An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  It would be a long shot to get Reuben across the seas and beg for safe entry. It was also perhaps his only hope. They had nothing to fear from Valgard and no reason to search for traitors. As far as anyone knew, no one left that island.

  Mrs. Green’s sob broke through her thoughts. Faythe had almost forgotten the mill owner’s presence in her focused concern. Her expression softened at the hopeless look on her usually cheerful, bright face.

  Faythe said, “I might have an idea.” Then she turned her attention to Reuben once more. “Pack what you can carry. Every time you fall asleep, you’re at risk. You have to leave tonight. Mrs. Green, you should be safe if you don’t know anything.”

  She sobbed hard, and Faythe struggled to hold back her own sadness at the thought of her friend leaving, on the run with his life.

  Mrs. Green approached her, and she accepted her embrace in solace. Her short, round form fit under Faythe’s chin, and she closed her eyes for a moment as if she could feel herself absorbing the mill owner’s pain and grief.

  When they broke apart, Faythe offered a sad smile. Then she glanced at the clock perched on the wonky mantel behind and swore inwardly.

  “I have to go,” she said, then she looked once more at Reuben. “I’ll meet you by Westland Forest, nine o’clock.”

  Reuben nodded. “Thank you, Faythe.”

  She gave a short nod of her own, then she twisted on her heel and bustled out of the mill before she could crumble under the intense sorrow in the room. Once outdoors, Faythe breathed in deep to calm her storm of emotion—then she broke into a run back to the square.

  The day passed by quickly after her rocky encounter at the Greens’ mill. Faythe’s head rattled with ideas of how she could get Reuben across the sea to his only possible salvation.

  As anticipated, Marie gave her an earful on how time was money and didn’t let her have a moment’s rest upon returning. Faythe welcomed the distraction anyway, but all too soon, the sun was beginning its descent past the rooftops, and Faythe was heading home for the evening. Well—heading back to what she had come to call home, which was the very small one-bedroom hut she shared with Jakon. Its structure was poor, allowing harsh nights to whistle bitter wind through the cracks of its crooked wooden walls. Despite this, the humble setting brought the odd feeling of warmth and safety.

  She burst through the threshold and spotted her friend lounging at the bench they used as a dining table in the open kitchen and living area. The place was shoddy and lacking in any color besides hues of brown. Neither of them was particularly bothered about interior design as they preferred to spend as little time indoors as possible.

  “Whoa! Marie got you doing marathons again?” Jakon quipped, peering up from the piece of paper he was studying.

  Faythe gave him a flat look, and he dropped the smirk.

  “What’s wrong?” He set down the parchment and stood immediately. She had to give him credit: he was always quick to detect her mood shifts.

  Jakon was her closest friend. Older than her by three years, he’d saved her from the streets when her mother had died ten years prior. Faythe had no knowledge of who her father was, leaving her an orphan aged nine. Jakon had already lost his parents to sickness at the same age, so Faythe often thought they were like two sides of the same sad coin.

  “Nothing. I’m handling it.” She already knew her friend wouldn’t let it go that easily, but she tried anyway to save putting another neck on the line.

  “Do I have to force it from you?” His mouth set in a thin line, and she knew that cool, calculating look—had butted heads with it many times over the years from his unnecessary overprotectiveness.

  “You have to trust me on this one. The less minds that know, the better.”

  He frowned deeply, catching on to exactly what she meant. “If you’re at risk because of one of those bastards, you’d better tell me now,” he growled.

  There was no arguing with Jakon; they were both as stubborn as each other. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with, but against one another, it could be cataclysmic.

  “Can’t you put your male ego aside and trust I can take care of this?” Faythe snapped. Pushing past him, she grabbed her deep green cloak. The summer nights still held a chill to the air, but she slung the cloak on more for concealment than warmth.

  Earlier that day, she had snatched some extra bread and pastries without Marie noticing. Finding an old bag, she piled them in to give to Reuben for his journey.

  Jakon ignored her remark. “Fine. I’ll just follow you until I figure it out for myself,” he said, reaching for his own worn black cloak.

  She glared at him. “You’re insufferable.” When he showed no sign of backing off, Faythe huffed, throwing her arms out. “Knowing only puts two of us at risk instead of one!” But she knew that if anything were to happen to her, Jakon would be right behind her to accept that fate too. “It’s not even me who’s in deep shit. It’s Reuben.”

  His expression switched from relief to shock to fear in the five minutes it took her to ramble through her short encounter at the mill that morning. “And what exactly is your plan to help him? Gods, Faythe, why are you getting involved!” Jakon was pacing, which always set her on edge.

  “He’s our friend! What was I supposed to do—let him get caught?” she cried.

  “Damn that boy when I see him for even telling you. He’s practically tied his anchor to you as well,” he seethed.

  “He hardly had a choice,” Faythe shot back. “You or I would have done the same if the other were threatened the same way.”

  His features softened a little, and he released a long sigh, fastening his cloak. “I would have gotten us the heck out of here before I risked both our necks. He’s not safe in any kingdom now.”

  “I have a plan.”

  Jakon cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. Faythe shifted on her feet.

  “Lakelaria.”

  He huffed a humorless laugh. “Right, and your real plan?”

  “That is my real plan, you asshole. Like you said, no other kingdom is safe. They’re neutral territory.”

  “If they let him in!”

  “I didn’t say it was an entirely foolproof plan.”

  Jakon rubbed his hands over his face. “There’s a ship docked at the harbor for trade tonight,” he said reluctantly, offering a solution to the glaring hole in her idea: how to get Reuben across the sea.

  She perked. “You know this for sure?”

  He nodded. “I saw it this morning on my way to work.”

  She beamed at the knowledge. “Then let’s go.”

  “You don’t need to come, Faythe. I’ll get Reuben out safely. I know more of the patrol timings than you do.”

  With a dead look, Faythe whirled for the door in response. She slid her hand into her pocket to retrieve the aged brass watch—one of the last items she owned of her mother’s. It was nearly half past eight, and dark night had begun to blanket the town.

  Jakon sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

  Chapter 2

  Faythe and Jakon crouched low in the dark behind a stack of old discarded wooden pallets, their hoods pulled down to mask their faces. Neither said a word as they waited for the night fae patrol to pass.

  Though they were allowed to be out, they didn’t want to risk being stopped for questioning or possibly followed.

  Any minute now, they would stroll down to the bottom of the intersection by the inn—if Faythe’s pocket watch still kept the correct minute. Over the years, she’d had to adjust the handles when the minute hand occasionally stilled.

  Right on time, they heard the sound of boots scuffling against gravel and faint voices, followed by the appearance of four tall, dark figures. Torches lined the sides of the buildings, casting intimidating shadows of their large forms.

  The fae soldiers wore uniform colors of deep blue and black, and the sigil of High Farrow, a winged griffin, adorned their cloaks, clasped ornately at one shoulder. />
  Royal guards.

  Even from her position down the street, their size and poise were something Faythe couldn’t help but marvel at. She mentally chastised herself every time, but especially now, as she caught Jakon stealing a sideways glance at her obvious interest.

  For a human, Jakon was handsome. Tall and well-built, his dark brown eyes and permanently disheveled brown hair made him easy on the eyes. The women in town were never subtle in their flirtation, but despite all this, he was still painfully human in comparison. They both were. Faythe’s only standout feature was her eyes—her mother’s eyes of bright gold. The rest of her was perfectly ordinary. She had chestnut brown hair and was a little too lean thanks to the days she didn’t properly feed herself. There was only so much bland broth and stale bread she could stomach.

  The patrol stopped outside the inn. They made quiet talk among themselves before a wicked-looking fae with a scar marring the left side of his face gave a nod and barged through the door with undue force. Faythe flinched at the sound of splintering wood, surprised the door still held on its hinges. They didn’t appear to be heading in for an ale and a drunken chat with friends. No—they had business to do with someone inside, likely on the orders of the king.

  “We have to move now,” Jakon whispered beside her.

  Faythe was rooted, her curiosity getting the better of her. It wasn’t often she saw the king’s guard taking action in the outer town. It was usually peaceful and boring.

  Jakon hooked an arm around her elbow. “Now, Faythe,” he hissed sternly.

  She launched into a tiptoed jog behind him, quick but quiet, keeping to the walls for shadow cover. Once around the corner of a street further up, she heard a loud commotion exiting the inn behind her and dared a look back.

  Faythe held in a small gasp at the sight of a young man being dragged out of the establishment with unnatural ease. His fight would be futile against one of them, let alone the four surrounding him. She knew him as Samuel, the innkeeper’s son. They weren’t friends. He was arrogant and a bully. Regardless of her feelings, she wouldn’t wish anyone’s fate to be in the hands of the fae.

  He thrashed and cried out, but she couldn’t make out any words from this distance. The fae with the scarred face kicked him behind his knees, and Samuel fell with palms splayed to the ground.

  “We have to go,” Jakon insisted, going to grab her elbow again.

  She pulled her arm out of his reach. “We should help him.” The idea sounded just as crazy as when she thought it. Even so, she couldn’t stand to leave someone helpless—even someone like Samuel.

  “Have you lost your mind? There’s nothing we can do except earn ourselves a trip to the gallows with him,” he hissed.

  It took all her strength to close her eyes and block out the cries of desperation. Jakon was right: interfering would only instantly condemn them too.

  As she turned her head to walk away, she almost collapsed with the weight of the fear that drowned her. It shocked her as much as it crippled her because she knew the fear wasn’t for herself. She always did have a horrible sense of other people’s emotions, and it was a curse she’d learned to live with.

  As quickly as she felt it, the fear was gone. A sharp chill shot through her body, and she turned on her heel, once again snaking through the shadows like a nighttime bandit.

  She was still trembling with the ghost of that terror when they reached the edge of the Westland Forest. Jakon led them into the dark woodland, where branches on trees swayed like wraiths. Straight ahead was cloaked in a veil of impenetrable black.

  Faythe had never liked the forest. She didn’t trust it. The wide-open space was an illusion of safety and freedom staggered with too many hiding places for an assailant to lie in wait. They only ever ventured here when she and Jakon tried their hand at hunting, more to cure their boredom than with any hope of catching wildlife. It wasn’t just that they lacked the skills and experience; game was starting to become scarce in these forests.

  There was no sign of Reuben. A feeling of dread grew in Faythe as the minutes ticked by, while Jakon paced the same few steps, his patience wearing thin. Then a rustling came from behind, and her friend drew his small dagger, taking a protective stance in front of her in a heartbeat.

  Seconds later, the curly blond hair she’d come to love and hate bounced into view. Jakon released a sigh of relief and lowered the blade.

  “You’re late,” was all he said to Reuben as he came to a stop in front of them.

  Reuben was panting, adjusting the small backpack he carried. “I’m sorry. My mother wouldn’t let me leave without triple-checking my supplies and saying many, many goodbyes.”

  Faythe’s heart broke at the sight of her friend, his face grave as if he had already given up hope of escape.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Reuben asked him.

  Jakon snarled. “You brought Faythe into your mess. I wasn’t going to let her risk her neck alone.”

  Faythe knew that if he’d had the choice, Jakon would have left Reuben in his hopeless state rather than potentially risk her life by getting involved.

  “We don’t have time to waste on petty bickering. The night patrol will be changing shifts at the docks soon,” she said to cut the tension.

  They still had enough time, but she couldn’t stand to look Reuben in the eye for long—not if it meant she had to feel the waves of fear and despair emanating from them. She fiddled with her watch in her pocket and brushed her fingers along the simple engraved symbol on the brass back, suddenly finding it very interesting.

  “What’s the plan then?” Reuben’s voice brought her back to the gloomy forest.

  Her eyes met his. “Lakelaria,” she said, ignoring his wide-eyed look at its mention. “There’s a supply ship leaving tonight.”

  Reuben blanched. “That’s not a plan. That’s suicide!” He turned to Jakon. “Please tell me you have something else?”

  Jakon gave a silent shake of his head, and Reuben looked as if he might pass out where he stood. “It’s the best chance you’ve got,” Jakon said. Even Faythe was surprised at the gentleness in his tone.

  “I can’t… I—I won’t…”

  Realizing no number of soft words was going to get him to see sense, Faythe turned stern. “It’s either stay here and be caught, or risk using that big mouth of yours to get safe entry into Lakelaria.” When he still looked reluctant to agree, Faythe rolled her eyes, and with a shake of her head, she brushed past him and made to abandon him to his own fate.

  She got all of a few steps before she heard, “Wait.” His tone was weak. “Okay. I’ll go if you think it’s the best plan,” he said in defeat.

  She straightened, suddenly anxious he would entrust his life with her impulsive idea. She didn’t let it show.

  “Then we had better get moving.”

  They used the cover of trees along the forest edge to get to the adjoining coastline. Once on the rocky shores of Farrow Harbor, Faythe spotted the large cargo ship on the docks. Men were hauling crates on and off with haste.

  They didn’t have much time.

  “What now?” she whispered to Jakon.

  He gave a sly smile as he spotted what he was looking for. “Follow me,” was all he said, darting out of cover.

  Faythe and Reuben followed suit, keeping low and ducking behind whatever bushes or pallets they could find along the way. Two fae males stood guard at the docks while the human men carried out the work. Even though the fae were stronger and faster.

  Typical, Faythe thought.

  Ducking behind a pile of crates and barrels, Jakon let out a whistle-cry. Faythe shot him an incredulous look until she recognized the sound: a very convincing birdcall they often used to meet others in secret.

  She looked over the large barrel she was crouched behind—which was among various other containers yet to be loaded on board—and noticed a familiar slender man with shoulder-length, rugged red hair glance toward them at the sound. Ferris Archer
. What he lacked in muscle and height, he’d gained in wits and cunning. He had been a close friend of theirs for many years, though he had a reckless and impulsive disposition, and they usually got up to no good under his influence.

  After making a dramatic show of looking as if he might suddenly pass out to one of the fae patrol, they jerked their heads toward the cargo, and Ferris made his way over. He thumped down on top of the barrel Faythe hid behind with an overexaggerated sigh before twisting his head and peering down to give her a quick wink.

  “This better be good, Kilnight,” Ferris said under his breath, using Jakon’s surname. He took a long swig from a waterskin he’d picked up.

  Jakon wasted no time explaining. “We need your help to get Reuben on that ship to Lakelaria,” he said plainly.

  Ferris choked on his water a little before regaining composure. “I don’t think I heard you right—”

  “It’s his life if we don’t,” Faythe injected. Time was not their luxury tonight.

  Ferris sat for a moment before taking a quick glance down at Reuben and squeezing his eyes shut with a groan. “I don’t want to know what you did, but I can take a good guess, you foolish prick.”

  Reuben shrank back at the comment.

  “Please, Ferris,” Faythe pleaded.

  He was quiet, and she prepared for his outright refusal. Then he stood, making a display of closing his waterskin, and stretched his arms.

  “All these are to be boarded.” He subtly gestured to the stacks around them. “The second to last on the left is only half-full of grain. You should fit, and I’ll make sure I’m not one of the guys hauling your heavy ass on there.”

  One of the patrol shouted to Ferris to get back to work.

  “How you get in there isn’t my problem. We’ll be hauling barrels for the next fifteen minutes. Don’t let any of the others see you if you value your head—they’re all whistleblowers.” With that, Ferris turned to face them for a final stretch, flashing Faythe another wink. He was a shameful flirt. Occasionally, she would play along in amusement, but she’d never once desired any romantic or lustful relations with the red-haired deviant.