The air was silent as she waited for him to quiz her further. She had no doubt he would force her to reveal her completely futile plan to challenge a fae in a fighting pit.
“I suppose I could volunteer to be your test subject,” he said casually. She grinned in response. “But if I release my mental barriers to you, I trust you won’t go poking around where you shouldn’t,” he added in playful warning.
Faythe frowned. “How does that work? Your barriers. I was able to slip right into Jakon’s mind and Marlowe’s. There were no walls.” She cringed as she admitted to what she’d done.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you now…? And how was it? Being in their minds, I mean.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He chuckled. “I’m curious too, you know? You’re something that’s either never existed before or hasn’t for a very, very long time.” When she didn’t respond, he rolled his eyes. “They have them—they just don’t know how to use them. And not because they’re mortal. I’m a Nightwalker and a powerful one,” he said, not out of arrogance. “Mastering the mind is part of who I am, and I’ve centuries of practice. I don’t think you’d get past my barriers even if you tried. Most of us are the same. With weaker immortals, you might stand a chance. But those without our gift, fae and human, don’t naturally have the instinct to protect their minds and wouldn’t know how to even if they did. Some have trained specifically against our ability and are able to form solid mental barriers, but it’s not common.”
She hummed her interest. “Have you ever come across someone with a barrier?”
Nik nodded. “Many times, but none I haven’t been able to shatter through.”
Faythe shuddered. Was he really that strong in his ability? At her unspoken question, he went on.
“I guess some may have held out against a lesser Nightwalker.” Again, there was no haughtiness in his tone as he explained the facts. “It’s risky though. If the host discovers you’re in there, it’s as good as killing them. Their fragile mind can’t handle the confusion of having two essences consciously present at once; they don’t tend to recover mentally. It’s also dangerous for us. A lesser Nightwalker might never recover. It takes a lot of strength to keep the separation and get out before both minds mingle.”
Faythe swallowed hard at the new information, knowing now why he was so worried about her being discovered. Not just for her physical well-being, but the mental danger it presented.
“When I was in your mind, you said you could feel me,” she said, more as a question.
“The other side of your ability is different in that respect. When we Nightwalk, our whole mental being gets projected into another’s. With your gift of consciousness, you’re still completely awake and in your own head at the same time. It’s fascinating,” he said in awe.
Faythe felt more bewildered than fascinated by the concept.
“But I would be cautious,” Nik continued. “While I believe you could dive as deep as you wanted into a person’s mind without causing them harm, every ability has its limits. With you, I’d be wary of having your feelings and emotions become too entwined in another’s that you lose yourself in there in the heat of the moment. You need to always be able to separate yourself from the host.”
A silence settled while she pondered over the new information. Then she spoke.
“I only heard what I wanted to know…when I looked into their minds,” she began quietly, finding the grass suddenly very interesting. “I haven’t tried going any deeper—only what’s been on the surface. Thoughts that were just…there. It was easy to hear them.”
Nik made a curious sound.
Since she was getting all her truth out, Faythe added, “I Nightwalked through Marlowe too.”
Sitting up straight, Nik’s arm grazed hers as he scanned her face, possibly looking for any sign of guilt of anger. “On purpose?” he asked carefully.
She winced and nodded.
“Good,” he said, leaning back again. When she whipped her head to him, he shrugged. “You needed to practice. I assume it went to plan, or you’d be taking out a tree by now.”
She chuckled softly, grateful he didn’t hold any judgment or disapproval in his response. It was a relief being with him, she realized. She didn’t have to hide anything about herself, and he never looked at her with any kind of distaste or hatefulness. He didn’t fear her for what she might be capable of.
“Now, are we going get some progress made here so we can both get back to sleep tonight?” he asked, getting to his feet.
Neither of them had brought their swords, but Faythe didn’t need a blade to practice reaching into his mind and predicting his movements. She stood too, going over to where he waited. Nik braced himself as if he were going to pounce. And he did. She couldn’t stop her squeal of surprise as he lunged impossibly fast, ducking and lifting her over his shoulder.
Not even winded from the sudden movement, she was astonished by his delicate hold. “Put me down!” she shrieked.
He rumbled with laugher beneath her, but just as fast as he’d scooped her up, she was once again on her own two feet, dizzy from bewilderment.
“Sorry. I thought we were starting.”
She gaped and then dropped her face into a scowl. Changing stance, Faythe braced herself this time. She took a breath and locked eyes with him.
“Are you ready?”
She heard the question at the edge of his mind. The corners of her mouth twitched up in response—and in taunting challenge.
“Don’t hold back,” she said.
He answered with a wicked grin.
She saw his first intention to go for her legs again a split second before he physically moved, and she jumped right to narrowly dart out of his path. Turning around, he straightened, giving her an approving side smile. Nik didn’t waste a second, the thought of his next attack flashing from his mind to hers, and she twisted around him in the nick of time.
Her heart raced from the concentration she had to hold to keep track of him and his speed. She saw his following maneuver, but she was a second too late in avoiding it before he swiped her feet from under her with a side kick. He caught her with an arm around her waist before she could hit the ground, their faces coming intimately close as he straightened, and in a flash, the feelings from their last near-kiss pulsed through her.
They were gone the moment he released her and stepped away. Faythe noticed his taunting grin had also vanished.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I need to be faster.” She was already panting—not from physical exertion, but the mental toll it took.
He gave a short nod. “Try again.”
They practiced for another hour, and she gained speed on her reaction time—slightly, as the thoughts flowed into her more naturally. Still, she couldn’t keep it up for long before he had her beat.
She sprawled out on the grass, feeling both mentally and physically drained. Nik sat beside her, looking completely unfazed.
“Do you ever get tired?” she remarked in irritation.
“Of course I do.” He smirked down at her. “Just not nearly as easily.”
They sat in a long minute of silence, and when her breathing was once again normal, she lifted herself upright next to him. “We could work out a schedule,” she said, “to meet here for practice. If you can, that is.”
He shot her a side glance, thinking it over. “I suppose I could dedicate some of my nights to helping. I’m nothing if not charitable.”
She pushed his arm playfully, but he barely budged, her palm feeling like it connected with a slightly cushioned stone.
Breaking through their peace, a loud, animalistic scoff sounded behind her. Faythe whipped her head around, then she shot to her feet at the sight.
The mighty white stag!
It took her a moment in her shock to ask, “You see it too, right?”
“The giant beast? Yes, Faythe, I think it’s pretty damn hard to miss,” he retorted.
&nb
sp; She didn’t respond to his sarcasm, relieved she wasn’t hallucinating. “Do you know what it is?” she asked instead. Before he could state the obvious in that irritatingly derisive way of his, she added, “I mean, what it wants?”
It was uncanny how similar this encounter looked to the last. The stag once again threw its head sideways as if beckoning her to follow.
“I would say that’s pretty obvious too. Wouldn’t you?”
She bit back her retort but managed a glare in his direction. “Have you seen it before?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
Since he wasn’t offering any help or encouragement, she went to follow it of her own accord and didn’t glance back to see if he joined her. Just like the time before, it led her through the uneven rows of trees and right to the same temple in the clearing, motioning her toward it before disappearing through the stone doors. She knew Nik had followed and witnessed the whole encounter from his footsteps nearby, and she shook her head, trying to make sense of what she’d just seen for the second time. Not a movement was different on the stag’s part.
“It was exactly like before,” she mumbled, confusion creasing her forehead.
“You mean, you’ve seen it before?” he asked with piqued curiosity, coming to stand beside her.
A vacant nod was her only answer as she trailed up the stairs of the portico and pressed her palms to the doors. “What do you want?” she pondered out loud. Resting her ear against the solid, cold rock, she strained to hear if there was something—or someone—inside.
“You need the Riscillius, Faythe.”
She pushed off the stone with a gasp. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Nik said from behind her.
Perhaps she was going crazy. That seemed like the only logical explanation. She dared to press her ear to the door again and waited.
Nothing.
Huffing her frustration, she marched back down the stairs and turned to look at the structure. It offered no clue or insight as to why she should be here, and she wanted to bellow her annoyance at the still stone building for wasting her time.
It must be mere chance. The stag could have appeared to anyone. Maybe it was on some centuries-old magickal loop no one had bothered to stop; a message for someone long since passed. These woods were bound to be full of ancient tricks and mysteries.
Faythe shuddered, not wanting to stay longer and discover them—or they her, since that was how it seemed to work around here. Yet as she held her eyes on the symbol of Aurialis that branded the door, she swore it started to glow slightly as if beckoning her to discover what lay beyond. She wanted to turn from the structure and vow never to follow the damned stag again, but the reckless, impulsive side of her dominated her sane, rational brain.
One word became a chant in her mind that she couldn’t silence: the Riscillius. It had to be the key to get inside. Fortunately, there was one book-loving blacksmith in the kingdom who might hold the answer of where to find it.
Chapter 29
The early-morning air held a chill to it as Faythe made her way to the market for work. Autumnal equinox was only a week away, and eager revelers had already started decorating the buildings with banners of vibrant fall colors in anticipation of the full bloom of the new season. She pulled her dark green cloak tighter around her and glared up at the sun that mocked her by not offering any warmth. Still, she was a little relieved the days were no longer so clammy and dry.
Over the past week, she had met with Nik every second night to practice her mind skills for combat—which was a fancy way of saying “to get put on her ass every five minutes.” She was getting better though. Slowly. She was all too aware the fight with her fae competitor was looming closer. Two weeks’ time, Ferris had told her a few days ago. She’d had to force back her panic that it might not be enough time for her to be competent in her ability to foresee their impossibly fast movements and stand a chance. But she couldn’t tell that to Ferris.
Rounding the last corner, she strolled up to the bakery stall and offered a cheerful greeting. Her smile fell when Marie looked at her sadly without responding.
“We’ve been thinking, Faythe. I know you’ve helped us for a long time now, but we just can’t afford the cost to keep you any longer. Grace has agreed to help with deliveries, but we don’t expect it to be as busy here with the cooling weather.” Marie spoke quickly and nervously.
She was being let go. A month ago, Faythe would have perhaps embarrassed herself by falling to her knees and begging Marie to reconsider. The small, insufficient wage was all she had to make ends meet. But now…
She smiled warmly. “I understand, Marie. You’re doing what’s best for your family, and I wish you and your daughters well.”
It obviously wasn’t the reaction Marie expected. Her mouth popped open in surprise. She came around the small counter and took Faythe’s hands.
“You’ll be all right, dear?”
Faythe answered with a squeeze and a nod.
The baker embraced her tightly. “Could you run one last errand for me though?” she asked, shuffling back around the stall and producing a small box. “Mrs. Green hasn’t made an order for a while, but would you take this to her? I would hate to think she might have had a bad lot the last time.”
Mrs. Green!
Faythe frowned, taking the box. How had she not noticed when Mrs. Green was one of her most frequent and joyous delivery stops? She had been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t even realized how long it was since she last saw her, and Faythe felt riddled with guilt at her selfishness.
Then a dark feeling settled over her. The last time she’d seen Mrs. Green…
Faythe nodded with a weak smile and offered Marie one last farewell before setting off. She quickened her pace, the urge to get there as fast as she could drowning her with overwhelming dread.
Her nerves were irrational, she tried to reassure herself, and she would be breathing in her relief the moment she walked into the mill and saw Mrs. Green sitting in her usual spot at the kitchen table doing something to occupy her hands. Still, she was almost jogging by the time she rounded the next corner and the large off-white building came into view.
She hurled herself through the door, not bothering to knock or call out.
When the familiar chirp of Mrs. Green’s voice didn’t greet her straight away, her stomach dropped further. Faythe walked into the kitchen and found it empty. She called out in the hope someone would echo back. Leaving the box on the table, she continued her search as a daunting feeling set her on edge.
Everything was too still and untouched.
Too quiet.
Hearing movement from outside, she loosened off slightly. One of the workers! They would know where she was.
Out the back door, she spotted an older man by the shed grinding some contraption she assumed was full of grain. She practically ran to him, blurting out, “Have you seen Mrs. Green?”
He jumped in surprise at her sudden outburst, and Faythe mumbled a quick apology.
“You haven’t heard?” he said.
She blanched immediately. “Heard what?”
His face fell grave. “She was taken near two months ago now, to the castle. She never came back,” he said solemnly.
Taken… Just as they had gotten Reuben out. Faythe had told Mrs. Green she would be safe.
Her hand shot up to cover her wide mouth, and she backed up a few steps as if the news were a physical blow. The pain was similar. Her chest tightened painfully, and the air around her refused to fill her lungs properly.
The man muttered something else, condolences she could faintly hear. “Some fae guards came in the middle of the night. One had a particularly nasty-looking face with a long scar,” he recalled.
The man tilted. No—it was her own vision that wavered and threatened to make her collapse at the malicious face that flashed to the forefront of her mind. Captain Varis. He had been here, and he had seized Mrs. Green. Had she been
brutally handled like the innkeeper’s son?
Oh Gods, oh Gods!
Faythe’s stomach twisted as nausea washed through her. It was her fault—she had told Mrs. Green she would be safe if she didn’t know anything and had sworn to Reuben she would look out for his mother. She had to blink fast to stay present through the waves of dizziness while her thoughts became a whirlwind. She didn’t know what to do, think, or how to react.
Twisting on her heel, she took off.
Her feet slapped loudly against the cobblestone as she sprinted down the streets, barely dodging the pedestrian traffic. Her cloak bellowed behind her, and she didn’t stop for a second even when her lungs and throat caught fire, begging her to rest. She kept running through the grass and all the way up hills, across long fields, until she saw him.
Jakon glanced up from his work, then he did a double take when he spotted her hurling herself over the plowed fields toward him. Dropping his shovel, he briskly walked to meet her.
Faythe came to an abrupt halt in front of him but couldn’t get her words out as the exertion of her long sprint caught up with her all at once. She panted hard and nearly doubled over to throw up, but Jakon grabbed her by the shoulders, his face chalk-white as he frantically looked her over.
“Faythe, what’s wrong?” he asked in panic. “What’s happened?”
She gathered enough breath, and her eyes burned as she said, “Mrs. Green… They took her.”
Jakon released a rush of breath at the information, disturbed but apparently relieved the grave news wasn’t about her or Marlowe. He embraced her as if she might collapse, and she very well might have if he didn’t hold her as she released her grief into his shoulder.
He let Faythe cry and compile herself before pulling back to look at her. “Tell me what happened.”
They retreated into a barn and sat on stacks of hay as Faythe relayed the vague information she knew.
“Shit,” Jakon swore, pouncing to his feet. “What reason would they have for taking her?” He began to pace the floor.
An Heir Comes to Rise Page 20
