She blinked in horror. “So how do I turn it off?”
“You have to figure that part out for yourself,” he said. “For me, it’s like there are two doors, metaphorically speaking. I can either focus on a target and walk through the door that will take me straight into their mind…or I can take the other door, and it all becomes black.”
She pondered, “So we can never have dreams of our own?”
“We don’t have random visions that make no sense, if that’s what you mean. But your mind is limitless; you can stay in your subconscious and conjure up your wildest desires. It can be fun.” He grinned at her suggestively, and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to think of what his “wildest desires” might be. “But again, you’re not getting proper rest if you stay here, so we can only do it sparingly. The darkness is the only way we get full, energy-reviving sleep,” he concluded.
All this information was both daunting and exhilarating for her. After thinking the worst and hating her newfound ability, it was uplifting to discover there could be a positive side. She could vividly see her mother in her memories and apparently create fully unrestricted and immersive dreams for herself. But she really longed for nothing more than getting frequent blissful, undisturbed rest.
Doubling back to what Nik said, she swallowed nervously. “What do you mean by ‘become sloppy’?”
He took a long inhale, and she could see he was deliberating whether to expand on it. “This is the part you won’t like, Faythe,” he said carefully. “You already know that our specific talent is often used as a weapon. We can find out everything about a person. We can plant feelings and ideas if we’re strong enough. And we can also shatter their mind with a single thought.” His look tuned grave. “If we exhaust ourselves by trying to Nightwalk, our heightened negative emotions from the lack of rest can either lead to discovery or…accidentally kill the host.”
Faythe went cold all over, feeling the world get pulled from under her. It took a few seconds to fully register, but then she almost collapsed where she stood as his words triggered a dark memory. She replayed it over and over in her head, putting the pieces together as its new reality dawned on her. That couldn’t be true. She wasn’t capable of that. Because if she was…
“Oh, Gods,” she whispered to herself.
He took a step closer. “I know it’s a scary thought, but you’ll be able to learn control now. You’ll never—” His words faltered when she brought her eyes up with a look of absolute terror. Nik froze at the sight, his frown deep with concern. “Faythe, what is it?”
She was too stuck in her own pit of guilt and disgust at the likelihood of what she’d done to respond. Faythe focused and started to push him out. She was close to screaming in anguish and wasn’t sure what her emotions could do to him in here.
Very quietly, just before he disappeared altogether, she whispered, “I think I already have.”
Chapter 12
Faythe felt something trying to pull her from her subconscious where she sat alone with her knees tucked tightly to her chest. She didn’t sob; didn’t do anything but give herself over to the hollowness she felt as she recalled the memory over and over again, hoping with everything she had that it didn’t mean what she thought it did.
The mist swirled around her as if she were a planet and it was her stratosphere.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there after casting Nik out, but the force was becoming too strong for her to fight any longer. She found herself giving in to the tug that brought her back to full consciousness.
Faythe smelled the grass first, like fresh, crisp rainwater. Then she heard the gentle crash of the waterfall and lapping waves where it joined the lake below. She felt the fabrics of her cloak under her fingers as she moved them. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she forced her eyes open and stared into purest shade of sky blue she’d ever seen. Finally, she felt him as Nik’s warm hands registered, encasing one of her own.
When she at last turned her head to look at him, he wore a mask of concern, sitting on his knees looking down on her. He said nothing, waiting for her to speak first in fear of her falling apart with one wrong move. She pulled her hand out of his, sitting for a second before standing and striding aimlessly closer to the water.
It took a moment for her to gather herself. “How do you know…?” She flinched, not wanting to ask but needing the answer. “How do you know if you’ve done it? Shattered a person’s mind, as you say?”
She heard him shift off the grass and stand, but she didn’t turn to look at him, only watched the water ripple instead.
“It’s like…” He paused, and she noted the slight pain in his voice. “A mind, to us, is like holding a hollow sphere of glass in one palm. All it would take is one slight squeeze to watch it splinter into a million pieces, and one more for it to explode and turn to dust.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought. “You’ve done it before,” she stated more than asked.
“It’s not something I’m proud of. I remember everyone I’ve ever done it to—”
“Murdered,” she cut in bluntly, finally turning to face him. “Everyone you’ve murdered. That’s what we are really, aren’t we? Weapons.”
“We don’t have to be.”
Faythe could feel the regret and remorse in his eyes, and for a slight moment…she pitied him. Until she remembered he’d always had a choice over what he did; control in the ways she didn’t.
“Why do you do it? Why work for a tyrant king who would let humans suffer and kill without a second thought? He’s a self-serving monster, and you are nothing but a spineless puppet to do his dirty work,” she spat.
She couldn’t stop herself. Perhaps he didn’t deserve her anger, and a part of her knew she was only deflecting the feelings she felt toward her own self—what she was, and what she’d done. But she would never come face-to-face with the male she really wanted to scream at to relieve the pain and hatred that had built inside her for a long time. At least, she wouldn’t face the King of High Farrow and live.
“Careful, Faythe,” he warned.
“Why should I be? It’s only a matter of time before I’m next.”
His eyes flashed dark. “You won’t ever be next. Not if I have something to say about it,” he said with surprisingly fierce determination.
She reeled in her anger and let out a sigh of defeat, slumping down on the lake’s edge. She swirled her hand in the water, aimlessly chasing the yucolites as they darted from her touch.
Closing her eyes, Faythe recalled the memory that haunted her. “There was a man in the town a few years ago.” She didn’t hear when he took a seat close to her, but she felt him nearby. When she glanced to her side, Nik was sitting with his knees tucked casually under his extended arms, his emerald gaze fixed intently on her. She looked away as she continued, perhaps out of cowardice for what she was about to confess. “I used to pass him every day on my way to the market. He owned Farrowhold’s butchers and ran it with his wife on the main street to the castle. Everyone knew him.” Her expression soured as she recalled his face. “He was a rotund, unkempt man who looked like he never knew the concept of a bath. But it wasn’t his appearance that made me balk every time I saw him.
“He was cold-hearted, violent, and I knew he didn’t treat his wife well. No one ever saw him strike her—he liked to keep that for private quarters.” Her tone turned dark. “It was obvious though. She was marred by cuts and bruises, and everyone knew what was going on, yet no one stepped in to help her.” She shook her head at the grim vision.
“One day, when I left early for work, the streets were empty. I heard the commotion before I saw it, and I cowered behind the corner leading to his butchers shop to watch from afar.” Faythe took a pause, clenching her teeth. She felt the bite of her nails in the palm of her dry hand. With a shaky breath, she forced herself to continue. “He hit her so hard she fell face-first onto the stone and bled. I wanted to help her, but I was scared. I was only fifteen—what
was I going to do against a man of his size?” She said it helplessly, though it didn’t ease her guilt at her cowardice.
“Two fae patrol passed, and I felt relief that they would surely help her, punish him…but they didn’t. They passed, and they did nothing, said nothing.” She seethed through her teeth. “What’s one lowly human life to them, huh?” She couldn’t help the accusatory glance she made in his direction, but Nik kept silent. “That night, I couldn’t get the scene out of my head. I couldn’t stop hearing her cry and the sound of her face colliding with the ground. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he liked to inflict on others. I’m not proud of thinking it, but that night, I…I dreamed of it, though now I suppose it’s safe to say I was Nightwalking…in his head.”
A humorless laugh came from her. “Even after all these years, I can still remember it—feel it—so clearly. He had so much hatred for everything, and violence was the only way he knew to find release from the demons that plagued his thoughts.” She shook her head in disbelief she hadn’t realized sooner. “The scene played out exactly as I saw it, except when he lifted his hand to strike her, I…I screamed as loud as I could. He looked me dead in the eye, and I felt his shock and horror for a split second before the scene obliterated and it was only darkness. I woke up straight away, paralyzed by a gods-awful feeling. It was so unlike any of my other dreams or nightmares.”
She looked into the water and found some of the yucolites had latched themselves to her fingers as she continued her lazy swirls. “That morning, I went to work as normal, and the day passed by without any surprises. It wasn’t until later on that the whispers began circulating around town… He was dead. The butcher on Main Street. His name was Tom Crestler, and he was found dead in his bed that morning. No trace of any physical wound—they said he must have died from some kind of heart failure. Some of the skeptics even accused Nightwalkers, but those who knew him insisted he had done no wrong to the king to warrant his execution.” She knew she didn’t have to conclude the obvious, but still, she whispered, “I think I killed him.”
They were both silent for a long moment. Faythe couldn’t bring herself to look at Nik to see his reaction. It made her no better than him in a sense—no better than any of the fae Nightwalkers who were used to ending lives.
A hollowness opened up inside her as she realized she didn’t really know who she was anymore. She wanted desperately to go back to her life of ignorance; to just be a simple human girl who loved her friends, did the work she needed to stay fed, and enjoyed her spare time swinging a blade that would never see the lines of battle. All of that was gone now, and she tried to grasp her new reality. She was a weapon forged to be a masterful thief of thoughts and a silent assassin of minds.
Nik’s voice snapped her from the dark pit she was slowly falling into. “You don’t know that for sure,” he said quietly.
She shook her head. “It would be easy to turn a blind eye in ignorance, wouldn’t it? But when the pieces fit so perfectly together, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.”
Nik knitted his eyebrows. “Is his wife living a better life without him?”
Faythe nodded. His wife had taken over the butchers shop and made it flourish. Instead of it being a grim establishment she would dread passing by every day, she now cast a warm smile at Mrs. Crestler, who would often be out front smiling and laughing and enjoying the company of her customers instead of cowering away like before. She hated that some part of her—a large part of her—had been glad when she heard the news of Mr. Crestler’s passing, only so she knew his wife would be free of him.
“Then wouldn’t you agree,” Nik said carefully, “he deserved the end he met no matter how it came about?”
She knew he was only trying to lighten the burden, but it didn’t help to clear the oily coat of disgust she felt at the heavy knowledge she’d been the one to give it to him.
“He was still a man; still a life,” she said. “What right did I have to take it?”
They looked at each other, and she could see it, the understanding: two soundless assassins of the same kind. Only, one was unwitting, and the other…
“How do you live with what you’ve done?” she asked, still staring into the depths of his emerald eyes as if she could see right through them and into the black-and-gray smoke of his soul.
Nik’s frown deepened, and his mouth set in a thin line. “I live with it by never forgetting. Some people I’ve killed deserved it—murderers, traitors, rebels—while others were less deserving but still guilty of crimes against the crown. I have to follow orders I don’t always agree with.” His look left room for unspoken words; he was being careful with the information he disclosed. “I live with it by never forgetting any of them. By remembering who I am and what I’ve done, owning it, and never letting the dark part consume me.”
Faythe nodded in appreciation of his honesty. She would find a way to live with what she was, what she had done, and what she was capable of. She had to, if only to be able to control herself and make sure she never used her ability again.
“Your face,” he mumbled softly.
In a knee-jerk reaction, she reached a hand up to touch her jaw. The pain and tenderness had gone completely. Her eyes shot to the lake, where the yucolites had returned to dodging her touch. She withdrew her hand from the water, and as she stared at it, she was sure it was glowing. Yet one blink, and it was gone.
“I guess the legends are true. They must like you.”
She imagined the purple and blue fingermarks that had started to pepper her lower face would be completely gone too, and she looked back into the water in silent awe and thanks. When she caught the fae guard’s eye again, she couldn’t stop her curiosity and figured it was a good opportunity to ask, while they were still deep in personal subjects, “What happened to your mother?”
She knew it was the wrong move when his eyes darkened and his jaw twitched. He said nothing for a moment as he held her stare, and then he pushed himself to his feet.
“I think there’s been enough dark conversation for one night,” he said emotionlessly.
Part of her was annoyed he would evade talking about himself when she’d all but laid herself bare to him in the short weeks they’d known each other. But she also understood what she wanted to know was sensitive and something she wouldn’t push. He didn’t owe her anything either. In fact, she owed him for everything he’d risked by helping her.
“Let’s get you home,” he said quietly.
She stood and pulled out her pocket watch. It was half past eleven. She prayed Marlowe had come up with enough reasons to keep busy and Jakon wasn’t back at the hut already.
In a few minutes, they were cloaked and ready. Neither of them spoke another word as Nik led the way out of the woodland.
She would never get used to the magick that kept the woods in eternal daytime. As they emerged again onto the hills that held the starry night sky, she couldn’t decide what she enjoyed more: the serenity of midnight lapis dazzled with bright constellations, or the exuberance of energy under a crystal-blue blanket teeming with peaceful life.
At the same spot they parted time last, Faythe muttered a weak goodbye, and Nik strained as if he wanted to say something else. Quickly, he dropped it and offered his own farewell before silently misting into the dark. Faythe also kept to the shadows, her hood pulled up, as she made her way into the town to avoid any more run-ins with the fae. Especially Captain Varis.
Her relief dropped like a weight at the sight of the empty hut. She discarded her cloak and sword clumsily and dressed quickly, slipping under the covers and pulling them up to her chin.
Faythe lay in silence for a while before she heard Jakon creep in and dip into his own cot. She thought she heard him ask if she was awake, but she kept her eyes closed and breathing steady, facing away from him. Soon after, she felt herself slipping into that familiar oblivion, confident she would be able find the space Nik had guided her to and sleep. Really sleep.
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br /> Chapter 13
Forced to tune in to the monotone voices of pompous fae nobles, Nik’s eyes strained against the weight of boredom. Regardless of his disinterest in the petty politics they squabbled over, he sat poised and attentive, but his mind was elsewhere.
Nik had to keep his eyes off the Captain of the Guard stationed by the door across the hall. Every time he caught a glimpse of the wicked scar that had disfigured Varis during the great battles, it made his fists curl in anger at his brutal display of dominance over Faythe. It shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, but imagining his cruel hand curled around her jaw made him want to tear the whole limb from the captain.
Instead, Nik diverted his focus to the bleak faces of those in attendance at the council meeting. Most were creased in anger and distaste as they took it in turns to parry their discontent across the table in the hope the king, sitting at the head, would take their woes into consideration. Nik knew it was all wasted breath. These meetings were a formality; a guise to keep the lords and other highly positioned fae dormant—for a while.
King Orlon of High Farrow rarely took on the advice and suggestion of his close councilmembers and had even less regard for the personal anguish of the high fae who offered him little in return. But the king was smart and knew just how to make them all feel as if they were included in the running of the kingdom. They had all been disillusioned to feel important. It kept them on his side so when it mattered the most, they were all more inclined to vote in favor of the king’s propositions even when Nik hoped they wouldn’t.
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