

  “If you want me to go easy on you, just ask,” he said to vex her, as if reading her thoughts.

  She rolled her shoulders back, already stiff and sore from the parry of steel. “I’d rather you struck me than insulted me like that.”

  His lips curled up, but he gave her a slight nod of respect, and she felt strangely proud that it came from a highly regarded fae general. Then she remembered that general was also an arrogant, stuck-up ass.

  In her short pause, she failed to catch Reylan’s intention to move first. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the blur of steel over her head. But his second maneuver was too quick, and she didn’t hold the connection to his mind any longer. Before she could turn and reposition, he was behind her in a heartbeat, his sword resting horizontally against her throat. The cool breath of metal was a chilling warning that one swipe of pressure would spell her end.

  In conflict with his actions, however, the warmth of Reylan’s body against her back felt like a force of safety. His hand encased her forearm, pinning it across her abdomen so she had no way out of the compromised position. The threat of his sword became insignificant as her mind reeled at the stance, at his calloused fingers over her soft skin.

  She was broken from her trance when he stepped away from her abruptly, the ghost of his embrace sending a chill down every notch of her spine, snapping her back to her senses. Her cheeks flamed, and she whirled to him with a deadly glare, anger flaring. Though, admittedly, it was more at herself than at Reylan, for allowing herself to be distracted like a novice.

  “Had enough yet?” he drawled, bored.

  Her hand tightened around the hilt of Lumarias, and he noted the response, smirking down at her painfully clenched fist.

  “Faythe, maybe it’s time to—” Nik didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence when the clash of swords became a melody in the room once again.

  Faythe didn’t drop eye contact and pushed herself harder than she had in months. Reylan looked just as focused as she was, and it brought her slight satisfaction knowing he at least had to use some effort against her. Her pulse raced and blood pumped faster with every harsh vibration of her sword hitting its target, cancelling out everything else around her. The room became an indistinguishable blur, until she could see nothing but sapphire and steel.

  Their blades locked inches from her face, and Reylan smiled down at her in amusement. “Not bad…for a human girl.”

  Her breathing was ragged, each inhale like spears of ice down her throat. Clenching her teeth in frustration at the comment, she pushed off from his blade with everything she had and didn’t pause for a second before moving on instinct, desperate to wipe the victorious look from his face. Not with words, but with one landed strike of her sword.

  She wouldn’t feel guilty for it; he would heal before the day was up. She couldn’t explain what made the desire so prominent in that moment, as if she had something to prove to him.

  “Stop,” he said, his voice a hard command.

  Faythe didn’t. She couldn’t. It sang in her veins to continue even if it wore her out completely. And soon, it would. Her bones ached, but it was her mind that throbbed worse, almost blinding her. It screamed at her to stop as much as it compelled her to push on.

  Reylan backed up a long step, and she was about to lunge forward with another attack when her blade met another’s in the ring. There was nothing kind on her face when she snapped toward the person who stopped her, about to direct her unhinged rage at them until the familiar emerald eyes brought her world back into focus.

  She breathed hard, and everything caught up with her all at once. Her head pounded sickeningly, and she had to drop to her knees, not trusting her stability now the urge of combat had dwindled. She felt Nik kneel with her. He took Lumarias gently from her grip and set it on the ground.

  Then Reylan approached, his large form casting a shadow over her. “Even the best warriors know when it’s time to stop fighting,” he said, but there was no lecture in the words. “Recognize your limits, learn to disperse your energy, or you’ll burn yourself out before you last five minutes on a battlefield.”

  She raised her eyes to him and found him staring down at her intently, assessing her. To know he wouldn’t count her out completely in the face of battle made her humbly proud. And grateful Reylan chose not to condescend her in sharing his commander’s advice.

  It was then she realized all his taunting and teasing about her mortality was really a test to see if she would submit…or rise above it.

  “Now, your sword skills are impressive, I’ll give you that,” he went on casually, letting one last longing look linger. She thought she detected curiosity tied with awe. Reylan turned away before she saw any more of the rare softer side he didn’t like others to know he harbored. “Take a moment to gather yourself. Then let’s work on those lackluster close defense skills.”

  Chapter 36

  Faythe

  By nightfall, Faythe couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t because of the Rhyenelle general this time. Instead, a certain unearthly Spirit dwelled on her mind.

  She planned to revisit the cave below the castle with Nik and Tauria to find the ruin, and now she was fully well again, there was no reason to delay. They had made arrangements to meet by midnight tomorrow, fully equipped and armed should they meet any other ghastly, unexpected creatures.

  Yet with the discovery of the King of High Farrow seeking out the Riscillius she needed for the Spirit Temples, Faythe felt filled with dread. They could be aiding the king�
��s cause if she found Aurialis’s ruin. Perhaps it was lost even to the king, and he had no idea it lay beneath his very feet. Whatever power it held, it could be what they needed to gain the upper hand and follow through on their plans for war.

  She didn’t make it to the underground labyrinth that led to the outer town without being completely undetected, but she used her ability brazenly to withdraw the short-term memory of the odd single guard who caught her. Doing this, she was able to divert them before they even realized she was there at all. Even though it worked with Varlas, it was a risk, and one she wasn’t entirely certain she would succeed in taking. But so far, none had made any move to come after her. All she could do was pray to the Spirits it stayed that way—at least until she made it back.

  In the outer town, she was about to pass the hut without a thought, but she felt the quiet beckoning to visit an old friend and found herself compelled to make a swift stop at the abandoned structure.

  The hut was somber in its silence and lonely in its emptiness. It brought her both joy and sadness to reminisce in the confines of the small space she once shared with Jakon. At the thought of her friend, and Marlowe too, her heart ached. She longed to see them and find out about their journey to Galmire. It would have to wait, as she was well into the unsociable hours of the night.

  The back door into the bedroom creaked loudly on its hinges. The bare cots were a sorry sight robbed of all personal possessions. Faythe was glad her friends had moved to a more comfortable living space, but it was bittersweet to find her home of ten years neglected.

  She sat on her old bed, finding the mattress far more uneven and uncomfortable than she remembered. She simply stared at the empty one opposite, smiling sadly as she pictured the ghost of Jakon’s long form hanging half-off the too-small bed, deep in slumber. The more she imagined it, the more vivid it became, and she could almost hear his soft snores in the dead silence.

  She was snapped out of her memories when the front door to the hut groaned open slowly. Faythe got to her feet, heart racing, and pressed herself against the wall next to the bedroom door. She strained her ears, only making out that the intruder walked casually around the front room, making no effort to be stealthy. Drawing Lumarias slowly, silently, Faythe took one long breath to brace herself then barged through the bedroom door with unfaltering confidence to face the nighttime bandit.

  It was not the burly, hooded thief she was expecting. Rather, the bandit’s hair rivaled the luminance of a full moon, and his eyes sparkled like the night sky as they bore into her, unfazed by her outburst. She still held her blade poised at the sight of Reylan—from shock or relief, likely both.

  “What in the rutting damn are you doing here?” she demanded, finally lowering her blade.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” was all he said as he scanned the small hut.

  She wanted to be angry with him for intruding, for thinking it was okay to follow her in the first place, but the emotion failed her as she took in their surroundings. “This was my home,” she admitted quietly, not sure why she felt the need to explain.

  Reylan looked at her with curiosity, and she had to avert her gaze in slight embarrassment. “You lived alone?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “My friend, Jakon—he lived with me here.”

  The general took a few steps around the place, picking up discarded items that held no personal value. “You were together?” Again, his statement held a question as he left it open for her to correct.

  “Not in the way you think.”

  She saw him hesitate before he continued. “Where is he now?”

  Feeling no need to hide anything from him, she continued to oblige. “Safe. He lives on the east side of town with my friend, Marlowe.” She couldn’t fathom why it interested him in the slightest, but Reylan seemed deep in thought as he took everything in.

  She watched him move around the hut, his tall form eclipsing the place. Then he hit with the question that made her flinch.

  “What happened to your mother?” His eyes met hers, and for a split second, she thought she saw sadness in them.

  “I think Valgard took her.” It was all she could offer as she didn’t truly know how her mother met her end after that day in the forest.

  “I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his voice made him sound as if he wasn’t only sorry for her loss, but for his own.

  “Me too.”

  For a rare moment, she found herself and the general on mutual ground. She connected with him and embraced the kindness in place of his hostility.

  “You didn’t really think you could sneak out of a city crawling with royal fae guards unnoticed, did you? Your ability is impressive, but you could do with a bit more practice at wiping memory.” A small, teasing smile turned up one corner of his mouth when Reylan looked at her. “We should thank the Spirits it actually worked on Varlas. Half the guards you tried to elude were on their way to rat you out before I stopped them.”

  Faythe’s cheeks flamed. She saved herself the embarrassment of admitting she really did believe she was stealthy and competent enough in getting here. Though she was irked not to be alone in her quest, she reluctantly had the general to thank, or she would be in deep waters with unwanted questions from the king by morning were it not for his influence. She realized the general likely outranked all the guards in the castle.

  Crossing her arms, she asked, “What exactly are you doing in High Farrow?” Not in accusation, but because she genuinely wondered what his intentions were and how he thought his presence here could help.

  His shoulders shifted. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

  Faythe rolled her eyes at the vague response.

  “What are you doing wandering the town in the middle of the night?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. The general knew everything about the king’s plan, but he knew nothing of the Spirit entity who may be an even greater threat than any man or fae on the land.

  “I, uh…I have somewhere to be,” she said lamely, turning up blank on convincing excuses. Even the truth was likely to be taken as a lie if she tried to explain the absurdity of what she set out to do that night.

  Reylan gave her a look that told her he wasn’t going to let it go.

  Faythe huffed with mild humor. “Follow me if you want. It seems to be your favorite sport.” Pushing past him, she exited the hut and joined the shadows.

  It wasn’t a surprise when she felt Reylan close behind her in the alley. She didn’t glance back at him as she said, “I hope you’re good with the strange and impossible.”

  Faythe waited by the waterfall, watching the yucolites chase each other in an eternal dance. She had warned Reylan multiple times of the horrors he might face upon entering the woods and figured the general had many of those from his time in battle for the Spirit of Life to call upon. She shuddered to think what the worst of them would be, but there was no dissuading him from passing through.

  She heard his deliberately loud footsteps behind her and turned to him. His face was blank. Unreadable. It scared her more than she thought it would.

  “Everything okay?” It was a pathetic question, and not one she really expected an answer to.

  His sapphire eyes bore into her, and she swallowed hard at the vacancy in them. Ghostly, haunted, they locked on her for a few painfully long seconds.

  Then he looked away, face falling into his usual steely indifference as he said, “Whatever you have to show me, it’d better be worth it.”

  Faythe huffed, relaxing from the rigid posture his disturbed expression had caused. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she turned and started the walk through the tree line in the opposite direction.

  “You didn’t have to come,” she drawled. “In fact, you weren’t even invited.”

  The crunch of his footsteps against the woodland floor caught up as he fell into step beside her. “The streets aren’t a safe place for a young woman to be alone at such an hour.”


  “If you’re looking for damsels to save, General, you’ll be greatly disappointed tonight.”

  “You never seem to disappoint.” It wasn’t a compliment. Rather, he was stating the obvious that she was a walking contradiction and a magnet for danger.

  When Faythe stepped into the temple glade, she stopped to turn to him. “Let’s keep one thing clear between us. Our goals align to keep our kingdoms from destroying each other, but that’s where it ends. We’re not friends. You don’t have to pretend as if you care for my well-being.”

  Confliction crossed his face, but it was gone a second later, and he straightened, his powerful arms crossing over his chest. “You still don’t trust me?”

  She laughed sarcastically. “You stripped me of my ability and used it against me. I trust your intentions are true, but I’m not a fool to believe you won’t turn on us all when the time comes.”

  “It sounds as if you’re already preparing for a war.”

  “Aren’t we all, in one way or another?”

  He was silent in quiet contemplation for a few seconds, and she was about to continue the walk to the temple when he spoke again. “And if the time does come, where do you stand?”

  The question terrified her because she could see in his eye that somehow, he knew she would be conflicted in her answer before he even asked. High Farrow was her home, her place of birth, but she wasn’t willing to fight mindlessly for a ruler who was wrong.

  “I hope to stand on the right side,” she said. “It doesn’t have only one color or house emblem, nor a single race or gender. It can be made up of the most unexpected array of those things, all brought together with a common goal.”

  The answer seemed to satisfy him enough, and Faythe saw the steely edges of his expression soften slightly. Without another word, she stalked to the temple, drawing Lumarias so she could use the Riscillius. Before Reylan could ask, she held her sword out to him and at seeing his cocked eyebrow bounded up the steps to draw the first symbol with the chalk she’d brought along. She bit her lip to suppress a giggle when she turned back to the sight of the great general squinting awkwardly through the small rock.