An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  She didn’t look back.

  Chapter 8

  The woods opened up into a bright, ethereal glade—a stark contrast to the nightmare from which she’d emerged. She flinched at the sudden change in light as the night shifted into clear daytime.

  The sky was a cloudless crystal blue that sparkled as if it held eternal stars. The trees around the open space glittered, and there was a wide lake with a beautiful shimmering waterfall, the sound of its soft cascading water soothing her pain and grief. Colorful flowers decorated the perfect green grass, and Faythe breathed in pure, cool, clarifying air. It was like no place she had ever seen before, untarnished by man or fae.

  She spotted Nik leaning casually against a giant rock near the lake. “There you are!” he exclaimed cheerfully, pushing off it and stalking toward her. His grin faltered as he got close enough to take in the sight.

  Faythe had examined herself already. There was no trace of the black liquid from the vines or dirt from the ground, but she imagined her face was pale and grim.

  “You’re an asshole,” she hissed, not having the energy to shout.

  He folded his arms. “What did you see?”

  She pushed past him, stalking to the water. “It doesn’t matter,” she said flatly.

  He caught up to her in a few steps and was silent for a moment before he spoke. “If you ever want to talk about it, just say the word.” There was no taunting or teasing in his tone.

  Faythe gave an appreciative nod that he wasn’t pressing the matter further. She wasn’t sure she could revisit those events so soon, and it wasn’t something she wanted to share with a fae male who was still little more than a stranger.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I wanted to show you this,” he said, gesturing around them. “Plus, it’s away from prying eyes and ears.” He smiled—a warm, genuine smile she thought really suited him in place of his usually cocky, sly looks.

  Faythe stared into the lake that rippled with iridescent waves.

  “Not many people make it into these woods. I thought it’d be the perfect spot for you to…train,” he said, trying to pick the right word.

  She knew then that he wasn’t talking about swordplay. “I don’t need to train,” she said quickly. “I just need more of those drops—they work.” The words came out a little more desperate than she intended.

  “Too well, it seems. Even I couldn’t get into your head,” he marveled.

  She recoiled in horror. “You were trying to get into my head?”

  “Only seems fair, don’t you think?” He gave a knowing smile.

  Faythe clicked her tongue and shot him a glare. Right. She’d unintentionally invaded his mind, unwittingly exposed herself, and led them into this whole mess. She silently cursed herself and him and the damned Spirits—or whoever else she could blame for giving her the ability in the first place. She didn’t want it, not even in the slightest. It only meant danger and trouble for Faythe and anyone associated with her.

  Nik continued, “I had to be sure they worked and the dosage didn’t harm you.” She spluttered at the last part, but he ignored her. “A fae would typically need four drops to stifle the ability. Half of that seemed like a fair guess to prescribe to you.” He grinned, amused at her look of utter disbelief.

  “And if it was too much?” she dared to ask.

  He gave her one of those insufferable casual shrugs. “It wasn’t,” was all he said.

  She stared wide-eyed as he strolled over to the edge of the broad lake, hands stuffed into his pockets. She didn’t need him to confirm what she suspected would be the outcome of taking too much tonic at once. She swallowed hard, caught between a mixture of anger he could have killed her and gratitude because she likely would have taken the risk regardless.

  Of course, who would ever suspect a human might need a potion originally concocted for a fae body?

  He didn’t ask her to join him as he settled on the grass, stretching his legs out in front and using his arms to prop himself up from behind. Faythe lowered herself down beside him anyway, sitting cross-legged.

  “I can’t give you more of the tonic. It was only a temporary solution.”

  She whipped her head toward him. “I need it, Nik, please—”

  He cut off her desperate begging. “It’s not something you can buy at the market, Faythe. It’s rare and only really used as a weapon against our kind. The king has it in his personal collection of serums to snuff out all kinds of abilities. It was a last resort to give you that—and a risk. If taken for too long or in too high a dosage, the mind shuts down, convincing the body you’re dead. The heart stops.”

  She didn’t speak. It wasn’t from fear that one drop too much could have spelled the end for her. Instead, her heart sank at her broken hope of being rid of the curse.

  “In a smaller dosage, it can also be used to stifle your ability but still allow another Nightwalker to enter your mind. You’d be helpless to throw them out,” he added quietly.

  She let out a long sigh of defeat.

  At seeing her solemn expression, Nik sat upright and faced her. “You just need to learn how to control it,” he said positively. “If you do, you hold the keys to your own mind. You can choose not to use your ability and be aware if you find unwelcome guests in your head. You can hide things from them without them knowing. If you master it, no one will find out what you are.”

  It was a small flicker of hope. Faythe turned her head to look at him and found his eyes already fixed on her. She tore her gaze away, cheeks heating.

  “What are you?”

  “I don’t know what I am,” she said quietly.

  There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. She looked deeper into the lake and gasped as she noticed the tiny orbs of light dancing below the surface. Getting to her knees, she reached a hand in to touch them, but they darted away from her fingers.

  “Yucolites,” Nik said in answer to her curiosity. “They’re rumored to heal any wound or illness, though I’ve never been able to bottle them.” He frowned into the lake.

  Faythe looked at the fae warrior and found herself forgetting what he was: different, superior even, a member of the king’s guard. And yet he was so…ordinary. It surprised her. In fact, she even felt guilty for believing they were all the same—imperious and uncaring of human lives. Yet here he was, helping her when he had no reason to, and they were barely more than strangers.

  He met her gaze.

  “Why do you bother?” she asked quietly.

  He knew what she meant. “Despite what you may think of my kind, we’re not all heartless.”

  “It was you who told Reuben to flee.”

  He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “I did, and he wasn’t the only one. Some I couldn’t get to in time. The king has ordered all his of Nightwalkers to root out those in the towns who are associating with Valgard.”

  “Is he killing them—the humans?” She knew the answer already, but it was confirmed by the grim look on Nik’s face. Her stomach fell as if she were finding out for the first time.

  Her mind flashed to the innkeeper’s son, dragged onto the streets the night she and Jakon got Reuben out on time. They’d left him to that fate, and even though she knew there was no helping him, it didn’t ease her guilt.

  “It’s not their fault. They’re being left defenseless,” she said. “Life’s not easy for a lot of us in the outer town.”

  He nodded his understanding. “We’re at war, Faythe, and have been for centuries. One small piece of information could mean all the difference. We’ve stood for a long time, but we’re not untouchable.”

  It made her think. “How old are you?” she asked.

  He laughed through his nose. “Old. To your kind anyway, but still fairly young to mine.”

  She rolled her eyes. He was avoiding a direct answer. He looked to be no older than twenty-five in human years.

  “You look at least seventeen,” he observed.

  Faythe
scoffed. “I’m nineteen, I’ll have you know.” She glared, but a playful smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. She figured her lack of shape and womanly development from going many days without a proper meal made her look young for her age. She was actually coming up on twenty.

  He barked a laugh. “I’m close to three centuries old,” he finally admitted. “Not around when the war first started, but the great battles.” He paused, and she noted the dark look flash across his face at the recollection. He inhaled deeply. “Let’s just say, I really pray to the Spirits we don’t see carnage like that again.”

  Faythe gaped at him. A cold chill settled over her bones at the thought of the horrors and bloodshed he must have seen during that dark time long before she was born. The age that saw two mighty kingdoms fall. But if he fought and had seen his companions slaughtered, watched the streets be painted crimson with innocent blood, it seemed his spirit never broke. She could admire him for that courage and bravery alone.

  Nik’s age shouldn’t have surprised her—he was immortal after all—but it made her feel strangely very young and inferior. She was sitting next to a male who had already lived more than thrice a mortal lifespan.

  Before she could ask any further questions, he bounded to his feet and walked a few paces back to the large clearing with the brightest green grass she’d ever seen. Faythe watched him but made no move to follow.

  Nik withdrew his sword. “Up,” he said, motioning her to stand with the point of his blade. “Sword out.”

  She hesitated for a second, continuing to watch him remove his cloak and discard it next to the trees. Feeling a little self-conscious, she rose, copying his movements until she stood facing him. She suddenly felt very vulnerable under the sly gaze of the lion stalking its prey.

  “I don’t know if swordplay is going to help with my… problem,” she said warily.

  He chuckled. “No, but we could sit and talk all night, or we could have fun while we do it.” He gave her a predator’s smile.

  She swallowed hard, knowing she was about to thoroughly get her ass handed to her. While she was confident in her combat abilities against her human friends, she wasn’t foolish enough to think she was any sort of match against a fae.

  “Got a name?” Nik nodded his head at the blade tightly gripped in her right hand.

  “Lumarias,” she said.

  He made a sound of approval. “The key,” he translated.

  Jakon had never asked her if it meant anything. She didn’t suppose it mattered, but she had chosen the word of the old language from a book her mother often read to her as a child.

  “Well,” Nik said wickedly, “let’s see how she sings.” Then he swung rapidly and without warning.

  He missed taking her arm off by a split second as she brought her sword up with both hands, the force vibrating through her bones and translating to the sharp cry of connecting steel that echoed through the clearing. She looked at him incredulously but didn’t have time to shout her complaints as she was forced to go on the defensive when he moved again. They parried back and forth for a short while, and she panted, using every inch of focus to keep up, while he hardly looked winded at all. She could tell he was holding back for her sake, which only made her anger rise in determination. She pushed harder, faster, ducking and swinging, but she was severely outmatched. Nik disarmed her, sending Lumarias flying from her grip, and had his blade to her throat in two maneuvers.

  “Good.” He grinned, lowering his sword and motioning for her to retrieve hers. “But you leave your entire right side exposed when you deflect like that.”

  She snatched her blade up with a frustrated groan. “Tell me how to control the…Nightwalking.” She winced at the word.

  Faythe struck first, and Nik blocked with immortal ease.

  “When we sleep, we don’t automatically walk into someone else’s mind. It’s a choice.” He counterattacked, and she ducked left.

  “I don’t choose to enter anyone’s head,” she breathed, again on the defensive from his flashes of steel.

  “You do—you just don’t know it.” He spun around her so fast she barely registered when they switched sides, still tracking each other. “There’s a moment when your subconscious first wakes that you are completely in your own head.”

  Left, right, left, she blocked his onslaught of attacks.

  “You can either focus on a target and arrive at the doors to their unconscious mind, or—”

  Again, she found her sword being knocked from her hand as Nik’s hovered over her heart.

  “—you can simply give in to your own unconsciousness. Sleep, in other words.” He lowered his blade and used it to prop himself up while she gathered her breath.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t choose it though; it just happens.”

  He chuckled. “You must have a very active mind at night to not be aware of it.” Nik cocked his head. “Do you find it’s usually people and events that have happened that day?”

  Faythe tried to think back. Her dreams were always of people she’d seen in town. Now she knew they weren’t just dreams but she was in their minds, it made her feel strangely guilty for trespassing on private thoughts and memories.

  “I suppose,” she mumbled.

  “My guess would be that you let your emotions run too high. Whatever or whoever has affected you, good or bad, is likely what influences where you go at night.” After a short pause, he grinned wildly at her. “I must have made quite the impression.”

  Her cheeks flamed. She wanted to hiss a retort, but words failed her. Instead, she swiped Lumarias from the grass and twisted it in her wrist a couple of times as it was already starting to ache against the force of his blows.

  “Arrogant prick,” she muttered.

  In a flash, steel met steel, so close to her face she felt the phantom kiss of the razor’s edge across her cheek. He looked down at her through crossed blades, their breath mingling. It was a battle of wills as they stared each other down, until she pushed with everything she had, and he backed up a step with wicked delight.

  They circled each other. “The key is in your own awareness,” he said.

  She laughed without humor. “You’re not really helping.”

  Nik stopped pacing and sighed. “It’ll take practice. Try tonight. We all work in different ways. I can only guide you with words—the rest is up to you.” He gave her a pitiful look and sheathed his sword. “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

  Faythe huffed, doing the same, and stalked over to grab her cloak. After a silent moment, she asked quietly, “What if I can’t control it?”

  “You can, and you will. Your life depends on it, and if that’s not enough motivation, your friend’s life may very well depend on it too.”

  He knew exactly which heartstring to pull, and she recoiled. “If it ever comes to it, you save him, not me,” she said fiercely. “You get him out whatever it takes.”

  He frowned at her, contemplating. “It won’t come to that,” he concluded.

  The question she’d been terrified to ask came rushing to the surface. “Would he kill me…for what I am?” Her breath shook.

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “The king doesn’t like what he can’t control. He doesn’t like surprises. He has many gifted fae in his service, but a human? He might not like the idea of your kind having a force that could be used against him.” He ran a hand through his inky black hair.

  “I’m not a threat,” she said in horror.

  “We don’t know what you are yet, Faythe.”

  Chapter 9

  Faythe crept slowly and quietly back into the hut, breathing a sigh of relief that Jakon was passed out in his cot. It was half past eleven when she parted from Nik at the edge of town, and she would never have heard the end of Jakon’s scolding that she was late back.

  She discarded her sword and cloak, changing as silently as a ghost before sliding into bed. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.


  “My guess would be that you let your emotions run too high.” Nik’s words replayed in her thoughts, and she clamped her eyes shut, willing herself to calm her mind from spiraling right into whoever’s it landed on when she finally found rest. Still, she was terrified to sleep.

  She tossed and turned for hours. Every time she felt her eyelids droop, she shook herself awake, not confident Nik’s advice would register when she slipped into that space of subconscious, as he’d called it.

  Faythe turned on her side and looked at Jakon, asleep like the dead and snoring peacefully. She silently cursed him in her state of grumpy restlessness for being able to sleep without any worries.

  Her eyelids fell shut. She could rest her eyes for a moment. That was all she needed.

  Just for a few minutes…

  Jakon strolled down the street greeting everyone as he passed. No one paid Faythe any attention as she trailed behind him.

  She vaguely recognized the far east side of Farrowhold and wondered what they were doing here since there wasn’t much of interest in this end of town. She heard the loud clang of metal before she spied the blacksmiths near the end of the street. Did her sword need adjusting? She wracked her brain while the sounds got closer but couldn’t remember when they had discussed it or planned a trip here.

  Spotting them outside the open compound, the person inside stopped their hammering and set their tools aside. They wore a long apron and a welding mask.

  Jakon moved further into the large space, and the blacksmith wiped their hands on their apron before removing their face shield. It shocked Faythe as the man she expected to see turned out to be a young woman. She was pleasantly surprised at the beautiful blonde lady who greeted them, and she couldn’t help but stare with raised brows. Her hair was in a messy braid, and there was soot smudged across her cheeks and forehead, but Faythe gawked in admiration at the woman’s crystal-blue eyes and effortless soft, feminine face.

  “She’s my best work,” the woman told Jakon with a wide grin.