A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 6

  It didn’t get the chance to take root when Tauria opened her eyes again and the next three words she uttered chilled the temperature in the room. “The Eternal Woods.”

  Faythe’s eyes widened, and she leaned away from Tauria. The ward turned her head to look directly at her—which only rattled her nerves further. She shot a quick look at Marlowe, then Nik, the only others who had been to the Eternal Woods with her before. Somewhere that was once a safe haven to practice swordplay and mind tricks with the prince now shook her very bones since the discovery of the Spirit’s dwelling.

  Nik looked just as stunned at the mention that only confirmed what Faythe was afraid of. The ward had never been to the woods, so why was she hearing the words now?

  Marlowe appeared deep in thought before she cocked her head at Tauria in curiosity. “Faythe mentioned you had elemental gifts,” she said as more of a question.

  Faythe wasn’t sure why it was relevant, but she had learned by now to trust and listen to the blacksmith’s strange questions. She was an oracle, and they would all be wise to pay attention however odd her words sometimes seemed.

  Tauria nodded. “I’m a Windbreaker primarily, but I have some of my mother’s Florakinetic ability.”

  Marlowe was contemplative for a moment, her eyes boring a hole into the tabletop.

  When Faythe couldn’t take it anymore, she asked, “What is it, Marlowe?” An unnerving feeling of dread washed over her, making her too antsy where she sat.

  The blacksmith’s eyes widened a fraction, and in them, while she looked at no one, it was as if some grand puzzle in her brilliant mind had been granted its final piece and become whole. “I get it now,” she began quietly with a pause, then her head turned to look at Faythe who balled her fists to keep from trembling. “I had a dream once, about the different magick abilities and where they came from—or who they came from.”

  Faythe’s foot tapped nervously on the wooden floor. She knew Marlowe’s “dreams” were never innocent anymore. They weren’t mindless visions; they were real knowledge, real warnings, from the Spirits themselves, delivered through her gift as an oracle.

  “Every ability was given long ago as a blessing from each of the three Spirits, as a means to grant a select few a higher power: the ability to keep the peace,” she began to explain with an air of wonder. “Over time, these abilities manifested, spread, and strengthened. But they also weakened through crossed bloodlines. It was the work of the Spirit of Souls, Marvellas, to make sure those of equal power found each other and always kept their abilities thriving.

  “When Marvellas left her sacred duty a thousand years ago, those souls wouldn’t always find each other, which resulted in diluted power. The fae people came to call those who did connect ‘mates.’ Even those without an ability have an energy within that longs to be matched. Not just a romantic pairing, not just love—those who connect with their mate, their equal, continue to strengthen their bloodlines as well as each other.”

  Faythe was wholly engrossed in the fascinating story. Though she dreaded the answer, she asked, “What does all this have to do with Tauria?”

  Marlowe took a breath before continuing. “The Elementals were a blessing from Aurialis, the Spirit of Life.” Some part of Faythe knew the conclusion Marlowe was about to draw, but it hit her like a ton weight all the same. “I think her temple calls to you.”

  Only Tauria kept her frown of confusion as the rest of them looked between each other in dawning realization. Faythe’s hand went to the pommel of her sword—more specifically, the Riscillius: The Looking Glass. It would be fully charged to see the Spirit of Life once again since their last encounter was well over twenty-eight days ago, the time period the stone needed to be strong enough to pierce the veil. She had never fully explained to her friends what greeted her the day the light engulfed her inside the Light Temple—the day Aurialis came to form in front of her. The only one who knew was Marlowe. She was too afraid to share the revelations that changed everything.

  “What else do you know?” Nik asked.

  Marlowe’s face creased as she tried to recall more information. “Those with abilities of the mind, the Nightwalkers like you, are supposedly—”

  “Marvellas-blessed,” Faythe finished for her, not meeting anyone’s eye though she knew their stares were all fixed on her. She took a deep breath, straightening, and said to no one in particular, “I think I need to tell you what I learned in the temple that night.”

  Chapter 5

  Faythe

  “I saw Aurialis.”

  The expressions around the table were a mix of shock, disbelief, and confusion as Faythe dove into her encounter with the Spirit of Life that seemed so distant now. She shifted nervously under the scrutiny of so many eyes. No one spoke, allowing her to recite the details of what the Spirit told her, but Faythe found it difficult to put the experience into words. It all sounded fictitious. Still, she rattled through the brief conversation, which didn’t consist of much that even made real sense to her yet.

  When it came to the part about her father, Faythe took a long pause before saying, “I’m not sure if I believe what she told me…”—she released a shaky breath—“but she seems to know who my father is.”

  Jakon’s shock was the loudest. “Did you find out who he is?” he asked carefully.

  Faythe shook her head. “Not exactly.” She gave a nervous laugh, anticipating what she was about to say would be immediately rendered a ridiculous claim. “She implied he was a Nightwalker…which would mean he is fae.”

  The room was silent, and all Faythe could hear was the thundering of her own heart.

  “It makes sense.” Nik was the first to speak, and she whipped her head to him as it wasn’t exactly the dismissal she expected. “Your speed, even your strength, is more than the average woman. It also explains why you’re so adept at swordplay. If Aurialis speaks the truth, technically, you’re half-fae. Though it’s clear you somehow take after your human origins more,” he clarified, shaking his head in disbelief. “I should have thought of it sooner, but demi-fae are rare, and I’ve only ever known them to look like us in appearance.” He didn’t have to say it—that aside from her rounded ears, her stature and poise were far from that of the fae. “They’re often rejected and abandoned by their parents, human mothers who fear being seen bringing up a child with pointed ears, and fae fathers who refuse to tarnish their name with a half-breed.”

  “That’s barbaric,” Marlowe snapped.

  Faythe was weighed down with horror. Her stomach churned, and she swallowed hard to remove the burn in her throat. A pulse filled her ears. She didn’t want to hear anything further. She was a twisted blend of everything that shouldn’t exist in the world. Her ability, her blood, her ancient heritage—the more she learned about herself, the more detached she felt, a damning feeling of not belonging anywhere anymore. She looked over to her friends. Can they see it too? Everything that was wrong beneath her skin. They said nothing, but their gazes held pity. Or is it wicked self-pity clouding my mind?

  A warm hand encased her own, and Faythe stared down at her ghostly-pale skin against Tauria’s golden-brown tone. It snapped her from her racing thoughts. With the small gesture of comfort and reassurance that there was no judgment around the table, Faythe soothed her rising panic of uncertainty.

  “Your mother never told you anything about your father?” Tauria asked.

  “No. I mean, maybe it wasn’t—I don’t know if she…” Faythe tried to get out some of the conclusions she’d pondered when she first found out about her father’s fae heritage. The worst of her assumptions was the possibility her conception had been the product of something nonconsensual. It was a thought she couldn’t bear. “She never said a word about him. I’m terrified that…that he might not be worth seeking out.”

  “You don’t ever need to find out if you don’t want to. It changes nothing about who you are,” Jakon said, soft but fierce.

  She glanced up to offer him a w
eak smile. In truth, she hadn’t yet made up her mind about whether or not she would attempt to trace her father. Even if she wanted to, she had absolutely no leads to start with.

  “Did Aurialis say anything else?” Nik asked.

  She was glad for the change of subject the prince knew she needed, but Faythe wasn’t sure if she wanted to share the part about her mother. Specifically, her impossible heritage and bloodline connection to Marvellas, the Spirit of Souls. She spared a glance at Marlowe, the only one who knew of the information she withheld. The blacksmith kept her expression neutral, but her slight smile gave Faythe the reassurance she would keep her secret for now.

  Faythe shook her head in answer to Nik’s question, leaving out the real explanation for her ability and letting them believe it was simply passed down in an obscure way from her long-lost Nightwalker father.

  A mischievous grin spread across Marlowe’s face. “Did you bring your sword?”

  Faythe gave a wary nod, and the blacksmith beamed brighter, standing abruptly from the table.

  “If the Spirit calls, we should answer.”

  Of course she would say that. She’s practically duty bound. Knowing exactly what she meant, Faythe shook her head wildly. “No way. It’s probably nothing. Like you said, Tauria has a link to Aurialis—she would have heard it anytime.” She failed to convince herself it was mere coincidence the ward heard the calling tonight.

  Marlowe gave her a flat look, knowing as much. “You said so yourself, there’s more explanation she owes you, and you’re long past the twenty-eight days. You can’t hide from it forever.”

  Faythe glanced at Jakon, her eyes falling to the hand still hovering over his tender old wound. If the Spirit had answers about why his pain was returning, it was reason enough to push aside her cowardice over a confrontation with Aurialis.

  She pushed herself up from the bench, casting her gaze to Nik’s. “What were you saying about adventure?”

  The prince’s mouth twitched upward in a devious smile that made her shiver in delight. Jakon and Tauria rose too, and she looked around at her circle of friends. She could almost see as much as feel the bonded line that ran through them all in one way or another.

  Faythe said with newfound confidence, “Let’s go see what the almighty Spirit has to say.”

  It was harder to be stealthy with more bodies to consider. The five friends crouched in the shadows of an alleyway, each taking turns to dart across intersections and weave in and out of the maze of streets. There would be other patrol groups besides Caius and Tres that they didn’t want to risk crossing paths with if they could help it.

  When they scaled the hills and came to the tree line of the Eternal Woods, Faythe paused before it in sudden realization and looked to Nik. He seemed to arrive at the same thought with the look they shared.

  Turning to Tauria and Jakon, she said, “The woods are guarded. If you try to pass, you might see things, horrible things, made of your own fears.” She winced at the memory of her worst fears made flesh in front of her by the woods’ wicked defenses.

  “I’ll stay out with Tauria,” Nik offered.

  The ward shook her head. “No—I can handle it.” She walked past them all toward the veil of black.

  Nik hooked his hand around her elbow. “You might experience past traumas in there,” he said, low and careful.

  Faythe already knew the prince was caring, but at his tenderness and concern for Tauria, she knew the bond and history between them went deeper than she could comprehend. They had a century together and likely knew each other as much as they knew themselves. It reminded her a lot of herself and Jakon.

  The ward smiled gratefully at his obvious worry, putting her hand over his. “I’ll be fine,” she said with confidence.

  He gave her one nod and released her arm.

  With a deep inhale, Tauria vanished through the black curtains.

  Faythe’s attention fell to Jakon. “You don’t have to go through. It won’t be pleasant,” she said, putting it lightly.

  Her friend scoffed. “I’m not about to be shown up, fae or not,” he replied in playful humor, stepping up to the dark entrance. She didn’t try to stop him. “See you on the other side.” With those last words, he disappeared into the abyss.

  She looked to the remaining pair beside her, already having been through the wood’s trials. Faythe blew out a breath. “Shall we?”

  Chapter 6

  Tauria

  Tauria was doused in cold terror the moment she stepped through the impenetrable black veil of the woods and walked straight into the one scene that had haunted her while awake and in sleep for over a century. Though she anticipated it would be the trauma she faced, nothing could have prepared her to revisit the vision of death and devastation.

  She watched as the once vibrant green hills of Fenstead burned bright in hues of red and orange, made all the more stark against the dark, smoke-clogged sky that choked the stars. The canopies of beautiful forests that held so many of her childhood memories were also ablaze, carrying the thick black clouds higher, and she could do nothing but watch the inferno wage its destruction on her homeland from her position on the balcony of the castle.

  Her ties to nature cried out deep inside. She was helpless to save any of it, and a part of her burned excruciatingly along with the natural world below. Her people’s screams filled her ears, and she could do nothing but stand frozen in shock as the scenes of carnage unfolded right in front of her.

  “Tauria.”

  The voice struck her to her core, pooling tears in her eyes as she’d pined to hear it for so long, thinking she never would. He was gone. She couldn’t bear to turn and meet the face of her father. She stayed silent as water flowed down her cheeks.

  Green banners of the great stag where unlawfully torn down in the streets below, hastily replaced by the black-and-white-fanged serpent of the kingdom brutally dominating hers. Valgard. They had conquered at last with a force too large for Fenstead to defend themselves against. Her once peaceful and prosperous land of thriving green space and wonderful creatures had been defiled into nothing but blood and ash. She didn’t deserve to lead these people if she was too weak to protect them.

  “What are you afraid of, my child?” Her father’s voice was exactly as she remembered from a century past.

  “I could have done more,” she said, her lip quivering at the sight of the devastation around them.

  Fenstead soldiers fought valiantly until their last breath, never letting the oath they swore to protect their kingdom falter. She would commemorate their bravery; take each and every name of the fallen and make them eternal on the lands they died for. This, she promised their souls.

  “Tell me,” the voice of her father pressed.

  She tore her eyes from the bloodbath below, and a small whimper left her at the sight of the King of Fenstead, the dark skin of his usually perfect face now bloodied and marred. An exact replica of the last memory she had of him as he left the battlefield to force her into the arms of the guards who would get her to safety. She’d wanted to stay, was armed to fight, but he convinced her to leave as the kingdom would need a ruler to see it rise again. It was the moment she saw it in his eyes: They were fighting a losing battle. So, she went with them, turning her back on her people in their time of peril.

  “I’m afraid I am not enough.” Tears continued to fall as she confessed to her father what she was terrified to admit. That when the day came to reclaim her kingdom, she would no longer be fit to rule Fenstead. No longer worthy. “I ran when they needed me most.”

  “They needed you to live.”

  “No, Father. They need a ruler who will fight for them, stand and protect them. Someone who will give their life for the kingdom.” It took everything in her to tear her eyes from him when all she wanted to do was fall into the arms that always encased her in safety. But she wouldn’t turn her back on her people—never again. “I ran once… I won’t ever run again.”

  She faced
the carnage once more, calling upon every ounce of her strength and courage. Tauria braced both hands on the flat of the stone railing and hauled herself on top in one swift motion.

  “You are not strong enough. You are not brave enough,” the ghost of her father mocked her.

  She blocked him out. It wasn’t his voice—not anymore. She had nothing to prove to him, and everything to prove to her people below. Soldiers and innocents, humans and fae—she would fight with them and fall with them.

  Tauria shook her head fiercely. “You’re wrong.”

  She held out her arm, feeling her fingers curl around the phantom wood of her staff. When she looked, it was made real against her palm. Facing the carnage, she hardened her expression and her will, summoning the bravery and resilience that left no room for second-guessing she was her father’s daughter.

  Then Tauria leaped.

  Conjuring the will of the wind to break her fall, she landed without injury on the blood-coated stone below, sending the tail blast of her short tornado to knock the enemy back. She straightened as the rest of the band of soldiers who remained standing all turned to her at once. Angling her staff between both hands, Tauria raised her chin, determination sedating her fear.

  Before they could advance, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She immediately met the brown eyes of her father once more, and she whimpered in relief at the sight. No longer did he wear the fresh scars of war. It took everything she had not to fall into the arms of her mother beside him. Tauria choked on a sob at the sight of her delicate, pale face and soft features.

  Her mother smiled with a warmth she would never feel again. A mother’s warmth. “Your time to fight will come, my darling. You are ready.” Her voice soothed Tauria’s aching heart. Only for a moment.