Ascension (Facets of Feyrie Book 2)

by Zoe Parker

  Looks like a good match to me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Iza

  My nightmares are no longer just my own. They are quickly becoming the nightmares of others. The ones suffering, the ones in pain. The ones who will not make it here.

  I see it all.

  They’re in many different worlds, all different ages, and races. Some are trying in vain to get here; they won’t make it. Some died while I slept. There aren’t enough people to send them after them. The Fiends are limited in what they can do, and they can’t talk to people. They can only witness.

  Fuck.

  Holding my face in my hands, my heart weeps for them. I feel every second of their pain. And there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it. So many live a life of poverty and abuse. So many of them are hurt by others.

  Feyrie have become insignificant, to everyone.

  They are in even more danger because I called them. Did I make things better or worse for them? That question now haunts me, and if you throw in the anger and crap about my mother. Sleep is not my friend. Not that we’ve ever been friends.

  “You are troubled by things you cannot control.” I shouldn’t be surprised by his voice in the dark, but I am.

  Since when did he start lurking in my bedroom at night? Oh, wait. This isn’t a new thing.

  Yesterday, I spent the entire evening building up my mental shields to keep snoopy pants out. I check them and see they’re still intact, so how does he know? Oh, there’s that thing he said about learning too. How obnoxious of him.

  “This lady gig is shit.” Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I swing my feet to rest on the cold floor.

  “You seem to be doing a good job with it.”

  “I didn’t peg you as a self-esteem coach,” I snap out.

  “I am not. But I am your friend?”

  My lips twitch. He sounds so uncomfortable using that word.

  The weight of him sitting on the bed next to me brings my body up against his. I rest my elbows on my knees and look over at him. His eyes are bright in the dark as they stare at me. The feeling of his body heat soaking through my shirt gives me a strange sort of comfort.

  “I feel it all. And part of me doesn’t want to,” I say into the silence.

  “Stop being a pussy.”

  At his no-nonsense tone, a surprised chuckle barks out of me. And just like that some of the grief fades away. At least for now.

  “Do not let yourself fall victim to guilt that is not yours to carry, Iza. You can understand their suffering, and that is something that is meant to be, but you do not have to live it. You have already lived your own.” He sounds all logical and Phobe-like. I can’t argue with it.

  Still, don’t like it.

  “Fucking prophecy,” I mutter.

  At the mention of it, he shifts a little in his seat. Is Phobe uncomfortable? The idea of that completely amuses me and makes me suspicious at the same time.

  “Iza, has anyone told you more than your specific part of the prophecy?”

  Frowning, I stare at him and think about it. No. I can’t say they have.

  “You need to know the entire thing.”

  “Okay, since you know how it goes, enlighten me, oh great one,” I tease.

  He starts to speak, and as he does, my smile fades.

  Sonofabitch.

  After he gets done talking I sit there a moment and digest everything. It’s a lot to take in and I feel like I’ve been deceived my entire life. Well, I was, but now it’s worse.

  “So, the version I’ve heard my entire life is the wrong version?” He nods at my question. “How does everyone know the prophecy anyhow? They teach it in school or something?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  That’s stupid. Why would you teach your kids something ridiculous like that?

  “Because they believe in it, Iza.”

  “Why did the dark king never sit on the throne, Phobe?”

  He stares at me for a while before answering, “The original king did not need a throne. He is the throne.”

  “So, I can sit on him?” I ask, only half-joking.

  The smile that breaks out on his too-pretty face makes me smile in return. Those damn dimples.

  Which makes me think of another face with a dimple. “Is Knox acting strange to you?” The smile instantly fades and I almost regret asking. Almost.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “I dunno. Something is off with him. I just can’t figure out what. Have you picked anything out of his brain?”

  “Iza, I cannot read Knox.”

  “Do what?”

  “Sometimes creatures possess natural shields that keep me out. Unless I want to hurt them to get in.” He pauses. “I assumed you did not want me hurting Knox to read his mind.”

  “No, no I don’t. Did you get anything off him?”

  Phobe shakes his head. “Iza, I will watch him and see.”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I nod. I’m also going to take my own advice. I’m going to ask him. I stand up and the digital clock on the wall reminds me that it’s three o’clock in the morning.

  Tomorrow. I’ll ask him tomorrow.

  Plopping back down on the bed, I come to rest against Phobe once again. When his arm slides around my back and he rests his hand against my side, I say nothing.

  It feels too damn good to mess it up. Resting my head against his shoulder, I sit there and let him hold me.

  Chapter Twenty

  Phobe

  I am unsure why talking about the prophecy with Iza makes me feel this emotion she calls ‘uncomfortable.’ Her ignorance of it left a bad taste in my mouth. The entire situation does. Iza was kept in the dark about her place in things. I too kept her in the dark—but no longer.

  And with the knowledge of the entire prophecy, she will figure it out, eventually.

  There is no hurry for her to do so, at least tonight. I like sitting here holding her. And if her relaxed state is any indication, she likes it too.

  “So basically, no matter what I do—war is coming?”

  I nod, watching her face and thoughts—those I can see. She built her shields up again—so I cannot see everything in her mind, only bits and pieces of it.

  These shields are better than before. I do not like it. I will remove them, but it will take time. Suspicion burns in my gut. I do not believe that is the only conclusion she came to. Iza is full of shit.

  Jake gave me some insight after I ate him. He had a ‘crush’ on her, an unhealthy one, but there were other people he genuinely cared about. I looked closely at a few of these feelings, because it has been so long since I ate a creature that cared for anything besides themselves, it is enlightening.

  “Cool. Want some ice-cream?”

  Her abrupt topic change can mean many things, and although we are deeply bonded, I cannot easily discover this. Something I will remedy. As I stand up and walk towards the door, in the back of my mind, I go to work on her shields, again. Iza should know I will always get in.

  “Can I eat it off you?” I say, knowing the reaction I will get from her.

  Instantly her face flushes and I feel her skin heat up from across the room. Serves her right. I pause in the doorway. “Are you coming?”

  A breeze ruffles my hair as she runs right by me. Mention food and Iza will always be the first one at the party. Plus, my mentioning anything sexual makes her run like a scalded cat.

  One day I will do more than mention. Soon.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Phobe

  On the following weekend, her group of misfits decides to have a special dinner for Iza. Merrily, they are scurrying back and forth like ants between the Sidhe and the lake outside of it.

  Iza’s triumph over the usurper gave them the idea for it. What the lingire did not realize was that Iza intended to feed the woman to the people she treated poorly.

  Iza’s people know what she planned to do. She is a practical person. She knows the ancien
t customs of the Feyrie: enemies are eaten. This barbeque is symbolic.

  Although it is not her dinner plans that concern me. And yes, I admit I am concerned about her. Her nights are more restless than before. Since she started sharing the dreams—the pain, the suffering of the Feyrie—sleep eludes her.

  Not that she slept restfully before, but now there is nothing more than brief naps. Instead of sleeping, she talks to me or watches TV. Or explains why people wear socks and use the facedbook. Those two I still do not understand.

  But she is helping me understand other things.

  Sometimes, we take walks in the woods outside the Sidhe, and she pulls me along by my hand, smiling while she tells me stories about the people in the Sidhe.

  At first, I felt awkward and was not sure what reactions to have.

  At some point, I started liking these moments with her. Seeking them out when before I would have hidden in the darkness. There but not, watching and not participating.

  Like I am watching now. She looks there… but not.

  On wooden but persistent feet, I cross to her, letting the darkness hiding me drop away. Quickly, before I can change my mind, I sit in the chair beside her at the table. Her small hand sliding into mine is a comfort to us both.

  Iza is nervous. Suddenly she smiles and looks at me.

  ‘It’ll be a while before things are ready. Come with me,’ she says.

  Pulling me by the hand, we cross through the backyard to where the forest is thickest. I am curious what she is up to, because she is absolutely up to something. I cannot breach her barriers fully—yet—to determine the exact nature of her thoughts.

  The feeling of her mind fully opening to me is like a blast of heat on my body. I rush in. I do not like her blocking me out. Sinking into the familiar comfort of her chaotic mind, the very essence of her, I smile when I see what is there.

  The Sidhe communicates with her exclusively. And this land is just as much a part of it as the inside.

  ‘You have dimples. Did you know that?’ She pokes one with her finger.

  Then she too smiles, exposing a single dimple in her right cheek that I am now suddenly curious about. But she is just gone before I can act on that impulse, leaving her laughter echoing in my mind.

  Chit.

  Feeling the rush of the hunt hit me, I wait, tensed to move. Giving her a head start, because she wants to hunt. This time, with the people camped just inside the borders of the Sidhe, because she is worried about my appetites not being met.

  Iza wants to feed me.

  Feeling the distance between us growing, I pursue her.

  We hunt together well, perfectly coordinated. She goes left, and I go right without a word being spoken between us. To be so in tune… is rather incredible.

  And something to think on.

  She is standing, staring at a dead tree a puzzled expression on her face.

  ‘This tree shouldn’t be dead. Something is wrong.’

  ‘Perhaps it is the fault of our prey?’ I ask her, knowing what it is we hunt.

  ‘No, they couldn’t do this kind of damage to the Sidhe. Something else did it. But it doesn’t know what.’ By the it, I am assuming she means the Sidhe. ‘Can you sense anything about it?’

  I shake my head. The Sidhe and I are alike but also very different. The Sidhe is hers.

  ‘I’ll have to do some research. Something is definitely off. But it doesn’t feel like an emergency. I’ll deal with it after we have a bit of fun.’ She smiles that toothy smile I like so much and jerks her head towards the reason we are out here.

  Dinner.

  Our prey is close. Seven heartbeats. Six owners of those heartbeats are practically Magikless, so they must be the guards. The seventh one is the only one of any concern. At least about Iza.

  The guards are easy. They do not see me coming, and the blood lock is too preoccupied with Iza to notice me. Iza, who is standing there, out in the open, looking at him—studying him. Knowing him.

  “I smell my kind on you. How many Feyrie lives have you claimed for the small bits of power you have?” She is not wrong; it is how a blood lock sustains their power. Blood, death. “Well, let’s see how you like it.”

  I walk up behind him. The Darkness inside me is salivating for the Magikal essence.

  With a smile, she continues, “I’m sure you remember the Magistrate’s former slave, the one they called Beast? That’s not his name, but I thought you might recognize it that way. Because you see, I recognize you. You’ve seen my back flayed to the bone, haven’t you, monocle man?”

  This makes it even better.

  The second he looks over his shoulder at me, his face pale with fear, I strike.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Iza

  “It’s going to be a long road, isn’t it? I mean, seriously, we can’t go longer than a couple of days before someone tries to kill us,” I say to my companions.

  “Tell me more about how I’m supposed to do this prophecy shit.” My Dad laughs and points in front of us, and Phobe looks away to hide a small smile.

  “What?” I don’t get the funny. I feel left out.

  “Why didn’t you say you wanted to know about the prophecy, Iza? I would’ve gladly given you my notes!” Jameson exclaims, coming to sit on the bench across from us.

  Oh, now I see their amusement. Jameson. He’s so damn excited about it, the weirdo.

  “Sure, Jameson, let’s have it,” I say, knowing he’ll tell me regardless.

  “Your part in the prophecy, simply put, is to be the Shepherd of the people. You are to gather them, heal them, unite them. And finally prepare them for the coming of the dark king. One of your titles is also the Heart of Darkness, or better known as the heart of the king—the original one.” He takes a breath. “Anyway, as it states, you will awaken the king who will fight for the Feyrie in a war of massive proportion.” He speaks so fast I’m not sure he’s even breathing while he talks.

  But I still catch something.

  “Wait, what does it mean awaken?”

  Jameson ignores my question and continues.

  “Your role has predominantly been a role delegated to a wise woman. A much older wise woman. And besides pulling the people together to some degree, she played no large role in the scheme of things.” A flip of the notebook page.

  He continues, “Now it’s different. You aren’t a queen. You’re more important than that. When the king awakens you will stand at his side with your guard the Nightmares, your people. But—"

  I hate buts. At least this kind.

  “If you die, the king will kill everyone. Not just our enemies.”

  “So, you’re telling me, if I die—everyone does?”

  Jameson nods exuberantly.

  I look at Phobe, really look at him. Because call me crazy—which is true too—I think he’s the king. After a moment of looking at me with those eyes that make my stomach do flips he nods confirming it.

  Sonofabitch.

  Surprised but not surprised, I lean my elbows in the table. Phobe mentioned a war before, but what kind of war are we talking here? Like a hundred against a hundred, or are we talking a full-on world war? The shit we’re doing now is annoying but small. Incredibly small in the scheme of things. I don’t like admitting it, but that lingire bitch is right, most of the people here aren’t soldiers.

  I look at Phobe again.

  ‘Just how much damage are you capable of doing, Phobe?’

  ‘Enough.’

  That isn’t an answer, and he knows it, but it says a lot. There’s got to be a way to protect these people from certain death.

  “Jameson, didn’t you say that the schoth were preparing for an invasion or something before we got out of there?”

  “Yes, they were talking about trying to conquer another realm. The reasons I don’t understand. It’s one that has no Magikal significance, so you’d think they wouldn’t worry about it,” he answers.

  But they are, which means I need to
know why. Mentally, I add it to an ever-growing list.

  “When?”

  “Not for like ten years or so. The high king is supposedly losing power, so they are all squabbling over that. That will take time. The schoth don’t move quickly at anything.”

  That’s the truth.

  “How long do you think it will take them to come after us here?” I ask, thinking—and maybe hoping, that it’s going to be at least a few years. Precious time that we need.

  “It’s hard to give any kind of specific time frame. Anyone with a chance at the throne cannot leave their base defenseless. That gives us quite a while,” he answers.

  Yeah, just what I hoped.

  I go deep inside myself to the pulse of the Sidhe and ask it a single question. How strong does Phobe need to be? The Web rings with its musical answer.

  Stronger than he is now, much stronger.

  “You know, rumor has it that a few former council members are floating about from the last king. Not just those pretending to be relatives. I’ll hazard a guess that we will meet them one day soon,” Jameson muses.

  ‘I’m assuming these are the ones that sold him out?’ I ask Phobe in my mind.

  ‘Of course.’

  “Interesting,” I murmur.

  It won’t be a pretty sight when I meet them. If they’ll betray their most loyal protector, they will betray anyone. It will make some things simpler to take care of them before they can wiggle their way in and destroy people like the cancer they are.

  ‘Your mind surprises me at times, Iza. I see great compassion in you. You have this huge streak of practicality and then a small line of viciousness that matches my own.’ At his words, I slowly I turn to look at Phobe.

  He needs to feed more, to get stronger and be at the peak of his power. I’m not sure how the prophecy translates the way it does, or how I ended up in it. But I can see him being some long-lost king— which I’m going to ask him about later—but me being his heart I’m not sure of that. I know I mean something to him, just like he does me, but I don’t know what that means.