A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 40

  It frustrated and enraged Nik to no end as he knew he had to leave her to the monster’s mercy for a while longer. Reluctantly, he forced himself back into his own mind completely. His door to the darkness beckoned him. He would rest and calm and focus until he was confident enough in his strength that he could achieve what he needed to do and keep Faythe alive in the process.

  Nik muttered a silent prayer to the Spirits that Faythe would hold on long enough for him to save her.

  Chapter 51

  Faythe

  Faythe was trapped. Paralyzed within her subconscious. Unable to move in her own white-and-gold mist. She could only stare in wide-eyed horror at Captain Varis as he violated her mind. Still, she fought with everything she had to try to conceal certain things from him.

  The king couldn’t get to the ruin—not only because it would be detrimental to Ungardia if it fell into the hands of Marvellas. It terrified Faythe far more that if he found it…it would mean he’d found Jakon and Marlowe too.

  If they did what she asked, they would be far away from Farrowhold with it by now. While finding that out wouldn’t give the king their exact location, she knew it was only a matter of time before he would be able to track them down.

  Her head pounded with the effort it took to shield the information, and she was close to falling into complete darkness as the captain sifted through her thoughts and memories like a buffet, everything for the taking.

  “The Crown Prince of High Farrow,” he mused with his back to her while he went through the motion picture of her past. “I always knew he had a soft spot for you, but this?” He turned to cast her an amused, wicked smirk.

  Faythe looked up from her position on her knees and nearly sobbed at the sight. Not from pain or sadness, but because for one moment, she felt comfort to gaze into those emerald eyes. The scene changed, and they were lying on the grass in the Eternal Woods, carefree and laughing. He kissed her. A day that felt within a different timeline. She loved him then, and she still did, only in a different sense now.

  Then the vision dissipated into the mist. Not by her will, but the captain’s. She hung her head again as he stalked toward her. He kneeled down and reached a hand out to grip her chin. She couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight, as much as his touch repulsed her. She poured all of her hatred into her eyes instead as she glared back at the demon.

  “Now I know your deepest fears, Faythe. I guess we’re even.” His grin turned malevolent. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t play fair.” Varis’s face slowly began to shift, and dread stiffened her spine. His wicked scar smoothed into perfect pale skin. His tied-back hair turned shades darker, shortening, growing sleek, with a few loose tresses over his forehead. Black eyes wove with vines of striking green until they filled completely as sparkling emerald pools. She wanted to find comfort in them as she had so many times before, but all she felt was frozen terror. It was Nik’s face, harnessed by a foreign invader. A cruel and merciless monster. Behind him, her white-and-gold mist was snuffed out by a creeping darkness, turning eerily overcast as the scene unfolded into something far more sinister.

  She tore her eyes from the distorted familiarity of the prince. They were in the throne room, only the once bright and impeccable space was now neglected and ominous. Cobwebs clung to the grand chandelier above, distorting its shape and turning it white like a sphere of trapped ghosts—perhaps those of the victims whose blood painted the dais a sickening dark crimson and filled the scars of the cracked stone floor. The room stung her nose with a revolting scent that churned her stomach: death.

  Nik stood but didn’t take his eyes off her or drop the evil smirk as he walked back toward his father sitting lazily on his throne. Then her eyes fell on Tauria, dressed wholly in royal blue with no hint of her vibrant Fenstead green. She wasn’t on her throne next to the king. Instead, she stood by his side, her hand on his shoulder trailing down his arm seductively while she too kept her eyes on Faythe, face plastered with a sly smile of cruel amusement.

  Faythe swayed at the sight. Tauria would never show love and affection for the king she saw murder his own mate—Nik’s mother. She wanted to scream at both of them to wake them up from whatever trance they were under.

  In a flash of confusion, Faythe remembered it was she who was under a spell. A trick of her own mind. The room tilted, and her vision blurred as her mind fought between reality and imagination. She shook her head. She should be able to wake herself up. She should be in control, and yet…she had lost the fight for dominance over her own thoughts.

  “Faythe.”

  At the familiar broken voice, her head snapped to the side, and she sobbed once at the sight of Jakon, bloodied and ruthlessly battered.

  “Faythe, help us.”

  She whipped her head to her other side, and Marlowe was wraithlike in appearance, her usually bouncing blonde hair dull and snapped, her face drained of color, and barely any bruised flesh on her protruding bones.

  Tears streamed down Faythe’s face. “It’s going to be okay,” she choked out, though her weak words were a forced lie. They had been caught and would all die here over the crest of the Griffin, betrayed by their own kingdom at the hands of a demon king. She met the black eyes of the ruler who grinned in delight at her distress.

  “You can’t help anyone,” he taunted from his bloodstained throne.

  Footsteps sounded, and she turned again, this time to see the captain. Only, it wasn’t his appearance that caught her attention; it was the glint of the large steel blade poised between both hands. Her eyes widened, and she trembled in shock as he lifted the sword above Jakon’s head on his approach.

  “I should have done this the first time you were on your knees in here,” the captain said, and then he brought his hands down.

  The waves of her scream thrashed and rose in Faythe’s rib cage. It tore through her throat like shards of broken glass and echoed loudly through the room, channeling back to ring painfully in her own ears. She didn’t stop screaming as she watched her longest and dearest friend get beheaded in one swift movement. His body fell limp, and his head rolled. Faythe vomited the moment her scream choked into frantic sobs. She retched and spluttered, unable to find breath. The blood pooled around her, soaking under her knees and over her splayed palms against the marble. It fell into the chasms of the broken stone, and she watched it break off into several rivers of Jakon’s life.

  The captain didn’t stop there. He walked right through the thick blood, blade poised once more, stalking for Marlowe. Faythe was screaming again before he reached her friend. Her throat tore in agony as if a frantic beast were clawing its way out. She wanted desperately to clamp her eyes shut to avoid another horrifically gruesome display, but she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away.

  She couldn’t save them, couldn’t do anything but watch as they suffered the consequences of her actions. They were here because of her; because of what she was.

  The captain’s sword fell down over Marlowe’s throat… Faythe screamed, she wailed, she sobbed to no end.

  Then everything went black.

  When Faythe awoke, she wished she hadn’t.

  Her head throbbed worse than she’d ever felt before, and she found it difficult to adjust to the weak pool of light from the outside moon. She coughed to clear her throat and found it painfully dry and hoarse. She was freezing cold and couldn’t feel the weight of the cloak she used as a blanket. Peeling one eye open, she managed to gather that she was still in her cell.

  She took a moment against the ground to collect herself, and it all come flooding back to her with bone-trembling clarity. She jolted up despite the shooting pain in her head that blackened her vision. The captain, the mind manipulation, her friends’ beheading…

  Faythe doubled over on her knees as the vile memories replayed and retched. Nothing came up, but her chest stabbed with excruciating pain, and she trembled against the ice-cold stone. It was all so clear, so real, she couldn’t tell the differen
ce in her own mind.

  She sobbed loudly against the back of her cell, feeling completely lost, vulnerable, and without any hope. She didn’t even know how many days had passed since her nightmare ordeal.

  A small burst of chirps sounded through her sobs, and Faythe’s crying ceased. In her anguish and frustration, she shot to her feet and whirled to face the dammed bird. Ignoring the physical pain and mental insanity, she glared at it while it stared innocently back.

  “Go away!” she shouted.

  It stayed still, silently watching her.

  She stormed the two steps and slammed her palms against the sharp stone, numb to the sting in her frozen state. “You’re not in this cage—I am! Leave and don’t come back!”

  When it didn’t move or turn away from her in its defiance, Faythe trembled in another round of cries. She leaned her forehead against the stone and took a few deep, calming breaths.

  “I am not alone,” she whispered to herself.

  The stubborn bird reminded her of that. Though it seemed ludicrous to even think it, she silently thanked the creature.

  But when she looked up again…it was gone.

  Faythe blinked at the metal shield. Then her stomach dropped, and tears filled her wide eyes as she stared and stared at the empty sky beyond.

  It wasn’t real.

  All this time, being left alone for days—weeks—on end in maddening silence…had she conjured the vision of the bird in her desperation to grapple onto her sanity? Her mind’s way of not shutting down in its loneliness completely.

  Faythe trembled. She sank back to the ground, curling into herself and running her hands through her hair. Not real. She gripped tight. The pain in her scalp should have been enough to confirm she was awake, but it wasn’t. Her mind spiraled, down and down and down. She fisted her fingers into her hair tighter, not sure what was true and what was a vision anymore, imagining herself still strapped to that metal bench below the castle with the captain pulling the strings of her thoughts. Not real. She was losing…she was losing herself.

  Before she could fall into a dark hole there would be no escape from, the opening of the cellblock door vibrated over the stone, and she spun around in cold-set fear. She released a shaky breath of relief at the sight of Caius strolling in, a tray of food in hand. The sight of him, and the small comfort he brought…

  This is real. This mercy is real. Caius is real.

  Faythe breathed deeply to calm her racing heart when he opened the cell door and stepped inside. He gave her a grim look as his eyes trailed over her. She must have looked a ghastly sight.

  “I’m sorry for what he’s doing to you, Faythe. I want to help—”

  “You’re doing more for me than I can ever thank you for.” She gave a weak smile, cautious of the two guards still standing by the main door.

  He leaned down to place her food but stumbled, sending a few items clattering onto the ground. It was on purpose, to buy them a few more precious minutes as he fumbled to gather them up.

  “You should know the King of Olmstone is nearing High Farrow.”

  Faythe kept her face placid for appearances, but inside, her chest matched the icy chill of the air. Her body shivered in painful vibrations. Where is my damn cloak?

  As if reading her mind at Faythe’s quick glance over the cell, Caius unclipped his own, extending it to her.

  “We’re not to give the prisoner any items,” a guard warned from the cell door.

  A flash of rage she’d never seen before flexed in Caius’s eyes as he turned to say, “She’s to be kept alive, is she not? Varis won’t be pleased if she dies of cold before he can get the information he needs.” His tone was surprisingly firm and laced with authority, enough that the soldier backed down with a reluctant grumble.

  When he turned back to her, his face wrinkled in apology. For the mention of Varis; the reminder that her torture was not over. Faythe offered a small smile to display her gratitude and hide her spike of terror. Gripping the thick cloak, her stiff shoulders fell in relief under its weight and warmth, and she didn’t hesitate to sling it over herself. She tried not to pay attention to the color or sigil that felt like a hot brand direct from the merciless High Farrow king.

  Faythe asked, “Are they preparing for war?” The only reason for Varlas’s return would be to set their plans in motion once and for all.

  Caius’s look said it all, and her heart sank. Had Varis already managed to find out what they needed in her head? It didn’t bear thinking about, and she prayed to the dammed Spirits Jakon and Marlowe were still safe and out of Orlon’s grasp.

  “I believe so.”

  Oh, Gods. It was happening. Everything they wanted so desperately to prevent. The war among allies. There was only one way to stop it: she had to kill the King of High Farrow, and she was running out of time.

  Caius finished fixing the items on the tray, and she crouched down to his level. He looked at her then, and she was fierce as she said, “You have to leave, Caius. It’s not going to be safe for those like you—those who want to fight for what is right. There’s nothing left for you here.”

  The young guard shook his head slightly and gave a warm smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Faythe was about to protest when he stood quickly and strolled out of her cell. As he locked it again, he met her eye once more, and she heard, “Don’t let them break your spirit, Faythe. Don’t let them win,” right before he turned and left her alone in the cellblock once more.

  Chapter 52

  Jakon

  “Are you certain about this?” Jakon’s question came out as more of a plea while he struggled with the hard beat of his heart over what they were about to do.

  Marlowe’s face was desolate, her nod grim. “I don’t know how this ends. I can’t be certain we will all still hold our lives. But I know we are needed.”

  Jakon trembled under his cloak, fists clamped tight while they kept hidden in an alley close to the city wall. They intended to flee as soon as they got the news from Caius, and Jakon was fully prepared to leave High Farrow behind if it meant Marlowe’s safety. As much as it crushed him completely to imagine leaving Faythe when danger was imminent, Caius was right: he would only be making himself leverage for the king to use against her, and getting the ruin far out of his reach was too important. Or so they all thought.

  Marlowe pieced together visions from various dreams, concluding there was only one way to take down the King of High Farrow. And that was to walk right into his domain and offer up the prize he sought…

  He can’t stand to lose what he never gained, and what he gains will end his reign.

  He didn’t think he would ever get used to how Marlowe spoke in riddles and questions that hid answers. He trusted in her and knew she would never give in mindlessly to the guidance of the Spirits without listening to her own gut feelings and rational thoughts.

  “It’s time,” she said, achingly quiet.

  Jakon’s heart tugged. They had spent nearly a week on the road before turning back, then a further week and a half remaining hidden, making sure what they were about to do wasn’t a grave mistake and coming to terms with the fact none of their fates were safe. It pained him to hear the fear in her voice, and he tried desperately to remain strong for her. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her one last time. When they broke apart, he didn’t release her. He stared into the ocean eyes that were his absolution and steadied his breath, finding the serenity to voice what had been weighing him down with nerves, thrill, and fear for some time now. If this turned out to be his last chance…

  “Marlowe Connaise,”—his thumb brushed over her cheek—“a simple endeavor to commission a sword brought me to you, and from that first day, you had me. Your infectious wonder, your selfless heart, your incredible mind… I fall for every piece of you harder every day. When we come out of this, I promise to always be yours. And I want everyone to know you will always be mine, as Marlowe Kilknight. There is not a day I want to imagine wit
hout you by my side.” He watched her face fall a shade paler, eyes widening in surprise. Jakon held his breath. Then the brightest smile lit up Marlowe’s entire expression, chasing away the clouded sadness just for a moment.

  “Your timing is awful,” she breathed in a short, nervous laugh. “Yes, Jakon, I will take your name. From that first day, you had me too. I am yours, and you are mine. Until the end claims us.”

  She fell into him, and he gripped her tight, his joy of her acceptance cruelly overshadowed by the grief it could be the last time he held her. He tried not to think so grimly, or he risked never letting her go and fleeing Ungardia with her before they walked through those dreaded city gates.

  “Until the end claims us,” he all but whispered.

  Marlowe held the box he had come to hate the sight of. Together, they stepped out of the shadows, out of hiding, and out of safety.

  Hands intertwined, they walked straight into the open arms of the enemy.

  Chapter 53

  Faythe

  Faythe lost track of the days. She assumed well over a week had passed, perhaps over two, since they locked her up in the cold and dreary cell after the Yulemas Ball.

  Varis had dragged her into the torture chamber below the castle twice more since the first time, and she’d spent a few days quiet and lonely in between. The captain needed time to rest and replenish at least sufficient enough strength to riffle through her mind for the king’s answers after each torturous violation. Each time, Faythe woke up back in her cell with a searing headache from trying to hide information about her friends. It brought her slight pleasure to know she’d succeeded thus far in eluding the captain when he thought he was triumphant in his complete control.