A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Read online

  “I miss you both so much,” she whimpered. Though she knew it was only a vision of them, she hoped their souls could hear from their place in the Afterlife. She took a deep breath, wiping her tear-stained faced. “I won’t fail you again. Fenstead will rise and prosper, and I will do everything in my power to restore the lands and make you proud,” she said fiercely.

  A soft smile spread across the king and queen’s faces, pride and love shining in their eyes to fill her with confidence. “We know you will. Now, go, Tauria. Fenstead needs you to live.”

  Tauria glanced at the many soldiers engaged in combat around her, the clang of steel, the scent of fire and blood. With all her might, she forced herself to turn away, and she ran. Two Fenstead guards covered her as she took off down an alley that was free of lingering bodies. Horses were equipped and waiting. They hurried for them.

  Halfway down the alley, the guard on her right let out a shrill cry, and Tauria’s head snapped to him. Her blood chilled at seeing the dagger protruding from his throat and his final wide-eyed look of agony before he fell. Her scream was smothered by her other escort’s piercing shout of pain before his body also met the ground.

  Tauria was wild in panic and angled her staff as she whirled to their assailant.

  She was met with a lone figure, cloaked and hooded to shadow their face. Their sword was drawn, the length of dark steel dripping with thick blood. Tauria paled but breathed to focus herself for defense. They didn’t advance. Instead, their head tilted faintly, observing. It was then Tauria remembered she was in a memory; she had already lived this moment.

  Her assailant spoke—words she would never forget in her lifetime. “If you’re smart, you’ll get on that horse, ride far, and won’t look back for one second.”

  A feminine voice, as unexpected as the mercy she offered. One of the enemy, yet she chose to spare her life. Whether she knew her to be the princess or not, Tauria would never be sure.

  Just then, a single warrior came rushing out from behind her enemy and savior—a Rhyenelle warrior, one of their neighboring allies, Tauria quickly distinguished from the accents of crimson on his black leather armor. He was battle-worn and tired, with loose lengths of brown hair matted to his fierce but striking face. He halted, and the enemy turned to him.

  They stared off for a painstakingly long moment. Neither raised their sword. Before they could face off in deadly confrontation, the assailant suddenly turned and moved impossibly fast. The Rhyenelle warrior didn’t move as he tracked her with his eyes, both he and Tauria stunned to watch as she scaled the side of the building before disappearing as if she were no more than a shadow.

  Tauria looked down at her slain escorts, swallowing the guilt. They’d died protecting her. When she met the eye of the Rhyenelle ally, all he gave was a short nod—a push for her to flee, and he would keep her back clear. Tauria uttered a thank-you in trembling bewilderment. It barely left her lips as a whisper. Turning, she shielded her eyes against the pane of white light that opened up before her.

  She would have her time and her revenge. Until then, Tauria took the steps to return to Nik…and High Farrow.

  Chapter 7

  Faythe

  The soothing cascade of water in the glade did nothing to ease Faythe’s anxiety as she paced the open space near the lake, chewing at her fingernails.

  “They’ll be okay. Any minute now,” Nik said. His words were futile in an attempt to calm her, and he failed to hide his own concern as he stared back through the tree line they had emerged from.

  Faythe was afraid of what horrors Jakon and Tauria would endure as they waited, and of the possibility they might not make it past at all. Nik had indicated the woods was selective with who it let enter into its eternal daytime.

  Marlowe also stood beside Nik tensely waiting for Jakon, imitating his stance, but she couldn’t find it in herself to comfort her friend while her own nerves rattled.

  As a distraction, Faythe watched the dance of the glowing yucolites under the water, reminiscing on better memories when it was just her and Nik as a “fae guard.”

  At the sound of snapping branches, she halted her pacing, her head spinning to the trees where Jakon emerged, paler than before and a little bewildered. But he had made it through. Faythe visibly relaxed. Marlowe ran the few paces to him and threw her arms around his neck. When they parted, she reached up on her toes to kiss him. Faythe averted her gaze from their intimate moment, and just as she did, the king’s ward also came into view through the tree trunks. Another wave of relief washed over Faythe.

  They had both made it, and now they were all together in the secret cover of the woods.

  Nik made the few short strides to Tauria and assessed her quickly. Faythe once again felt the need to look away as the fae talked closely between themselves, deliberately quiet. In her second of loneliness, a stab of sadness hit Faythe’s chest. It was gone as quickly as she felt it when she was joined by Jakon and Marlowe, shortly followed by the prince and the ward.

  She smiled weakly. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be in the quiet confines of her rooms. To brood or to avoid the confrontation with Aurialis, she wasn’t sure.

  Everyone followed her lead though she had never been to the temple glade without the guidance of the mighty sliver-antlered stag. She only hoped it would reveal itself if she walked in the same direction she recalled from memory, but the array of crooked wooden bodies all looked the same no matter which way she faced. None of her companions talked as they trudged slightly behind. She powered ahead, not really in the mood for conversation anyway. Nik must have noticed, because she felt his presence creep up and fall into pace beside her. His arm brushed hers, and she felt his sideward glance like a brand.

  “Are you okay?”

  She heard the question as he projected the loud thought. Caught between wanting to confess she hadn’t been okay in months and saying what she needed to for him to believe she was, Faythe decided to stay silent.

  The temple came into view a few short paces later, the sight bringing both relief and fear in overwhelming amounts. Faythe didn’t let it show. Instead, she stormed through the last of the tree line and out into the wide clearing to face the tall ancient structure she dreaded to meet again. As they approached, she drew Lumarias, the cry of steel as it left its scabbard the only sound to disrupt the silence around them. She lifted the pommel that held the Riscillius to her eye and saw the symbols on each of the doors that had erased themselves from her memory through magick. She was about to slice down on her own forearm and draw blood to trace the symbols, but Marlowe’s soft hand encased her wrist to stop her.

  “I brought this,” she said, holding out a shard of chalk.

  Faythe gave her a grateful smile, admiring her for always thinking one step ahead. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  Bounding up the steps, Faythe quickly sketched the first symbol on the right door with the white chalk then hastily drew the second before her recollection of the image could be wiped. As she finished her lazy artwork, the doors groaned open, just as they did the first time she visited with Marlowe all those weeks ago. The sound vibrated through her to rattle her anxiety some more. She had a hideous sense of déjà vu and wanted desperately to retreat and abandon the temple, never return again if she could help it. But she kept her exterior tame, and as soon as Nik pushed the doors further open for them to follow through, she marched in without hesitation.

  It was exactly as she remembered—not that she expected anything different when she held the only key to open the temple in her sword. The musty old scent hit her first. It wasn’t comforting like the pages of aged books, but rather dreadful as the smell clung to the ancient bones of the long-forgotten temple. Her eyes were transfixed by the pool of light that beamed down around the center mark like a beacon, calling to her. The symbol of Aurialis.

  She felt her hands begin to tremble as the nerves caught up with her, perturbed to find out what the Spiri
t of Life had to say this time. In that moment, she wished she were alone. The thought made her guilty for wanting to push her friends’ love and support away—a self-destructing flaw she didn’t think she would ever win her battle against.

  “This place is incredible.” Tauria’s voice was the first to echo through the silence. “It radiates power.”

  Faythe didn’t comment that she couldn’t feel it and was pretty sure her companions thought the same. Tauria’s bloodline was directly blessed by Aurialis; she had a deeper connection to this temple that none of them would be able to understand.

  Marlowe was already scanning the walls of artifacts, just as she did during her last visit. Jakon stayed close to her side, eyes darting cautiously around the great hall, jerking every time the blacksmith reached for something new. Nik remained next to Faythe, and she noted the worried look in his eyes as they flicked between her face and the stone in her sword that would summon the Spirit of Life once again.

  “You don’t have to face it alone,” he said.

  She mustered a weak side-smile. “I do.”

  His look softened in understanding. She would perhaps get answers that would be difficult to hear—answers about her father. And she didn’t want an audience for it.

  Faythe walked the few short steps to the center and hesitated for a second outside the circle of sunlight before stepping inside and turning to face the doors. The beam of light was already shooting from the Riscillius in the pommel of her sword, still clasped in her hand. The light shook slightly, and she gripped the hilt tighter, cursing the betrayal of her wavering courage.

  “We’ll be right here for you,” Jakon said.

  She glanced to the side to find her oldest friend watching her. His features were laced with concern, but his presence was a sure, comforting sight. Marlowe also gave her a nod of encouragement, and to her other side, Nik and Tauria stood reassuring and calm, like four pillars of support to prevent her from collapsing under the weight of her own cowardice. With that thought, Faythe straightened with new confidence, raising the hilt of her sword between both hands and guiding the laser of light it cast across the room to meet its sister stone on the eye sculpted above the temple’s exit.

  As they connected, she closed her eyes. The harsh white light that encased her was bright enough to make her flinch even behind closed lids, and she knew when she opened them, she would no longer see her friends.

  “You have returned at last.”

  Though she was expecting it, the Spirit’s voice still sent a tremor through her like a ghost’s kiss. Faythe peeled her eyes open, blinking to adjust to the change in brightness, then Aurialis’s stunning ethereal figure came into clarity. Exactly as Faythe remembered. She was struck as if it were their first encounter, both from her beauty and the fact she was real and in a physical form.

  “It hasn’t been that long,” she grumbled.

  “We are running out of time. It has been long enough.”

  Faythe flexed her fist. “I’ve been a little…preoccupied,” she said, putting very lightly the series of events that ended with her castle imprisonment.

  “You promised to retrieve something that was stolen long ago from my temple. You have been in the exact location you needed to be to find it.”

  Faythe huffed an incredulous laugh. “The ruin. Yes, I know.” She shifted on her feet under Aurialis’s intimidating, impassive gaze. “It may have slipped my mind while I was simply trying to stay alive long enough.” It wasn’t a complete lie. While the daunting task would often weave its way through her lattice of overwhelming thoughts and emotions, it was always drowned out by Faythe coming to grips with her ability and staying out of the king’s line of execution.

  “We are running out of time.”

  Aurialis’s urgency brought forth the burning question that had made Faythe desperate enough to venture here tonight rather than hold off for as long as possible. “Jakon’s pain—are you behind it?”

  Aurialis raised her chin, a sign Faythe knew to anticipate as affirmation or a movement before the fall of hard knowledge. “Where life is granted a second chance, so can that mercy be taken back.”

  “You’ve proven your point. I’m here. Tell me you won’t threaten his life again.”

  Aurialis gracefully dipped her head. “You have my word. So long as you find my ruin, the light magick will sustain him for as long as he lives.”

  The words crushed Faythe with relief. “Thank you.”

  “But Faythe, in the bargain you struck, your reward was instant. Magick can be impatient even beyond my control. I must warn you that your friend’s pain shall only get worse until the ruin is within your grasp.”

  A wave of ice flushed her skin, but even Aurialis intimated with a hint of sympathy that this was out of her control. Faythe began to feel the choking suffocation of guilt at realizing she’d put Jakon’s life on borrowed time until she fulfilled her end of the bargain.

  “Why is it within the castle? Why would the king have it?”

  “We do not have enough time right now to explain. Find my ruin, and you can summon me at will by connecting the power of the true sun to it through the Riscillius. I’m sorry this task falls to you, Faythe, but it is urgent.”

  “What is it you’re so afraid of that you can’t take care of yourself? Aren’t you supposed to be the ones watching over us?” Faythe ranted in growing frustration, tired of the cryptic messages.

  “It was that way for a long time, until Marvellas broke the balance.”

  Faythe’s head rattled at the mention of the Spirit of Souls. “Where is she now?” she asked, unsure if she wanted to know. Until now, she had believed—or rather, hoped—the ancient Goddess no longer walked their lands.

  “I lost track of her over two hundred years ago. You are not safe as long as she remains in your realm. None of you are.”

  Faythe swallowed hard at the confirmation Marvellas was very much still alive. “Why?” was all she could ask, dizzy with cold apprehension.

  “There is not enough time to explain. Find the ruin within the castle. The princess is powerful with my gift—she may be able to help trace it.”

  “Why me?” The question was more of an escaped breath of disbelief at her tangled strings of misfortune.

  “With every evil born, a way to destroy it is conceived in turn. It can only be you. But you are not alone, Faythe.” Aurialis was calm in her tone, a stark contrast to Faythe’s wildly rattled nerves at the riddle. The Spirit’s image started to fade around the edges.

  “Wait!” Faythe called desperately. “I came to know more about my father.”

  “You will have the answers you seek soon, Heir of Marvellas.”

  With those last echoing words, Aurialis was gone.

  Faythe stood alone within the impenetrable veil of light, completely dumbstruck that she had once again been so distracted by the Spirit’s own demands she’d received no insight of her own. When the circle around her fell, she made no movement and didn’t even register her friends closing in. She stared at the exit in complete exasperation as she took in everything Aurialis had said and how it left her with more questions than answers. This was becoming an infuriating pattern.

  “Faythe.” Jakon’s voice was the first to shake her back from her reeling thoughts.

  She didn’t look at him—didn’t look at any of them—as she stormed out of the temple, sheathing her sword at her hip while descending the stairs. She vaguely heard the series of footsteps following after her and almost felt guilty for her silence, but she needed a moment to calm down.

  At the risk of releasing her anguish and indignation on them, she figured it would be easier to apologize for not sharing her feelings at all than seek forgiveness for sharing too much.

  Chapter 8

  Faythe

  Faythe stood in awkward silence under the intense gaze of her four companions who waited expectantly for her to explain what she had learned from the Spirit of Life.

  They’d returned
to the hut after a muted walk back. She was grateful no one had tried to make conversation, as it gave her time to sort through her thoughts and make sense of what Aurialis had said. And to calm her anger over what the Spirit didn’t tell her.

  Her eyes landed on Nik for a moment longer than the rest. She planned to ask him if he knew anything of the ruin the Spirit so desperately wanted her to retrieve, but she found herself doubting whether she could trust him. Not because she thought he would turn her in to the king for seeking out a treasured possession, but because he was his son. While she knew they didn’t have the most loving bond, she was afraid to test where his loyalty would lie if it came to making a choice.

  “I made a bargain when I needed the yucolites to heal you.” She glanced at Jakon, wincing at his stiffened posture as he tried miserably to disguise the fact his wound was bothering him. She averted her gaze out of guilt. “To get them, I had to offer something in return. I didn’t know it was Aurialis at the time. I suppose it didn’t matter. But she’s calling in my end now. More than that, she’s threatening to undo the magick that saved your life if I don’t find what she seeks soon.”

  Faythe had to tell them. Her friend deserved an explanation and to know she was once again the cause of his suffering. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him out of shame.

  The pause of silence in the room was suffocating. Faythe stared at the ground, wishing it could open up and swallow her pitiful existence. Jakon crept up beside her, an arm going around her shoulders in silent comfort.

  “What is it she wants?” he asked, folding her into his warmth.

  Faythe’s brow wrinkled as she looked up at his brown eyes that held nothing but gentle understanding and a fierce protectiveness. He was fully prepared to dive into the damning pits of the Netherworld with her, no matter what. Rejecting his embrace would be an insult to his unconditional love for her—something she didn’t deserve after all she’d put him through.