An Heir Comes to Rise Page 6

  Then she decided. If it could put her into a deep sleep and she wouldn’t dream of anything, she would take a chance for that shot of bliss.

  Before she changed her mind or lost her nerve, she squeezed the top to collect the liquid inside and then brought it up to her tongue to let two drops fall. She cringed at the foul taste, then she screwed it closed and quickly hid the bottle under her bed before Jakon could return and ask her about it.

  He came in seconds later and smirked at the sorry state she must’ve looked.

  As they lay in the peaceful darkness, Faythe watched the dust dance in the air where moonlight pooled into the room. She began to feel drowsy, but she wasn’t sure if it was down to the alcohol or if Nik’s miracle tonic was really working.

  “Lumarias,” she mumbled, her eyelids suddenly feeling as if they weighed a ton. She heard the shift of Jakon’s pillow as he turned his head to her. “My sword—I’ll call it Lumarias.”

  Chapter 7

  The morning after the solstice celebrations, Faythe awoke to find Jakon’s cot already empty and was shocked when she fumbled for her discarded pocket watch to find it was past midday. She naturally surfaced back to consciousness. She’d slept through her entire hangover and even felt refreshed.

  Faythe had never felt so bright and alert from a full night of peaceful rest before. For the first time, she hadn’t found herself in a single dream or nightmare and had instead fallen into a dark pit of blissful, deep sleep.

  She slept the same for the next seven consecutive nights by routinely taking the drops her unlikely fae savior had given to her. A full week later, she was exuding energy. Even Jakon and Marie commented on her glowing change of attitude.

  But her drops were running very low, with only a dose or two left. She’d been on the lookout for Nik since the contents drained to halfway. So far, there had been no sign of him in any of the day or night patrols, and she was starting to panic.

  Faythe needed the drops. They provided her only hope of protection against herself. She would take them every night for the rest of her life if she had to. After all, she couldn’t risk accidentally wandering into anyone’s mind—if that was what her ability meant—and better, no one could walk into hers.

  She had to ask Nik for more or find out where she could buy the drops herself.

  When the workday finished, she headed back to the hut to find Jakon had already returned. He was hunched over the table in the kitchen, devouring a bowl of stew and a slice of bread. He nodded for her to sit, the same waiting for her.

  “You cooked?” She raised an eyebrow, taking a seat opposite and tucking in.

  He chuckled. “Not exactly. Mrs. Bunsen had leftovers she insisted I take back with me.”

  The farmer’s wife was a kind woman and would offer them food whenever she had extra that was going to spoil, usually in the form of cold pies and meats. The warm meal was a welcome treat.

  “I think I’ll go to the square tonight, break in Lumarias a bit more,” Faythe said after a few mouthfuls.

  Jakon’s shoulders slumped. “We’ve been every night since the solstice,” he complained.

  They had, and while she’d enjoyed every minute of practicing with her new blade, Faythe had never told him the real reason she insisted on going every night. She wanted to see if she could spot Nik in the night patrols. She’d made them stay until midnight most nights, but still no sightings of him, to her dismay.

  “I’ll go alone. I’ve chopped through all your sticks anyway.” Faythe sniggered. When she’d whittled his sticks to mere twigs, he’d resorted to using a dagger in each hand, which he was surprisingly skilled at maneuvering.

  He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll come.”

  She knew it was a begrudging agreement and could see his fatigue. She rolled her eyes. “It’s a couple of streets away, Jak, and there’s fae patrol all over. I’ll be safe, you worrywart.” She tossed a piece of bread at him.

  Jakon paused his eating, contemplating before heaving an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he drawled, “but back by ten?”

  “Eleven,” she countered.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Deal.”

  She smiled in triumph, eager to finish her meal and change to leave.

  Faythe dressed in black leather pants with a tucked-in loose white shirt and her same old black boots. After she braided her hair back, she looped her sword belt around her hips and swung her cloak on. Bidding Jakon goodbye where he lay collapsed on his cot, she had no doubt he would fall asleep as soon as she was gone.

  Slipping into the night, Faythe embraced the calm of the quiet streets in contrast to the bustle of daytime. She passed two fae patrol who didn’t bat an eye as she walked her usual route. Most of them knew her face and likely where she was headed.

  Arriving at the square, she discarded her cloak on a side bench as she began to swing at and block her imaginary opponent, letting the world disappear around her to fall into her usual focused calm. Close to an hour later, she was slick with sweat, ducking and swirling and striking in a graceful dance of combat. She could almost hear the high clank of connecting steel where her blade met her phantom adversary.

  She paused, her breath sharp, when she heard voices and peered down each street connected to the square to check if it was fae soldiers. When a small group of drunk humans walked into the space and passed by, she didn’t hide her sigh of disappointment.

  “Not hoping for anyone in particular, are you?”

  At the sound of Nik’s voice, her heart leapt in relief. About time! When she turned, scanning each direction again, she couldn’t spot him anywhere.

  He whistled, and it sounded from above her. Flicking her eyes up, she spied him perched on the rooftop behind, watching her with a sly smile.

  “If that little show was for me, consider me impressed,” he said. “For a mortal,” he added with a grin. He stood and went to jump.

  She was about to bark her protest that it was far too high, but he leaped and landed on the ground below in silent feline stealth before straightening and leaning back against the wall in the shadows. She stared at him wide-mouthed until she remembered he was fae and the human laws of nature didn’t apply to him. She snapped her mouth shut with a scowl at his arrogant smirk and noted he was in his casual attire again, his cloak hood shadowing most of his face. Not on duty tonight then.

  “How long have you been there?” she asked irritably.

  He simply shrugged, adding to her quickly escalating ire.

  She asked instead, “Where have you been?”

  He laughed quietly. “I didn’t realize I was needed.” His eyes flashed in amusement.

  Faythe bit back her retort.

  “You know, I’d have thought you’d be a little more…pleased to see me,” he said.

  Oh, he was enjoying this. She was doing a good job of holding her tongue. She needed him, though it pained her to admit it.

  The scraping of boots and faint voices down the street to her left stole their attention. Nik pressed a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow as he dipped into an unlit alley. She sheathed her sword and flung her cloak over her shoulders. Once the three fae patrol had passed with a quick glance, she darted after Nik.

  It was so dark she had to squint her eyes to make out the different shapes and not trip over anything, but she still couldn’t see his figure down the length of the street. She was about to call his name when a hand clamped over her mouth. Her scream quickly died in her throat as she was whirled around. Faythe could just about make out Nik’s emerald eyes piercing hers in the eerie darkness.

  “Did you not get my gesture to be quiet?” he hissed through his teeth.

  She winced, muttering a low apology when he released her.

  He continued walking farther down the narrow passage. She followed close behind as if something else might make a move to grab her. They stopped at the end to check for bodies before scuttling over to the next dark street.

  Nik led them in and
out of main streets and alleyways and up over the hills that held the solstice bonfires. She came to a halt before they entered the small wooded area.

  Noticing she wasn’t so close behind anymore, he turned to her. “You coming?”

  No one ever entered these woods, claiming it was home to a whole horde of unrested spirits and other wicked creatures. She knew a boy who’d accepted a dare to go in there when she was younger. It had taken him weeks to recover, and he looked as if he’d seen monsters from a personal Netherworld. He never told anyone what greeted him in there.

  She hesitated. “Aren’t these woods, like…haunted?” She cringed at the risk of sounding ridiculous.

  He laughed a little. “Yes…and no,” he said cryptically. Seeing she wasn’t about to enter on that basis, he clarified, “The woods has a natural defense mechanism. You might see things you don’t like at first, but if it deems you worthy, it’ll let you pass.”

  She swallowed hard. “And how can you be sure it’ll find me worthy?”

  He shrugged, taking a step closer. “I’m not,” was all she heard before he vanished through a veil of black.

  Faythe cursed him colorfully and repeatedly as she paced in front of the tree line. When she looked to where Nik had disappeared, she could see nothing but pitch-black past the first two staggered rows of trees. It was like a doorless wall into another realm. The more she stared at the misted veil, the more she felt its pull: a silent, chanting dare to enter. The only slight comfort was that she could hear no screams or shouts from Nik—unless the smoke shielded that too.

  Seeing no alternative, as the fae guard had not returned and she needed something from him, Faythe held her breath and took a wide step straight through the blanket of dark.

  It was eerily black just past where she entered, darker than the night in the open fields as the canopy snuffed out all hues of blue. The woodland extended further, and she was completely surrounded by endless scattered lines of warped, wrinkled tree trunks. Thick heads of black leaves that looked more like flapping bats grew above, leaving not a single trace of the bright moon and stars. When she turned to look back, she could no longer see the grassy hills she’d come from. There was no way to go but forward, so she took a step, and then another, cautiously making her way deeper through the charcoal bodies of timber.

  Nik was nowhere to be seen. Faythe realized what made her skin prickle and every hair stand on end was not the gloom and ghostly appearance of the woods; it was that there was absolutely no sound. Not a single woodland creature made themselves known through song or movement. She took another step, and the crack of a fallen branch beneath her foot echoed through the still silence. Then she cried out as something gripped her boot.

  Panic rising, she tried to yank free of the branch that laced its crooked fingers around her ankle, trailing its spindly limbs higher up. When she tried to move her other foot, she found it too was gripped by black vines that oozed a dark liquid where they grew around her calf. She pulled Lumarias free, but another vine lashed out beside her and began to snake up her wrist and arm, leaving a cold, wet trail.

  Faythe dropped her only weapon, and it landed on the moss with a faint thud. Another vine captured her limp left arm, leaving her completely bound and vulnerable.

  She was going to die. This was a trap, and she’d fallen right into it. She would have buckled with fear if she weren’t being held up in a tangled web of obsidian roots. She snapped her eyes shut and focused on her erratic heartbeat.

  Then the vines stopped growing.

  “Faythe,” the shadows whispered.

  She trembled and let out a shaky breath, clamping her eyes closed so hard it hurt.

  “Why won’t you look at me, Faythe?”

  She tried to block out the sound—a female voice—but the words rang between the trees, piercing right through her ears to rattle in her mind.

  “Look at me,” it cooed.

  She refused, hoping that whatever it was would kill her quickly and painlessly.

  Suddenly, a rumble shook through the woods, vibrating under her feet to tremble up and into her very bones.

  “Look at me!”

  She snapped her eyes open with the command and let out a strangled sound at the sight. Those eyes—her eyes—but slightly darker in tone, and the rest of her appearance exactly as she remembered. Her mother.

  “My dearest Faythe.” It was her voice, likely plucked straight from Faythe’s head, but also not her voice, as it was distorted by whatever had conjured the vision. “Tell me what you’re afraid of, Faythe.”

  Tears streamed down her face. She could only stare at her in pain. She’s not real, Faythe told herself. A trick of the mind. A cruel, wicked trick of the mind.

  “What do you want?” she whispered back, her lip quivering.

  A new voice spoke, and her heart leapt. Jakon.

  “I want to know your deepest fear.”

  Twisting her head to see her friend standing beside her, she let out another sharp sob. His face was beaten and bloodied, and the sight splintered her heart.

  “Stop,” she pleaded.

  “Say it.”

  She hung her head and sobbed in defeat, trying to get his image out of her mind. A part of Faythe knew she deserved this, and she wanted to curl up and submit to the demon taunting her. Even if it meant her life, she deserved it.

  “You can’t protect anyone,” the ghost of Jakon mocked her.

  Then she realized the woods already knew exactly what her greatest fear was. The key was getting her to own it; to face it. From behind the wooden silhouettes, more figures emerged. They were cloaked, hooded, and…faceless. She caught a glint of steel as they approached her mother and Jakon, floating like harbingers of death to the people she loved.

  Faythe strained against the bonds that held her. “Please!” she cried in frantic desperation.

  Each step seemed faster than the last until they all stopped, close enough to strike them. Her whole body shook violently while she watched in cold-blooded terror. They raised their swords in unison, poised to bring them down on the two people dearest to her.

  Faythe instantly snapped. Fear struck her mind like a bolt of lightning, awakening her. She twisted the oily black vines around her wrists and gripped them tight—then she poured every ounce of strength she had through her arms, which contracted painfully against the ropelike restraints, and cried out with the force it took to break them.

  They tore from their roots, and she released a harsh breath when she felt her hands free. Faythe didn’t waste a second, not a single breath, before swiping Lumarias from the ground and swiftly twisting to sever the bonds at her ankles. She lunged forward, feeling time slow as she watched the fall of the blade that would seal Jakon’s fate. Gauging the distance, she thought she would be too late. But she stepped up and lifted her own blade above her friend’s head. The cry of connecting steel resonated chillingly through the still forest, mere inches from his neck.

  “I’m not afraid; I’m terrified!” she cried in anguish, pushing off the faceless monster’s blade. It backed away from her, the copies of the ghost mirroring every flicker of its movement. It didn’t position to attack her again, but Faythe advanced as it went on the defensive. “I’m terrified the people I love will die, and it’ll be my fault!”

  Their swords crossed over and over, and Faythe poured all her anger and grief into each swing to cut down the foe threatening those she loved. Overcome with a deep fear she could never protect them, she cried out loud while raising her sword for the killing blow. She could do it, whatever it took to keep them safe. Yet in her cowardice, she closed her eyes as she brought the blade down, knowing it would strike through the dark, faceless demon.

  As her blade came to a stop between her hands at her side, she felt nothing. She was panting hard but dared open her eyes to face the creature she’d slain. To her shock, it was Jakon who now stood before her, his face once again perfect and unscathed.

  “Why are you so afraid, Fayt
he?” it asked in his voice.

  She trembled from her sobs, and her tone dropped low. “It’s my fault she’s dead,” she confessed. The truth she’d buried so deep to forget tore open an old wound in her heart. “My mother… She was out looking for me that night. I didn’t stay home like she begged me to. I left to go play in the forest even though she warned me to never go in there. It was dark, and I heard a scream, so I ran all the way home, and I waited all night…but she never returned.” Her voice cracked as the words tumbled from her. “I tell everyone she left, but I know… I know it was her scream that night. Whatever she warned me about in the forest came for her, and I lured her right to it. She screamed…and I ran.”

  The tears stopped forming, and Faythe went completely numb at her self-conviction. She forced herself to turn around and face the ghost of her mother. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes fell to the woodland floor as the surrounding darkness eased into a soft gray.

  A glowing figure approached and stopped in front of Faythe, gripping her chin with a ghostly lightness and guiding her face to look up. She stared directly at her own bright reflection, and her phantom-self smiled softly back.

  “It is not your fault,” it said. “There is so much you are yet to discover, Heir of Marvellas. So much you are destined for.”

  Her mother stood to its left, and Jakon to its right. Relief overcame Faythe at seeing her friend unharmed. She was too late to protect her mother, but she would protect him—with her life if needed.

  “Stay true to yourself, Faythe. Aurialis will be your guide.” They parted to reveal a bright veil of white instead of obsidian black.

  Faythe felt too hollow to take in anything the voice said and too angry to try a response. With one last look at her mother’s soft features, she lifted her chin and wiped her face, stalking for the blinding white exit.