A strange feeling went through Faythe, and she recoiled in bewilderment, her heart fluttering a little. She’d never had these kinds of feelings for a woman before. They were mixed with giddy excitement, and Faythe couldn’t understand herself as her eyes remained fixed on the stranger. Jakon grinned at her, and she retreated further into the workshop, behind a curtain, coming back with something under a black sheet.
“The stone was a perfect shape—it fit well,” she commented, pulling the sheet off to reveal the magnificent sword beneath. Faythe’s sword, Lumarias.
Faythe’s hand shot to her side, which was now bare. When her eyes followed, she beheld her clothing, and—
Horror, shock, and realization paralyzed her all at once. “The key is in your own awareness.” She wasn’t here with Jakon—not really. She was in his mind; his memory. Her breathing came out fast and hard. Did he know she was here? It didn’t seem like it, but she blanched at the thought of him knowing when he woke up. She had no right to be here.
Jakon looked over the sword in awe. “It’s perfect,” he breathed. “More than perfect. You’ve really exceeded yourself, Marlowe.”
Color warmed the blacksmith’s cheeks as he took the blade from her, balancing it in his palms.
Nausea overcame Faythe. She wanted to apologize profusely and explain she didn’t mean to be here, beg him to forgive her. It wasn’t her feeling those emotions before; they were Jakon’s. Her own feelings mixed with his in the memory, and she found it hard to separate them. Now aware she was Nightwalking, Faythe found she could listen to his thoughts. Every thought he was having.
Dizziness struck her as she considered everything she would be able to know about him by being in here. Every personal secret and feeling, everything that made him who he was, laid right out in front of her. He would never know.
“She’s a lucky woman.” Marlowe smiled.
At the look she gave him, Faythe wanted to insist things weren’t like that between them. But she couldn’t. She was never there and had never even been to the blacksmiths before.
Faythe squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears, trying to block out the thoughts interweaving with hers, causing her head to pound. She focused on her bed, her room, just as she had done trying to exit Nik’s mind before. Feeling a thread, she pulled at it with everything she had, back into herself…
Bolting upright, Faythe struggled for breath as she tried to get the world to come into focus. Hands appeared instantly around her shoulders, and she thought she could her Jakon’s voice but couldn’t distinguish whether it was real. She trembled violently and snapped her eyes to look at him, lifting a shaky hand to touch his face.
Real.
“—just a dream,” she heard, the words distorted as if her head were underwater. Jakon brought his own hand up to gently hold her chin. “It was just a dream, Faythe.” His voice became clearer.
Oh, Gods, if he only knew.
Vomit rose in her throat, and she pushed him away to run to the bathroom basin, barely making in in time before heaving up her meal from the previous night.
Jakon rubbed a hand soothingly over her back and held her hair out of her face until she slumped, resting her back against the wall and tucking her knees up tight.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly from beside her.
She breathed a sob as tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t tell him and wouldn’t even know how to—or if he would ever forgive her nonconsensual invasion of his memory. Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands. Jakon only pulled her into his side and held her as she cried out of guilt and shame. But mostly, she cried out of hopelessness and fear she might never be able to control herself.
When she’d finally calmed enough to stand, Faythe took her time to wash and dress before finding Jakon at the kitchen table. He’d made a bowl of porridge for them both and was halfway through his when he looked up.
“Feeling better?” he asked softly.
She gave him a weak smile and sat down. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice hoarse.
She had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat so she didn’t risk fainting from having nothing left in her system.
“Maybe you should ask Marie for the day off. You look like a ghost.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine, honestly. I’m on thin ice with her now anyway.” When Jakon cocked an eyebrow in question, she clarified, “Too many leisurely strolls between deliveries.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
He rolled his eyes with a light chuckle. “If you’re sure. Don’t want you passing out in one of her pies. You’d certainly get the sack.”
Faythe mustered a smile and pushed her breakfast around to distract herself from the drop in her stomach she felt every time she looked at him. He was completely oblivious to what she was and what she was capable of.
Jakon finished his porridge and bid her goodbye after checking several times that she wasn’t about to combust. Faythe left the hut shortly after, needing the fresh air before the workday started. The morning was just warming up, and she welcomed the slight chill breeze as she strolled slowly over the dusty cobbled streets, deciding to take the long route to the square since she had time to spare.
After a minute, she had an impulsive thought and twisted on her heel before she could change her mind. As she weaved through the eastern part of town, she knew it was a bad idea but wanted to confirm what she had seen last night was definitely a memory of Jakon’s and not just her own dream. A desperate part of her still held onto the foolish hope she didn’t really possess the ability Nik thought she did. In any case, she wanted to thank the blacksmith for their work on her sword. Having not known it was a woman, Faythe greatly admired the young blacksmith for her talents.
Turning the last corner, she paused for a second when the compound came into view. It was exactly as she had seen it last night, and as she approached the blacksmiths, everything was unnervingly accurate. She had to lean over and touch something as her own mind flashed from viewing it through Jakon’s memory. She had never been here before and seeing it in person now ruled out any possible doubt it wasn’t a dream of her own.
“Can I help you?” a man grumbled.
Her eyes darted up and landed on a rugged, slightly rotund older man. Faythe quickly deduced this must be Dalton, the man she thought had crafted her sword.
“I… Yes, I’m looking for, um—” She stumbled like an idiot, still in her own mind about the realism versus Jakon’s recollection of the place. “Marlowe,” she finally choked out, recalling the name she’d heard from her friend.
He skimmed her from head to toe, determining she wasn’t going to be a threat, before shouting to the back. After a moment, the curtain lifted, and a striking resemblance to what she remembered of the woman last night came into view. Faythe blinked at the sight. Real. This is real, she reminded herself. But she couldn’t stop the trembling and clamped her fists shut. It confirmed what she already knew as the woman she’d only ever seen in her friend’s dream—his memory—became flesh and bone before her.
“Hi!” she chirped. Even her voice was uncanny.
Faythe shuddered. “Hi,” she responded in little more than a whisper.
Marlowe stared at her expectantly but kept a welcoming smile as she leaned sideward against a beam at the front of the structure. Dalton made himself scarce in the back.
Faythe shook her head clear as she realized Marlowe was waiting for her to speak. “I…I, uh, I came to say thanks,” she got out. “For my sword, I mean. My friend Jakon came to you.” She cursed herself for stuttering so badly in her nervousness.
The blacksmith beamed. “Yes! I remember. You’re Faythe, right? How does she swing?”
Marlowe was a picture of natural beauty—even more so standing in front of her in real time. Her hair was in the same type of braid, but her face was as fresh as day. Her expressions lit up her entire face and made all the difference from the projection in Jakon’s memory. She could tel
l why he would be attracted to her, both in looks and spirit.
Faythe nodded and smiled. “Like a dream,” she answered.
“He did a lousy job of trying to describe your height and weight. Guys never do have a clue, so I balanced a lot of it based on my own measurements plus what he gave me.” She looked Faythe over. “Seems like an accurate guess.”
Indeed, they were both of similar height and build, with Faythe having about an inch of height on Marlowe and her bones protruding a little more. Looking at the healthy weight of the stunning blonde, she really felt the need to fill herself out.
“I named it Lumarias.”
Marlowe beamed again. “I love it!”
With nothing else to add, Faythe said lamely, “Well, I’d better go. Can’t be late.”
Marlowe straightened and gave a warm smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Faythe nodded in silent promise and turned, walking a few steps before she spun around again in a last-second thought. “Oh! Jakon and I… It’s not like that.”
The blacksmith’s cheeks flushed, and her mouth popped open. Faythe grinned deviously before turning to stalk away with a quiet chuckle.
Chapter 10
The market was fairly quiet for the rest of the day after she visited the blacksmiths, and Faythe thanked the Spirits for it. Her energy was at an all-time low, and she didn’t think she would survive a day of running errands.
Marie left her in charge of the stall for a while after deeming the flow of customers small enough for her to handle—much to Faythe’s insult. She sat idly picking at an apple on a makeshift stool behind the counter. As much as she enjoyed the peaceful day, it also made it a struggle to keep her mind off her increasingly heavy eyelids.
Faythe leaned her head back against the wooden beam of the stall, closing her eyes and chewing on a bite of the ripe fruit. A cough sounded in front of her, and she jumped, her apple jolting from her hand and landing on the ground with a thud.
Nik smirked as she straightened and scowled at his unexpected intrusion. He had his usual black cloak on with his hood up, making him look very out of place in the summer heat.
“Not quite the place to potentially fall asleep and wake up…elsewhere,” he commented.
She glowered at him. “I wasn’t going to sleep.” Though she understood it was risky to even close her eyes with how tired she was.
“How’d it go last night?” he asked, but her pale face and flat look must have said it all because his grin faltered. “Bad?” He winced.
She gave a long, defeated sigh and slumped back against the wooden post. Nik came slightly around the counter so she could speak without any potential listening ears picking up on their conversation.
“I was in Jakon’s head.” She cringed. “I invaded his private thoughts, and I can’t even tell him. I can’t forgive myself.”
He gave her a solemn look, and she hated it. She didn’t want his pity or for him to see her as a lost cause.
“There was no in-between, no subconscious space. One minute I was awake, and the next I was walking alongside him in one of his memories.” She hissed the last word under her breath.
He hummed and was quiet for a moment as if deliberating. “I have an experiment I’d like to try,” he said at last. At her skeptic look, he rolled his eyes. “Meet me in the woods tonight, alone,” he emphasized.
Faythe wouldn’t even think to bring Jakon into this anyway, but she knew it would be difficult to get him to stay at home again. “Fine,” she said. She would think of something. She had no other choice but to trust Nik, and quite frankly, she was desperate enough to try anything he could throw at her.
He peered over his shoulder, checking the area, before stepping back. “See you tonight, at nine o’clock.” With a last mischievous smile, he disappeared as stealthily as he had arrived.
The rest of the day passed by painfully slow, and Faythe was grateful for the setting sun as she started her short walk home. She got a few streets away before an idea came into her head. With a cunning grin, she spun on her heel and decided to take an exceptionally long detour to pass by one specific compound.
Her nerves rose when she stood outside the blacksmiths for the second time that day. This was the best idea she could think of to occupy Jakon for the night, and she commended herself for the stroke of genius.
Marlowe was nowhere to be seen, nor was Dalton, but she could faintly make out voices from behind the back curtain. Faythe wrung her hands together before stepping into the front of the workshop.
“Hello?” she called weakly.
After a second, the familiar blonde peered out from behind the sheet. Seeing Faythe, Marlowe beamed and stepped out fully, but then her face fell in concern.
“Is there something wrong with your sword?”
Faythe shook her head quickly. “No, I…I was actually hoping you could do me a favor.” She winced.
The blacksmith frowned warily. “Sure. What’s up?”
Faythe hesitated, and then she rushed out the words. “I need you to help distract Jakon for me.”
Marlowe raised her eyebrows in surprise before shaking her head vigorously. “I can’t. I… How exactly am I supposed to do that?” she stumbled, looking flustered at the suggestion.
Faythe felt guilty for asking, but without something to keep Jakon busy, he was usually latched to her side. She cursed him for being so annoyingly overprotective.
“Just for tonight. I need to be somewhere, and he’s like a little puppy dog I can’t shake,” she pleaded in light humor, praying Marlowe wouldn’t ask questions.
The blonde laughed nervously, and the red in her cheeks only flamed more. “I don’t know, Faythe. Is there no one else you can ask? He barely knows me.” She bit her lip.
Faythe shot her a knowing look. “I’m certain you’re the best distraction I could find.”
Marlowe gaped at her. “He doesn’t like me like that!” she hissed in embarrassment.
Faythe chuckled. “Trust me, he does.” She didn’t need to know exactly how Faythe had come to the knowledge. When Marlowe didn’t respond, her grin widened. “So is that a yes?”
She stood chewing her lip, contemplating. “Give me five minutes. I need to wash,” she grumbled, gesturing to her soot-covered face and hands.
Faythe gave a squeal of excitement before ushering her to be quick. Jakon would be expecting her back home by now. She perched on a stool inside the workshop, fiddling with the various hammers and spanners and marveling at the intricate tools scattered about that she wouldn’t have the first clue how to use.
Close to ten minutes passed before Marlowe emerged again, clean-faced, with her hair now unbound in lazy waves running past her breasts. Again, Faythe found herself struck with envy at her effortless beauty. She’d changed into a light blue cotton gown that matched her eyes and had her deep blue cloak folded over her arm when she shouted through the sheet a quick goodbye to Dalton—who Faythe discovered was her father even though they looked nothing alike.
Marlowe was a picture of nerves and uncertainty as Faythe stood beaming at her. She hooked her arm through hers in silent encouragement and to prevent her from voicing the protests on her face. Then, together, they took off down the street.
When they stood outside the hut a quick ten minutes later, Marlowe paused, fidgeting with her skirts.
“Come on—he doesn’t bite,” Faythe said with a hint of suggestion.
Crimson flooded Marlowe’s cheeks as she glared at Faythe. “You owe me,” she hissed under her breath.
Faythe swung the door open with a cunning smile and sauntered in, immediately spotting Jakon in the open kitchen, seated at the table. At the sight of Faythe, he smiled—but then it dropped, and he fumbled to his feet when he spied Marlowe behind her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Faythe said innocently. “I swung by the blacksmiths to pay my thanks, and we got to chatting.” She gestured to Marlowe still standing shyly by the door. “You failed to tell me my sword
was crafted by such a skilled and pretty female.” She was teasing, but a part of her felt guilty for using Jakon’s attraction to Marlowe, which she only knew about from feeling it in his memory. An even bigger part of her thought it was worth it for the floundering look on his face.
Neither of them spoke, so Faythe continued. “She didn’t have any plans for tonight, so I asked her to join us for dinner. You don’t mind, Jak, do you?” She was enjoying this.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She maintained her air of innocence at Jakon’s pointed look and the silent words she heard.
He choked out, “Of course not! But, uh—we don’t really have anything here, so—”
“We’ll have to go out then!” Faythe interjected cheerfully. “I’ll just quickly freshen up, and we can go to Harbor Hall. Keep our guest occupied, will you?” she said to Jakon before retreating to the back bedroom to change out of her workday clothes.
Faythe dressed in her usual training attire as she had the night before and secured Lumarias at her hip. Then she threw her cloak on so Jakon wouldn’t ask why she was armed when they were only headed to the restaurant on the harbor for food. She wasn’t sure if swordplay would be a part of Nik’s experiment or if she could even muster the energy to lift her blade, but she thought it best to be prepared.
When she emerged again, she paused at the sight of Jakon and Marlowe chatting at the table. They appeared relaxed in each other’s company, and he had a gleam in his eye she’d only seen a handful of times when he’d looked at her in that way. She had never been able to return it—not in the way he hoped. Yet Marlowe did. Faythe smiled at them as a warm feeling settled in her. Jakon deserved to be happy with someone.
“Ready to go?” she chirped, not wanting to break their conversation, but she had less than an hour before she was due to meet Nik.
They nodded simultaneously and stood, heading for the door. Faythe followed after them, and the trio took off down the pleasantly calm streets toward the harbor. It was a ten-minute walk, which they spent getting to know their new female friend a little more.
An Heir Comes to Rise Page 8
