“Why do you call me that?” she snapped. It was not the first time she had heard the name in these woods.
“Because it is what you are, golden-eyed child. Your power is what the land has been waiting for.”
Faythe’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of my power?”
“Those with abilities of the mind among the fae are bloodline-blessed by Marvellas, the Spirit of Souls, from her time as a Spirit of your world. When she joined you, her direct human descendants also inherited powerful forms of her gift,” she explained, her tone and expression unchanging. The Spirit’s eyes were the lightest shade of blue, almost white, and Faythe’s gold eyes were transfixed.
Faythe could almost laugh at the absurdity of the story, but it didn’t feel appropriate. Instead, she gathered herself enough to say, “My mother?”
“Also a descendant of Marvellas. She thought she could be the one to fulfil the prophecy, but she did not have the same power as you, Faythe. I have waited centuries for you.”
Faythe felt sick. Her mother had known about all this? The watch, the temple, their abilities…
“Did she know…about me?” She wasn’t sure she could handle the answer.
“Yes. And she tried to take your place, but it could never be.”
Faythe breathed sharp air. “She was here?”
“She knew of a prophecy—that one conceived from both a bloodline-blessed and direct descendant of Marvellas would hold enough power in their blood to wield the Tripartite Ruin and rid Ungardia of the evil that grows. She came to me when she learned of your conception.”
Her head pounded trying to take in the crushing new revelation. “My father?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.
“A bloodline-blessed.”
Which only confirmed one other thing that brought the world down on Faythe. Her father was a Nightwalker—and a fae.
“I think you have it wrong. I can’t be—”
“I don’t have much longer, Faythe. This is the only way I can speak to you directly for now, but I still have ways of communicating with your world. It is not by chance you come to me tonight. I have been working through your companion to help guide you here when the time was right.”
Dawning flooded over Faythe. “Marlowe?”
The Spirit raised her chin, and Faythe braced herself for what she was about to be told.
“She is an oracle. She has the gift of foresight through the Spirits. She is your knowledge.”
The word repeated over and over in Faythe’s mind, and she swayed with the weight of it. Oracle. She didn’t believe such a thing existed—not in this realm, and certainly not in the form of a harmless, beautifully natured human. Was anything legend anymore? Or had every inconceivable myth once derived from some distorted truth? Faythe herself was living proof of the defied odds, and Marlowe…
Gods above.
“The Riscillius was cast into your sword by Marlowe with my influence,” Aurialis explained. “Long ago, your mother sold the stone when I told her what you were destined for, hoping you would never come to find me. What she didn’t know was that The Looking Glass would sit idle in the blacksmiths until a curious young woman would stumble upon it in her father’s workshop. One who would cross your path and forge a great bond. When you learned of your ability, it was time to set the rest in motion. The making of your blade was not the first encounter between your two friends.”
Faythe gasped at the knowledge Jakon was involved too. This couldn’t be true...
“Their paths briefly crossed before, and in friendship, Marlowe offered Jakon a price that would allow him to afford the weapon. Lumarias—The Key. Even the oracle remains in the dark about the extent of her ability, but in time, she will understand. As will you, Faythe.”
The world shifted from under her. Faythe fell to her knees, her sword clattering to the ground, unable to trust she wouldn’t pass out from standing. Her thoughts screamed louder than any words, the tornado of emotion at the revelation about herself and her female companion threatening to shatter her completely.
“I am no one,” she whispered.
“You are the last hope.”
“Hope for what?” she snapped a little nastier than intended.
The Spirit remained impassive. “There is much for you to discover, but you are on the right path. You have already befriended knowledge, courage, and wisdom… Resilience, strength, light, and darkness will find you soon, and together with your power, you will see the world righted.” Aurialis started to fade, and Faythe shot to her feet.
“Wait! You’ve left me with more questions than answers,” she called.
“We have no more time right now, but we will see each other again soon. The stones require twenty-eight suns to charge and be strong enough to pierce the veil. Do not be fearful, Faythe, and be wary of colorless eyes.”
With those last words, the Spirit Aurialis faded completely.
Faythe remained in the circle of light a moment longer until, suddenly, it dropped, and she had to blink rapidly as her eyes stung at the sudden dullness. She met Marlowe’s ocean-blue orbs, and they both stood, silently staring at each other in bewilderment.
The blacksmith, the timid bookworm, her closest female companion…an oracle. Faythe didn’t know what Marlowe already knew about herself—whether she knew the term for her gift that put so many things into clarity—but it was time for Faythe to reveal her own secrets to her.
Or, more importantly, to find out what the blacksmith already knew.
Chapter 38
Neither woman spoke as they sat on the stone steps of the temple. Faythe tuned in to the serenity of the woodland around them to organize her thoughts, dizzy with where to start on her storm of questions and explanations. The silence also allowed her to calm the raging emotions that put her on the edge of eruption. Though she feared her composure would be short-lived when the inevitable conversation with the blacksmith would lash her with harsh truths and inconceivable answers.
The temple had sealed itself once again. The marks Marlowe drew had indeed faded away and erased themselves from memory.
All this time, her friend had been cradling her own unexplainable ability… Above everything else, Faythe felt guilty for being too consumed by her own problems to see that Marlowe too was suffering in silence, unaware of what her knowledge and foresight truly meant.
Marlowe dared to speak first. “You saw Aurialis, didn’t you?” It was a statement rather than a question; Faythe didn’t need to confirm what the blacksmith already knew. Her blue eyes bore into her gold ones, but she didn’t balk at their intensity.
“You knew I would come here tonight.” Faythe didn’t leave the fact open to denial.
Marlowe looked away from her then and wrung her hands together nervously. Faythe kept her focus on steadying her heart rate, which had picked up an uneven tempo in anticipation of the difficult conversation ahead.
“I’ve known a lot of things,” Marlowe began quietly. “Some things, I have no explanation for. I see visions—mostly in my dreams, but sometimes in the day too. I can’t always be sure what they mean until events happen that put them into context and I know exactly what to expect next.” Her face crinkled in deep concentration as she tried to verbalize that which she couldn’t make full sense of yet.
“Do you know what you are?” Faythe asked in little more than a whisper.
Marlowe turned to look at her and gave a helpless shake of her head in response. The terrified glint in her eye cracked Faythe’s heart. She had the answer to the blacksmith’s burning question. Aurialis had told her, and she felt grateful to be the one to relieve her of the most terrifying feeling of all…
Not knowing your own self.
Faythe was all too familiar with the once overwhelming daunting notion. She had found solace and guidance in the form of a fae guard. In the form of Nik.
She took her friend’s hand, and Marlowe’s shoulders loosened slightly as she flashed a weak smile. “Your knowledge far
surpasses the books you read.” Faythe huffed a laugh in awe as she saw Marlowe in a whole new perspective. “You have a gift, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Aurialis told me…” Faythe paused to take a deep breath, and the blacksmith’s hand tightened in her grip, her eyes widening a fraction. “She told me…you’re an oracle, Marlowe. As insane as it sounds, I’m not surprised by the concept—not with you.”
The blacksmith was quietly stunned. Mouth popping open, she averted her gaze from Faythe as she mulled over the revelation. She didn’t look horrified or fearful or worried. Rather, she looked…content. Faythe could almost see the internal cogs at work as Marlowe pieced together loose ends to explain her visions. She could only imagine how frustrating it must be for her friend to see so much, know so much, and not be able to make any sense of it.
Finally, the blacksmith inhaled a long breath, straightening as she let it out through her nose. Her face brightened in liberation at the light shed on her gift; the purpose she now had for it.
“I think a part of me always knew I was different, yet I didn’t want to believe it. I’ve read many, many things—myths, legends, histories—but I could never comprehend that any of it might apply to me. I’m just… I’m just…”
“Incredible,” Faythe finished for her, beaming in admiration.
Marlowe gave a timid smile, but then a sad frown creased her forehead. “I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Faythe. I knew about the Riscillius—what it really was—from the moment I translated its mundane name, The Looking Glass. And I knew exactly where it was. I cast it into your sword, though I didn’t know at the time what it would come to be used for. I didn’t know about you.” Marlowe fidgeted with the folds of her tunic, still unable to meet her eye as she told the story.
Faythe stayed silent, absorbing every word.
“Then, after that day you came to me at the compound, the visions started to get more frequent. But they came in riddles.” Marlowe nodded her head to where Lumarias lay across the step below them. “I cast the marks of the three Spirits into that sword before I even knew you would be its wielder. Then, when we met…I can’t explain it, Faythe, but I knew it was important you learned about the Spirits. You needed to believe.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice as it cracked slightly.
A pained look flashed across the ocean of Marlowe’s eyes. “It wasn’t for me to tell you; only to guide you. As I’ve said, everything has an order, and there are far bigger fates at stake than just ours. I can only interpret the visions and offer guidance in the right direction. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I kept it from you, everything I truly knew, but I hope you can forgive me…and trust me.” The blacksmith went rigid under her touch, bracing for Faythe’s possible rejection.
Faythe felt the need to squeeze her hand in reassurance and consolation but didn’t respond with words to confirm nothing could make her turn her back on her. Something was burning a hole through her chest that she had to get out first.
“Do you know…do you know about…about my—?”
“Your abilities?” Marlowe said, and Faythe recoiled in wide-eyed shock. Before she could say anything, the blacksmith continued. “Not at first. Not for a long time, actually. Then one day, I felt compelled to read an ancient text about prophecies and mythical abilities. It was fascinating, but I thought nothing more of it. Then a few days went by, and you showed up at the compound…asking about the one thing I couldn’t get off my mind: the Nightwalkers’ higher power. That was when it clicked. I’d once read a story about the Heirs of Marvellas—the gold-eyed children. Humans with a unique talent: control of the mind, both conscious and unconscious.” Marlowe’s eyes twinkled in disbelief, and Faythe shifted nervously. “By the Spirits, Faythe. I couldn’t believe it at first. It’s still hard to wrap my head around. You’re a miracle.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she had to avert her eyes. “At least I’m not the only one. I knew you were a lover of books and wonders, Marlowe, but you had to blow all expectations out of the water and be an oracle? It’s a tad overdramatic, don’t you think?”
Marlowe laughed—a genuine, humble laugh that lifted the heavy weight in the air that threatened to suffocate Faythe if they stayed so somber. It elated her to see the wide grin on the blacksmith’s face, and she knew they didn’t need verbal acceptances then; their souls were fused. Faythe could see it now clearer than ever. They’d both defied the odds to exist. It was a relief Marlowe already knew about her abilities. Faythe didn’t feel like such a freak of nature. She would find a way to tell Jakon about them too—about both of them. After everything he had gone through, everything he had sacrificed for them, he deserved to know.
One final question battered her mind restlessly, almost painfully, as she fought against forming the words. She didn’t know if she could handle the answer or even want to know it. But the only other person who might possibly be able to give it to her—other than Aurialis—was Marlowe with her gift.
When the silence settled, she lost the fight and blurted, “Do you know who my father is?”
Marlowe gave her a grim look. Faythe’s blood pounded in her ears as if trying to block her from hearing the blacksmith’s response. When her friend shook her head, Faythe’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t be sure what was more crippling: the disappointment, or the relief. A part of her longed to discover her true heritage; her fae heritage. But an even bigger part, she realized, wanted to remain blissfully ignorant for a while longer.
Marlowe spoke. “I don’t know who he is, but I do believe it’s not yet the time for you to find out. You have to trust in the order.”
Screw the dammed order!
It suddenly made her anger boil that perhaps nothing was in her control anymore. It twisted her gut to feel like she wasn’t dealing the cards in her own life. She may be an Heir of Marvellas, whatever that truly meant, but she also felt the tether to another ethereal being—to Aurialis. She had tied herself to the very roots of this woodland in her desperation to gain the yucolites and save her friend. It had been a trap, and she now felt in a tug-of-war between two all-powerful beings.
“I need to gain access to the castle,” Faythe said, her tone turning dark.
Marlowe’s brow furrowed.
She raised her chin in a flare of determination, staring out over the vibrant, glittering woodland. Despite its beauty, she was intent on freeing her soul from its prison.
“I made a bargain to get the yucolites that saved Jakon. I need to return Aurialis’s ruin to her temple…and it’s within the castle.” She dared a look at her friend, though she didn’t seem at all surprised by the foolhardy errand. Faythe’s brow relaxed and rose in realization. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
Marlowe smiled sheepishly. “I knew your path would lead you to the royal household. That is all,” she admitted.
Faythe huffed a laugh. Her friend would always be one step ahead of them all, solving conflicts that were yet to arise.
“There’s one person we both know who is cunning enough to know of a route in. Who happens to work for a high household that has unsavory dealings with the fae beyond the wall?”
A light switched on, and Faythe slowly turned her head away, reluctantly grumbling, “Ferris Archer.”
“My girlfriend is a what? And my best friend… Gods above.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to open up to Jakon while he was still in recovery. Sitting across the table from the two women, he looked even paler than he did in death. But he had been insistent, and they didn’t want to delay the inevitable any longer.
Faythe’s thigh hurt from gripping it so tight in her nerves, anxious about Jakon’s reaction to the unveiling of her ability—then of Marlowe’s. The double dose of shock made his emotions too hard to read. Faythe felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting for confirmation he didn’t think of her any differently, didn’t hate her for keeping it fro
m him, and didn’t fear her for what she was.
It was selfish of her to only think of herself in the painfully tense wait, but Marlowe being an oracle with the gift of foresight was far less intrusive and deadly compared to what dwelled under her own skin.
“So you really went all this time without realizing what you were?” Jakon asked at last, looking directly at her. She supposed, above Marlowe’s gift, it was even harder for him to believe the woman he had spent a decade living with had turned out to harbor such a lethal ability. She could only imagine the shock of it. But he remained curious, and it was a relief he wasn’t displaying any distaste or horror toward her.
She shook her head sheepishly. “Once Nik explained it, you can imagine my reaction. It didn’t make sense, but at the same time…it did.”
Jakon shifted, his face turning defensive, and she knew exactly what triggered it before he spoke. “So you and this fae guard…” He trailed off with a hint of wariness.
Faythe sighed. “His name is Nik. And I didn’t intend for anything to happen between us, but it did.” Her eyes turned pleading. “I don’t expect you to like it, but it’s my choice.”
His face softened, and he nodded. “Whatever makes you happy, Faythe. But he should know, fae or not…I’ll kick his ass if he hurts you.”
Faythe stifled a laugh at the ridiculous image of Jakon and Nik having it out with each other on a sparring field. She had no doubt Nik would be the victor, but with Jakon’s courage and determination, it would at least be worthy entertainment.
“Have you ever…you know, read my mind?” he asked with a wince.
Faythe’s face fell. “Once,” she admitted, recalling the day she infringed upon both their thoughts. “When I came home late a couple of weeks ago… What you said about me being selfish, Jak—I only wanted to know if you truly meant it. So I looked into both of you, only on the surface.” A sad look passed his face. “But never again since. I won’t ever do it without your permission, I promise,” she said firmly.
An Heir Comes to Rise Page 26
