An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

  Something changed in the atmosphere between them, but she didn’t balk at the intimate look they shared. Slowly, he reached a hand up to graze his fingers under her chin. Her heart pounded when he seemed to shift slightly closer, their thighs now touching where they sat side by side on the rock, and she felt the soft caress of his breath over her mouth. Only a sliver of space remained between them, and it became a noticeable coolness. She wasn’t sure if she was still breathing. She longed for him to close that distance.

  “What is it that you want, Faythe?”

  She caught the question at the edge of his mind. He wouldn’t kiss her without her asking for it, and it was enough hesitation for her to snap into her own senses.

  Nik was fae, an immortal, a royal guard. And she…

  She was human, a nobody, and that was how it would always be. They couldn’t be seen together. She could never tell her friends how she came to know him or anything about him. No one would understand, and no one would accept them.

  She backed away and stood, letting his hand drop where it had held her face. She felt cold from the absence but shook her mind to clear the thoughts and calm her racing heart.

  “I think that’s enough of a lesson for today,” she said a little breathlessly, not daring to look at him again as she stalked over to her discarded cloak and fastened it around herself.

  Neither of them spoke as they left the woods and walked over the hills, barely muttering their goodbyes when they parted on the edge of town as usual. But Faythe couldn’t stop her rattling thoughts and still felt the echo of his touch as she made her way back to the hut in the dark.

  Chapter 22

  Faythe sulked the whole way home after departing from Nik. She knew it was for the best that they keep it strictly friendly, or professional, or whatever it was they were doing, but it didn’t help her sting of disappointment. There was no changing who they were or the differences that separated them, and she couldn’t give in to the feelings she had for him.

  Perhaps a kiss would mean nothing to Nik. Maybe getting everything from her wouldn’t mean anything to him either. The thought delivered a different kind of pain.

  When she swung open the door to the hut, she was immediately confronted by Marlowe sitting at the table while Jakon paced the small space in front of the door. Upon seeing her, he let out a deep sigh of relief, but his eyes blazed.

  “Where have you been?”

  She winced at his tone. “I was just out practicing as usual,” she said, flashing the pommel of her sword under her cloak.

  “Practicing! It’s one in the morning, Faythe! We went by the square—you weren’t there!”

  Her eyes widened. She hadn’t realized the time. Her hand dove into her pocket only to find it empty.

  “Shit. I’m sorry. My watch is still at the blacksmiths. I lost track of time.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “We were worried sick. You can’t do that.”

  Her eyes flashed in vexation. “Can’t do what, Jak? Go out on my own? I’m not a child! I can look out for myself.”

  He didn’t deserve her anger, and she knew deep down she was only riding on the back of her indignation over everything that kept her from pursuing her feelings for a certain fae guard. Not being able to talk about it only made her resentment grow more.

  Jakon recoiled at her tone and then straightened. “You have friends who care about you. I don’t know what’s been up with you lately, but your secrets and selfishness affect us both,” he shot back.

  Faythe felt the words hard. He knew right where to strike. She couldn’t help herself in her flash of rage, and she focused on his mind to see if he meant any truth in them. Jakon was an open book; no walls like she saw in Nik’s head, and completely vulnerable to her.

  “You don’t think your actions affect me too. You only think about yourself. I wish you would just let me in.”

  The thoughts were loud, and Faythe could feel the anger in him. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she glanced at Marlowe who had yet to say anything.

  “Where were you? It’s not your fault. He only wants to help. We both do.”

  Pity resonated in her words, and she hated it.

  “You two have each other—you don’t need me anymore. Consider yourselves relieved of the burden of caring,” she said sourly. Shutting them both out, she turned on her heel and stalked to the bedroom.

  Jakon called her name but didn’t follow.

  The tears fell silently from her eyes as she stripped down and pulled herself into her nightclothes before curling up in her cot. They kept falling as she thought of everything she was and wasn’t. Everything her friends thought about her; everything she couldn’t have with Nik; everything that made her a screwed-up waste of existence. She didn’t deserve her abilities. She didn’t deserve her friends. She didn’t deserve to be loved. She would only end up disappointing everyone in the end.

  After a long moment, she heard shuffling, and then, from her position facing the wall, she felt the dip of her bed and a warm body curl around hers. The petite female form fit neatly behind her own.

  She released a sob, and Marlowe stroked her hair without saying anything. She only held her tight and let Faythe cry it out. And she did. Sadness poured out of her like her anger in the woods. She wanted so badly to tell Marlowe everything in that moment—and Jakon too. It pained her more every day, the walking lie she was to them.

  When her sobbing ceased, she felt hollow and tired. She was starting to fall asleep when she heard more shuffling and the creak of Jakon’s bed as he sat in it.

  Neither woman moved, but Jakon spoke. “I’m really sorry, Faythe. I didn’t mean what I said.”

  She didn’t respond. She knew he’d meant it from peering into his thoughts, and for once, she didn’t feel guilty for it.

  Jakon didn’t press the issue further, and she heard him lie back in his cot.

  As silence filled the room, she embraced the fall into darkness, still safe in the warmth of Marlowe’s arms.

  Faythe sat in her subconscious idly playing with the mist between her fingers. She intended to guide herself to full unconsciousness at first, but she had been toying with an idea for some time now.

  She couldn’t get Marlowe and Jakon’s thoughts about her from her mind and was tempted to walk into Marlowe’s head to see if they ever spoke about her when she wasn’t with them. It seemed petty, but she was desperate to ease the pain and insecurity. She could deal with it from anyone else—herself, even Nik—but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if her friends truly thought of her as selfish and uncaring…or worse.

  She could control it, only see what she needed to see to put her own mind at ease and not pry into anything she had no business seeing. At least, she hoped she could. Which was why she had sat on the idea for all this time, out of fear she might accidentally walk into Marlowe’s private thoughts or memories and never forgive herself.

  She stood abruptly. Nik had said she needed to try; to practice. If anyone would understand, it was Marlowe, she was sure of that. So, without giving herself time to back out again, she closed her eyes and thought of her friend until she felt a pull…and just like that, gold changed to hues of vibrant purple when she opened them.

  Marlowe’s mind.

  It shocked her how easy it was, but Nik had warned her not to stay in this part of the mind for long and to find the memory she was looking to jump into. She began sifting through memories of Marlowe and Jakon, quickly flicking through them to rule out the ones in which she was physically present, until there was only one prominent memory left.

  The scene unfolded around her as she willed it to, and she stood behind Marlowe as she and Jakon walked hand in hand down by the harbor. Faythe recognized the path just past Harbor Hall, beautifully lit with amber torches. The moon was bright, catching the ripples of lapping water and making the sea glitter like the stars in the night sky above. It was the perfect roman
tic setting, and Faythe couldn’t help but feel like she was intruding.

  Find the relevant information.

  The memory skipped forward, and they were sitting on a bench, Marlowe resting her head on Jakon’s shoulder while he wrapped his arm around her. Faythe’s heart stung at the sight. It was jealously, she realized, at their completely effortless, carefree relationship.

  Finally, Jakon spoke. “Do you think Faythe is okay with this?”

  Marlowe lifted her head, knowing he meant the two of them. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  He shrugged, looking out over the tranquil sea. “She seems distant lately.”

  Faythe’s face fell at his pained look.

  “It was never like this between us—you know, like what you and I have,” he started. “But I feel like she’s been pushing me out ever since. Or maybe I’ve been pushing her away by not including her as much as I should. It’s always just been the two of us, and now…” He trailed off.

  Marlowe put her hand on his thigh. “She’s a grown woman, Jakon. She’s headstrong and fierce, but her heart is always in the right place. She knows how to look out for herself.”

  He nodded. “Gods, I know she does.” His frown deepened as he put his hand on hers. “I think…I think I’m scared to let her go. To accept that she no longer needs me.”

  “You’ve looked out for her since she was a child. She’ll always need you. But she also has her own life to live.”

  He was silent for a moment before admitting, “I love her, Marlowe. I always will.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “And nothing will ever come between that.” Squeezing his hand, she added, “I love her too.”

  Faythe felt the damp trails on her cheeks before she realized she was crying. She didn’t stay to see if they said anything else, only projected herself back into her familiar gold-and-white mist.

  She sobbed loudly in the comfort of her own head, feeling awful she’d ever had doubts about either of them. Jakon, who had been by her side since she was orphaned at nine years old and always put her first. Even now, when it came to Marlowe, he made sure to confess his love for her. Not as a lover, but no matter what, he would always choose Faythe. It made her feel hideous he ever thought he’d have to choose between the two. And then there was Marlowe, who showed absolutely no sign of jealousy or resentment for it.

  Faythe felt crippled with guilt and undeserving of their love and loyalty. But she wouldn’t let herself fall into despair; she would rise and prove herself worthy.

  Chapter 23

  When Faythe awoke the next morning, both of her friends had already left. She pushed back the disappointment she felt at not getting to tell them she was sorry and that they didn’t deserve her display of anger last night. Her words of apology would have to remain unspoken until she saw them later.

  For now, she hopped out of her cot and washed, feeling fresher and lighter than she had in a long while. It was as if a weight she didn’t realize was slowly crushing her had been lifted—that uncertainty of who she was and what she meant to the people who mattered.

  She was dressed and heading out the door when she paused on the threshold, nearly tumbling over a package on the doorstep. She frowned and gave it a light kick, making sure nothing live or combustible was inside. When it remained stationary and silent, she warily picked it up and took it into the hut. She gave it another look over before gently pulling at the string that bound the box shut and peeling back the lid cautiously. Inside, a note on the top was the first thing to catch her attention. She picked it up and read:

  Faythe,

  This cost me a month’s wage,

  but I expect the debt to be paid

  in full in good time. I’ll meet you

  on Crow’s Lane at ten o’clock

  tomorrow night.

  Don’t be late, and be sure to

  leave your guard dog at home.

  Yours always, darling Faythe.

  Ferris didn’t have to sign his name; there was only one person she expected this particular delivery from. Faythe discarded the note and looked into the box. As promised, the contents consisted of more “suitable attire” for her first fight. She pulled out the first item: a scarf, one that would cover her head and act like a mask over her nose and mouth to leave only her golden eyes on show. There was also a pair of plain black gloves.

  The next item stunned her for a moment. She pulled it out fully and held it up for a quick inspection. It was a matte-black, textured leather suit. It looked to be a tight fit, but the material flexed and stretched, and she could imagine the freedom of movement it would allow. A real fighting suit.

  The final matching items were revealed to be a pair of black boots and a long black cloak.

  Faythe marveled at the ensemble laid out on the table. She’d only ever dreamed of owning such a set for use in professional combat. She didn’t dwell on where Ferris got his hands on such items. The suit certainly wasn’t from anywhere in this town—perhaps not even this kingdom.

  Folding everything together, she stashed the clothes under her bed. It would all be over if Jakon found out about it. Then, giddy with new excitement and thrilling nerves, she skipped out of the hut.

  After a deliriously dull workday, Faythe was left alone to close up the stall. She’d spent most of her shift trying to stay busy and offering to run extra errands to keep her mind off her friends—and Nik. She’d tried and failed to push the fae guard from her thoughts.

  She had just boarded up when a voice appeared behind her. “I thought you might want this back.”

  Faythe whirled, and a small sound came out of her at the sight of Marlowe. She was holding out her mother’s pocket watch as if it had never been tampered with at all. Faythe gave her a weak smile and took it in her own hands.

  There was a small silence before she blurted, “I’m so sorry, Marlowe. You didn’t deserve my anger last night, and neither did Jakon. I—”

  She was cut off when Marlowe lunged at her, flinging her arms around her in a tight embrace. All of Faythe’s sadness and worry dissipated instantly. She didn’t know how much time passed as they held each other, nor did she realize just how much she needed it from her friend. It felt as if a small weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  Marlowe pulled back and didn’t remove her hands from Faythe as she looked her in the eyes and said, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

  Faythe swallowed at the intensity in her ocean-blue irises and gave a small nod. Marlowe waited another second as if hoping she would say something to explain her moods and absences. Gods, she wanted to. But she couldn’t. It was better for both their safety if Marlowe remained oblivious.

  Finally taking a step back, Marlowe gave her a small smile, but she couldn’t hide the slight disappointment on her face at Faythe’s silence. Regardless, she linked her arm through hers to start their walk to the hut.

  “Actually, there is a favor I need to ask of you.”

  Marlowe pulled them to a stop and unhooked their arms so they could face each other, giving Faythe her full attention while she waited for her to continue.

  Faythe cleared her throat. “I—uh…I need you to keep Jakon busy again tomorrow night.” She had no right to ask her again, especially not after her outburst yesterday.

  Marlowe crossed her arms. “If I’m going to do that, you’re going to tell me exactly what you plan on getting up to.”

  It was a fair bargain, and Faythe knew she could trust Marlowe with this secret. It was a perfectly normal human activity, albeit stupidly dangerous and reckless.

  “I’m going to fight…in The Cave. I went to see Ferris, and he’s arranged it.” She waited for the outcry of horror; for Marlowe to shout at her for being completely out of her mind and run straight to Jakon to talk her out of it. None of that came. She couldn’t read the expression on her friend’s face as she stared back for a moment, contemplating.

  “You’re sure you can win?”

  Faythe blinked in surpri
se. “Well, no, but Ferris seems pretty convinced I have a good shot.” She winced. His judgement of her skills wasn’t exactly solid ground to go on, and even she felt foolish for trusting it.

  Marlowe huffed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “I hope he knows if he’s slightly wrong and you come out with even a scratch, it won’t be Jakon’s wrath he has to worry about.”

  Faythe sagged with relief and grinned widely. She didn’t deserve such a loyal friend. Marlowe simply looped her arm back through Faythe’s without saying anything more of it, and they continued their walk. Her heart swelled. Although it was yet another secret she was keeping from Jakon, it was a relief to have at least one of her friends to talk to about it.

  Back at the hut, Jakon strolled in no more than ten minutes after them. His lips parted to speak, but Faythe hurled herself at him before he got any words out. Jakon’s solid arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly as she clamped hers around his neck. They stayed like that for a long moment. Faythe was overcome with emotion, but she had exhausted all her tears last night.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair.

  She pulled back to look into his brown eyes and shook her head firmly. “It’s me who should be sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You had every right to be angry.”

  “I’ll always need you, Faythe, and I’ll never stop caring about you,” he said quietly.

  “I know,” she barely whispered. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distant lately, but it has nothing to do with you or Marlowe. I’ll always need both of you, and I’ll never make you choose between either of us.” She stepped out of his arms.

  Marlowe smiled warmly at her while Jakon gave her an appreciative nod. The air between them finally returned to full, bright clarity, and Faythe filled her lungs with it in relief.

  “I think we should all go to Harbor Hall tonight—my treat.” Marlowe beamed.