An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  Almost a week passed, and Faythe was grateful when her day off rolled around. She was desperate to visit Marlowe at the blacksmiths. She had new questions she didn’t want to ask in front of Jakon. He had a tendency to pry, and it would only raise his suspicion. Marlowe, on the other hand, had a wonderful nature of answering questions without any cynicism. In fact, it was like she relished in the unusual topics Faythe brought to her. She was a pocket of knowledge and enthusiasm, which was what Faythe loved the most about her friend.

  She stopped by the market just as they were opening and picked up a few pastries from Marie’s stall while the mild morning sun streamed down. One of Marie’s daughters, Grace, had filled in to do the deliveries at least one day a week to allow Faythe some time to herself.

  She was practically skipping down the streets when she rounded the corner to the blacksmiths. She couldn’t see Marlowe, but she could hear the hammering of metal in the back. Peering through the curtain, she spied the blonde bent over another masterpiece of hers.

  “I come bearing food!” Faythe exclaimed over the loud clanks.

  Marlowe startled before whipping around to spot Faythe. She relaxed, flashing her a grin, and replied in greeting, “Apple tarts, I hope?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t get you anything else.” Faythe set the paper bag on a nearby bench.

  Marlowe held up her creation: a fine steel blade. Simple but elegant. “It’s supposed to be a gift for Jakon since he doesn’t have one. What do you think?” she asked, biting her lip.

  Faythe raised her eyebrows in wonder. “It’s truly perfect, Marlowe. He’s going to love it!”

  At her enthusiasm, Marlowe relaxed and grinned widely. “It’s not finished, but you said his birthday was coming up in a couple of weeks. I thought it could be a gift from both of us.” She shrugged.

  Faythe’s face fell. “I can’t take any credit for that. You give it to him. I’ve got something in mind anyway.” She smiled reassuringly.

  It was a lie. She had no idea what to get him, and now, seeing Marlowe’s gift, she felt even more lowly. She could never compete with a gift so thoughtful and handmade. Not that Faythe ever saw it as a competition to lavish her friend with grand gifts, but it still bothered her she could never afford anything close to her own sword or even the materials for the one Marlowe crafted for Jakon.

  “Oh, okay. If you’re sure,” Marlowe said, setting the blade down. “So what brings you down here?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron before going over to the bag of pastries.

  Faythe watched her take a few bites, hesitating before saying, “I was actually hoping to pick your brain about something, but if you’re busy, I can come back another day?”

  Marlowe waved a hand. “I have time. I don’t have any major work on at the moment, so I’ve just been messing around.”

  Faythe let Marlowe finish her tart and chuckled as she reached in for a second. She dipped a hand into her pocket and retrieved the watch that was starting to burn a hole through it. Her thoughts had been churning to find out what the symbol on the back—the mark of Aurialis—meant in connection to the one at the temple. If there even was a connection. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but she figured if anyone might know, it would be Marlowe.

  “Does this mean anything to you?” she asked, walking over to where Marlowe perched.

  She finished her second tart and dusted her hands off before reaching to take the watch from Faythe’s outstretched hand. In typical Marlowe fashion, her brow creased as she flipped it over in her palm a couple times, held it up at various angles, and studied everything she could see with the naked eye.

  Faythe chewed nervously at her fingernails as she watched the blacksmith ponder over her mother’s old pocket watch. Marlowe hummed once and went to take a seat with it at a small bench, picking up a magnifying eyepiece and continuing to study the watch further. Faythe didn’t disturb her but moved to lean idly against the table while her friend examined the brass gadget with an expert’s attention.

  Eventually, she spoke. “They haven’t made them like this in a very long time,” she drawled, not looking up from it. “I’m surprised it still ticks.”

  Faythe already knew that and was waiting for her to say something about the engravings on the back, but her focus remained on the front as she squinted through her eyepiece.

  “I’d be fascinated to see its inner workings.” She looked up at Faythe in silent question. Faythe was about to protest when Marlowe quickly added, “I’d be able to put it back together, of course.” Though a little smug, there was a plea in her eyes.

  Faythe was hesitant. She didn’t doubt her friend’s abilities, but it was one of the only things she had left of her mother’s, and she was wary about it being tampered with.

  “I don’t know, Marlowe. I’d rather not risk it to see old cogs and screws,” she admitted, anxiety getting the better of her.

  Marlowe didn’t give in. “Who knows what strange workings could be in such an ancient device! Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

  Faythe had no interest in watch mechanics and didn’t match her friend’s enthusiastic wonder. Though one word had her deliberating while Marlowe waited with an eager look: ancient. If the watch was as old as Marlowe suggested, perhaps there was a chance something about its interior could offer clues to explain the Spirit symbol engraved on the back and if the item had any connection to the temple.

  Faythe sucked in a subtle breath. What if the answer or the key to open the spiritual dwelling was not on the watch’s exterior, but within its inner workings?

  Her giddy thrill overcame her wariness, and she gave Marlowe a small nod to go ahead. She didn’t waste a breath reaching for a bunch of small tools in a nearby pouch.

  Faythe watched in nervous anticipation as she took a miniature screwdriver to the back but still said nothing of the engraving. If Marlowe knew what it meant, her face gave nothing away.

  Once the plate was loose enough to be removed, she peeled it back to reveal a bunch of cogs and screws that made absolutely no sense to Faythe. Marlowe, however, frowned deeper in concentration as she reached for her magnifying eyepiece once again and went in close to investigate. A few minutes passed before she hummed at her findings.

  “No wonder the minute hand stutters. There’s an extra piece that doesn’t seem relevant to the main mechanics—it just gets in the way,” she pondered out loud, picking up a small pair of tweezers.

  Faythe stood upright. “Are you sure?” she asked skeptically, fearful of the watch breaking.

  Marlowe shot her a dead look. As if she really had to ask. Faythe backed down and nodded for her to continue. She stayed close behind, peering over Marlowe’s shoulder and holding her breath as she watched her go in with steady precision. Marlowe gripped the small misplaced pin and pulled. It came out with a click, followed by a thud.

  Faythe could only gape in disbelief as she watched the front part of the watch come away from the back completely. Marlowe jolted her head back in shock, lifting her hands away.

  “I don’t understand. It was a dud piece of metal!” she cried out.

  Faythe didn’t want to shout at her friend for being wrong, so instead, she took a breath to hold in her dismay and paced to the back of the workshop in silence, hoping Marlowe would be able to mend it swiftly.

  She was flicking through more discarded books when Marlowe said her name to quietly beckon her over. If she’d already fixed the watch, Faythe owed her friend some appreciation for her quick work. When she strolled back over to the bench, she held in her whimper at the sight of the thing still in two pieces.

  However, her watch wasn’t what Marlowe was focused on anymore. She held up a tightly folded piece of parchment between her tweezers and said, “Did you know this was in here?”

  Faythe’s eyebrows knitted together. “That was in my mother’s watch?”

  Marlowe gave a nod before extending it to her. “It seems you have a concealment watch. I’ve heard of them bef
ore. They were used a long time ago to smuggle information between allies,” she said with no small amount of relief she hadn’t broken it after all.

  Faythe took the parchment carefully. It was worn and slightly yellowed with age. Did her mother know it was in there? She didn’t immediately unravel the sheet. What if it was a message from her mother?

  Handing the paper back to Marlowe, she said, “You read it,” and damned her own cowardice at the thought.

  Marlowe didn’t say anything as she took the parchment from Faythe’s outstretched palm and cautiously began to fold back the edges.

  The suspense was killing Faythe. She held in her snap to hurry up, tapping her foot in a nervous tic while she watched Marlowe finally unfold it to its full size, which was no bigger than the palm of her hand. The blacksmith read over it a few times with a deep frown of concentration.

  Faythe couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well?” she said with a bit more bite than intended.

  Marlowe shot her a glance and shrugged. “It’s like a poem, but not in a language I can read.”

  Faythe’s whole body fell with disappointment and a little sadness. It wasn’t a note from her mother. The old inscriptions and clearly aged paper weren’t connected to her at all. If Marlowe was right, the parchment was likely a scribe from a centuries-old battle and wouldn’t provide the answers she needed to gain access to the temple.

  “An old war message?” she asked in bored curiosity.

  Marlowe cocked her head. “Perhaps. I might have a book that could translate. I recognize some of the symbols.” She shot up from the bench and wandered over to the books in the corner.

  Laying the parchment down beside them, she began to sift through the mix of black and brown leather covers. When she found what she was looking for, Marlowe beamed and flicked through the pages, scanning over inscriptions that were no more than pretty decorations to Faythe. A language of elegance and affluence, she gathered from the delicate swirls and coils of the ancient text.

  “It might take a while, but I’ll try to translate what I can.”

  Faythe peeled her eyes from the book, finding it of little interest, while Marlowe ran her finger across the lines. She was irrationally angry at the hidden message that had turned out to be nothing of use. The small, hopeful feeling she’d let herself have—that it might be something to bring her closer to her mother—left a hollow void.

  She looked at her friend still deeply engrossed in the texts. “I think I’m going to wander the town for a bit. Meet you at the hut later?”

  Marlowe glanced up for quick second, her only reply a small nod and smile before she dipped her head low again.

  Faythe left her to it.

  Chapter 19

  Faythe stormed through the streets after her disappointing trip to the blacksmiths. She wasn’t sure if it was her exasperation or complete lack of sense and rationality that influenced her destination. Perhaps she had a death wish, she thought, as she found herself strolling up to the standalone white house in the wealthier part of town.

  Without giving herself time to cower away, she rapped on the wood door twice and took a polite step back, hoping the person she wanted was working today. After a short wait, the door swung open, and a familiar mop of red hair and brown eyes stared at her in surprise.

  Ferris worked as a personal servant for the occupants of the house, though Faythe had always thought it a generous job description since he was essentially employed to carry out their dirty work. Ferris suited the work—was actually good at it—with his deviance and ruthlessness when it came to doing what needed to be done. She had to admire him for that.

  Realizing he was waiting for her to explain her unexpected appearance, she blurted, “I want to take you up on your offer.”

  For a quick moment, she wanted to steal the words back and scold herself for even thinking of fighting in The Cave. She wanted to believe she was above such a barbarous sport. Yet she couldn’t deny the dark part of her that itched to feel what it would be like to swing her sword in real combat. She was fed up with feeling useless, tired of holding back the desire that truly lived under her skin, and sick of being so impoverished she couldn’t even afford a decent birthday gift for her best friend.

  Ferris cocked an eyebrow at her before a wild grin spread to his eyes. He stepped out over the threshold, closing the door behind him, and leaned with arms crossed against the frame.

  “Does your guard dog know you’re here?” he quipped.

  She rolled her eyes at the gibe—he meant Jakon—and quickly considered abandoning the idea. It was a mistake to come to him. Even so, she found herself saying, “No. And he can’t find out about any of it.”

  Ferris chuckled. “Good to know you have a mind of your own, Faythe. I was beginning to doubt it.”

  She scowled. “Don’t make me regret coming to you.”

  He laughed again in response, and she fought the urge to swing at him. “I believe I’m the one doing you a favor here,” he said before raising his chin. “I want a cut of your profits as your sponsor.” His eyes twinkled darkly.

  “I might not win.”

  His smile only widened. “I’m going to be putting in good money for you, Faythe, and I expect a fantastic return.” He straightened. “I have every confidence you won’t disappoint.” He turned, bracing a hand on the doorknob. “Next fight is in two days’ time. I’ll find you some suitable…attire.” He gazed over her at the comment, and she shifted. His final wink made her blood go cold and pump faster at the same time.

  Had she just made a deal with darkness?

  Without another word, he was back inside the house, and she was left staring at the white chipped door.

  She stood there for a second after he vanished, unsure if the darkness was in her or Ferris. Then, twisting on her heel, she retreated with haste back into the main part of town, giddy with nerves, excitement, and…fear. But the thrill drowned out the voices telling her this could be the most foolish thing she’d ever agreed to.

  Chapter 20

  Faythe’s mind reeled on her return from signing Ferris’s phantom contract. She would be entertaining with her sword at no small risk to her life. She composed her rattling nerves at the thought, surprised to find Jakon already home when she arrived back at the hut. He sat at the kitchen table with his head in a book she had never seen before, looking up to flash her a welcoming smile as she walked through the door.

  “She’s got you reading now too?”

  “Apparently, it’s a wonder I’ve lived here this long and not learned about the wonders and histories of Ungardia.”

  Faythe chuckled and walked over to catch a glimpse of the text he studied. Jakon shifted as if trying to conceal the pages. She frowned deeply, about to question it, until she glanced the bold heading: Legends of Lakelaria. Her stomach dropped, and she cast Jakon a sad, knowing look.

  “I’ve been asking at the docks if there’s been word of anything unusual over there, in case there was talk of a stowaway from High Farrow, you know?” Jakon admitted.

  Faythe’s heart cracked. She’d been riddled with the guilt of not knowing Reuben’s fate, but she didn’t know Jakon was also silently suffering. She put her arm over his shoulder in quiet comfort, and he embraced her around the waist in return as they both stared down at the pages in solemn silence.

  Some of the illustrations were beautiful: glittering channels of water and wonderous mythical lake creatures. Faythe leaned forward to flick over a few pages, but she wished she hadn’t. Other depictions of what possibly dwelled in the Kingdom of the Water Dragon were not so welcoming. Man-eating sea beasts, half-human sirens with wicked pointed teeth, fae with the lethal ability to command the flow of water…

  Jakon must have noticed her rising panic because he leaned in to close the book before she could work herself into a frenzy. She looked to him wide-eyed while her mind reeled at the horrors she might have sent her friend straight into the arms of.

  Jakon stood, hands going to her
shoulders. “They’re only myths, Faythe. Anyone I’ve asked, those who have real knowledge of Lakelaria, have assured me it’s just as ordinary and boring as any kingdom.” He tried to reassure her with a faint smile, but he was a horrible liar.

  She didn’t call him out on it. For both their sakes, they had to try to believe Reuben was safe and they hadn’t blindly sent their friend to a terrible fate in the lands of the unknown.

  Jakon pulled her into a tight embrace, and she allowed herself to breathe and regain a sense of calm in the comfort of his arms, composed by the time she stepped back. She gave him a weak smile, walking past him to the washroom.

  His voice halted her.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Faythe. Uh—”

  She turned back and cocked her head. “What’s up?”

  Jakon scratched the back of his neck nervously. “About Marlowe and me. It’s not… It doesn’t bother you, right? That she and I—”

  Faythe’s lips curled up in amusement at his flustered look, and she cut in, “Not in the slightest, Jakon. I’m happy for you. For both of you!” she assured.

  He smiled awkwardly back. “Good… That’s good.” He cleared his throat. “I just thought, you know, it might feel weird or something. Since it’s always just been you and me, but you never, um…”

  She knew what he wanted to say. Faythe had never returned his feelings of affection; never wanted to be more than friends.

  “Look, Jakon, I love you. I always will, but not in the way I know Marlowe loves you and you love her back. You two are made for each other, and I’m happy for you both as a couple. I’m grateful Marlowe came into my life too.”

  Relief washed over his face. “I love you too, Faythe.” He made the few strides over to tousle her hair. “You’ll always be my number one, you know?”