A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2

by C. C. Peñaranda

  “Don’t you have little girls to go scare?” she replied, hiding her intimidation.

  He scoffed. “None as amusing as you.”

  “The last time you underestimated me, Varis, you ended up on your knees in front of the king,” she stated, deliberately leaving out his title, which she knew he liked to hear to assert his rank. It wasn’t wise to poke the bear, but she couldn’t deny it was mildly entertaining despite the fear he struck within her.

  She didn’t have to look at him to feel the ripples of his rage.

  “Let’s see you flaunt your ability once you find out what the king has planned for it tonight,” he taunted, his tone playfully dark.

  She didn’t have time to reply as they rounded the last corner to the throne room. The doors were already wide open, with the usual guards posted outside. They didn’t even glance her way as she passed and headed straight inside without a faltering step. Varis steered away from her as she walked a straight line down the great hall.

  Her pulse picked up speed as she took in the formal setting. Then a feeling of dread struck her heart still. The king sat proudly on his throne while Nik and Tauria sat at their places on either side. There were only two reasons why the monarchs gathered together: for ceremonial events…and judgments.

  Faythe’s blood ran cold as she concluded the event’s purpose with her first scan of the hall. There were several other fae, both male and female, scattered down the sides near the colonnades. Other court members, she assumed. In front of the dais, on their knees, was a frantic and terrified young human. He was so out of place with his tattered brown clothes and unwashed appearance. Just a boy, likely no older than twelve, and too thin to be from a home where he was properly fed. Faythe’s heart broke at the sight. She wanted desperately to go to his aid, but she had to be smart. Causing a scene now would only end badly for both of them, so she passed the human without another glance and came to a stop in front of the king.

  “Your Majesty.” She reluctantly bowed. While she got away without it in close quarters, she knew better than to test her lack of respect in front of an audience.

  “Everyone out except the guards,” the king announced.

  Shuffling feet and murmured voices sounded around the great hall. Faythe took the opportunity to cast a glance at Nik to see if she could get any hint of explanation, but he refused to meet her eye. Her panic only surged while he stared off to the side with a tense jaw, and she glanced at his white-knuckle grip against the arm of his chair. She tried Tauria, who was already staring at her with a disturbingly apologetic look that twisted her stomach.

  When all that was left were the quiet sobs of the human boy behind, Faythe’s ears rang in anticipation. Finally, Orlon spoke again.

  “The boy has been accused of consorting with Valgard against his king.”

  Faythe swallowed to wet her bone-dry throat. “It sounds as if you have already cast your verdict, Your Majesty. Why am I here?” she asked, struggling to keep her words from wavering.

  A cruel smile played on the king’s lips, and it pierced Faythe with heavy dread. “Did you not say you could make my enemies confess in front of me?”

  She knew the king to be wicked and merciless, but she didn’t take him as one to enjoy pointless entertainment. No—not like Captain Varis who reveled in such games. She had no choice but to play along, however. It wouldn’t be wise to question him.

  Faythe kept her mask of impassive confidence. “Very well.” She turned, and the prisoner immediately locked eyes with her in a silent, desperate plea to the only other of his kind in the room. His relief was misplaced as he had no idea what she was or what she was about to do, which made her sick with guilt in a damning way she’d never felt before. Faythe pushed her own gods-awful feelings aside and dove into his mind before she could hesitate.

  His emotions hit her in an overwhelming dose. She had to fight against letting them physically affect her. There was so much fear Faythe clamped her fists shut and then clenched her teeth to prevent the tears that pricked her eyes. For once, she wasn’t sure if it was her own anger or his terror that made her heart pound faster. She tried to keep focused, to find the information the king was looking for and bring it to the surface, but it was a struggle, as the boy’s thoughts and emotions where an erratic mess.

  So she took away his fear.

  He visibly relaxed, and it soothed his mind enough for her to find her way around clearly.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said into his mind, and his eyes widened as he heard it. “Is there anyone else at risk?” she asked, trying to find something to atone for her actions. If she could save others without the king’s knowledge, she could live with the stain on her soul for doing his bidding.

  “It wasn’t Valgard.”

  Faythe tried to keep her face placid as she heard his response, but she couldn’t disguise the slight frown that creased her forehead in confusion.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re looking for some kind of stone and wanted us to find it. But it wasn’t Valgard soldiers.”

  Faythe’s breathing turned ragged at the information. She didn’t want to believe the item that flashed in her mind. Some kind of stone. Suddenly, the Riscillius set in the pommel at her hip weighed heavier. Faythe shook the daunting thought. It couldn’t be one and the same.

  “Then who?”

  “Today, spymaster,” the king drawled, bored.

  She didn’t have much time, but she needed the answer. Faythe trembled with building apprehension.

  “They stopped us when we were playing in the forest. Their uniforms were all-black, but…”

  “Perhaps I overestimated your ability.”

  Faythe ground her teeth at Orlon’s impatient, mocking tone. Holding the boy’s stare, she forced the words right from his mouth—exactly what the king wanted to hear and a detailed recollection of what he’d been up to since the encounter. As a slight consolation, she also used her ability to fool the king by withholding the information about his friends and not sharing his suspicions that the soldiers weren’t from Valgard.

  “Very good,” he said in playful malice.

  Faythe broke the boy’s stare to meet the eyes of the king. She had been foolishly naïve to ever hope that was all he wanted—a display of talent and to relish in his control over her, even against her own kind. It wasn’t enough, and she heard the command that crushed her spirit and darkened her soul before it was even spoken.

  “Now, kill him.”

  The boy sobbed loudly. Without Faythe to help, he was out of his mind with fear as the king gave the order.

  The words rang like an echo in her ears, over and over, as time seemed to slow. She wanted to beg, plead, and was prepared to fall to her knees and accept her own execution before she would willingly follow through with such a heinous, evil act. This was a test to see if Orlon held a tight enough leash; the one thing he could ask of her that would solidify her allegiance to him and be a permanent branding on her soul. Faythe knew she had been brought here for a bigger purpose than to show off party tricks and repeat the knowledge he’d likely already gained from another Nightwalker.

  As she looked down at the helpless, terrified young boy, fated to die regardless of her involvement…it dawned on her.

  She had to be the one to do it.

  “Your Majesty, I don’t think the task should—” Nik began in an attempt to offer salvation. Faythe wanted to embrace him for trying.

  “As you wish,” she cut in before he could save her humanity.

  She felt the eyes of all three royals in front of her snap in her direction, but she held only those of the king. Not as an obedient servant, but to show he would not break her.

  Without another word, she turned back to the boy shaking violently against the cold marble. He began to plead for his life, and she made herself numb to the cries, or she would never be able to carry it through.

  “And, Faythe, I don’t want it to be painless,” the king sa
ng behind her. ”The punishment for treason deserves to be felt.”

  Her nails cut into her palms with how hard she fought against damning all the consequences and killing the king instead. He’d no doubt learned to barricade his mind against her, but he considered her no threat with a sword in a castle of fae and allowed her be armed like the rest of the guards at all times. Unknown to him, she was half-fae, and her reckless, rage-fueled thoughts dared her to attempt the maneuver and plunge her blade through his chest.

  The king would meet the end he deserved, but not today.

  Faythe didn’t waste any time in seizing the boy’s mind once again. She immediately switched off his fear and would take his pain too when the time came.

  “Who did you see in the woods?” she asked once more, determined to make his life count for something. She could save the others before the king got to them.

  “I don’t want to die here.”

  Tears rolled down the boy’s cheek, and Faythe fought against her own at the sadness in his voice. She took him out of the cold, strange hall, made the fae disappear, and instead enfolded the scene of his home around him, filling it with the people he loved. The boy instantly calmed, and she felt his mind at peace as she made him forget where he was and that he was about to meet the end of his tragically short life.

  As much as it tore apart her heart, she only accepted the role of executioner because she knew she was the only one who could offer him a pain-free death and this last gift of seeing his family. She made a scream tear out his throat, and the boy fell with his back to the ground in an illusion of torture. Next, she made his body contort and wither on the floor with cries that echoed sickeningly around the hall, all for the king’s pleasure. In his mind, the boy was exactly where he deserved to be: completely unaware of his true surroundings and without an ounce of hurt or fear.

  “Who did you see?” she tried gently once more, now his mind was at peace.

  In his head, the boy smiled at her as if he knew the mercy she had given him in place of whatever brutal, agonizing death would have befallen him. “I recognized one of the soldiers. I’d seen him before,” the boy said, then he glanced to the vision of a delicate woman. “I can be with my mother now. She has come for me.”

  Faythe looked to the small brunette woman, too young to have had her life taken from her, and realized the boy knew everything he was seeing was an illusion. She had failed to find the detail that gave it away. He was content, happy even, and she supposed her mistake had turned out to be the best comfort she could have given him, showing the boy not who he would lose, but who he would be reunited with.

  “It was not Valgard. The fae was a guard from Farrowhold.”

  Faythe felt struck where she stood, not sure if she had heard him right. It couldn’t be true. All the guards of Farrowhold answered to the king. What reason would he have for killing his subjects if he was the one terrorizing them for information within his own kingdom? It didn’t make any sense, but she was in the boy’s mind and would know if it was a lie.

  His eyes met hers once more, and he showed her exactly who he saw that night. Faythe didn’t recognize the fae whose hood was pulled down to cover most of his face, but she committed the image to memory while also noting every one of the boy’s friends who were with him that night, hoping she wasn’t too late to get them to safety.

  “Will it hurt?”

  Faythe was snapped back from her own thoughts, which reeled at the new information and what it possibly meant, by the boy’s question. The final task she had to perform once again dawned. She could hardly get any words past the painful lump in her throat and shook her head, mustering a small, warm smile in her gut-wrenching sorrow.

  “Just like falling asleep,” she whispered.

  He matched her smile as if in thanks. It only tore her heart deeper.

  “I’m ready to go now.”

  The boy’s mother walked over to him, and they joined hands. Blood pounded in Faythe’s ears, sending her pulse into a frantic sprint. She begged for forgiveness within herself, but it did little to ease the dark grasp she felt encasing her heart. What she was about to do was irreversible, a permanent branding on her soul, but she couldn’t afford to be selfish when the boy’s alternative death at the king’s hands didn’t bear imagining.

  Faythe shut out her screaming thoughts, which fought against her movement as she raised an open palm—more for the king’s show than anything. She felt the pressure pulsing, building, right there in her fingertips as if she held the essence of his mind in her physical grasp, a fragile sphere of thin glass to shatter at her mercy.

  To everyone in the hall, the boy was still rolling and crying out in agony, begging for it to end. But in his mind, he was at peace, in no pain, and staring happily into his lost mother’s eyes. Holding that image as the last he would remember, Faythe closed her fist with a sharp twist. She felt his death like a scorching pain in her gut and winced, her teeth clenching so hard she thought they might break. Only for seconds.

  The boy and his mother froze still. Then, slowly, their image and the scene broke off into fragments, floating upward before dissipating into nothing, and the throne room came into view around her once more. His body fell limp against the white marble floor. Then silence settled, save for the pounding of her own heart.

  Faythe took a moment to breathe consciously, feeling the rapid rise of bile in her throat. She kept her quivering fists clamped tight and reeled back the all-consuming rage that could drive her to do something reckless. She didn’t look at the boy, motionless against the cold floor, to preserve the picture of his last moments in his own home with his mother, instead of in a large foreign room surrounded by strangers. She turned to the king, barely able to contain her hatred.

  “I’m sure one of your other servants can take it from here.”

  The king chuckled darkly. “Impressive, spymaster. You’re more ruthless than I gave you credit for. My son may come to learn a thing or two from you.”

  In his twisted mind, it was a compliment.

  Faythe had never been more disgusted with herself. She kept her face impassive and refused to look at either of her friends for fear of the judgment and horror in their eyes. To them and every guard in the room, it would have looked as if she truly did mentally torture the helpless boy before mercilessly crushing his mind.

  “If that was all, Your Majesty,” she said, monotonous, desperate to retreat back to her rooms before her mask of stone-hearted arrogance fell apart completely.

  King Orlon waved a lazy hand in dismissal, and she didn’t hesitate for a second, spinning on her heel and not daring to glance down.

  A young boy, one of her people, whose life she had taken.

  Although she gave him the only merciful end and the last gift of seeing his mother…she felt it. With every new thump of the heart in her chest, she felt the darkness beating with it.

  Chapter 11

  Nikalias

  The echoes of the human boy’s screams resonated chillingly in the prince’s ears even after he was granted leave from the throne room following Faythe’s brutal display. He couldn’t fault her—or judge her—for doing what the king had asked. If she refused, Nik didn’t want to think about the repercussions of her disobedience. She was already walking a thin line with his father, and perhaps she was starting to come to her senses and see that the only way to ensure her survival was to do as he asked.

  Her agreement still shocked him, however. Nik was fully prepared to say and do whatever it took to get her out of it. He knew it would be the one task the king could ask of her that Faythe would refuse, more likely to surrender her own life before taking that of another.

  Perhaps she had reached breaking point.

  Nik found himself almost jogging to her rooms to make sure she wasn’t self-destructing after the horrific execution she was forced to carry out. He knocked on her door a little more eagerly than he intended and waited for her invitation to enter. When only silence came in response,
in a surge of panic, he twisted the handle and hastily stepped inside anyway.

  The room was intact, so she hadn’t destroyed anything physically in an act of rage against herself and the king. But it was her mental state he was worried about, and Nik would gladly let her wreck the place if she needed to.

  He started to panic further when he didn’t immediately spot Faythe in any of the adjoining rooms—until he felt a breeze from the slightly ajar glass doors leading onto the balcony and spotted a silhouette protruding from one of the pillars on top of the stone rail. He walked out carefully since she could very well fall off the high edge in fright.

  Faythe sat with her back against a stone pillar, arms keeping her knees tucked up, while she stared away from him and over the brightly lit city. Night sky surrounded them. It was bitterly cold even with the jacket he wore, but Faythe had removed hers and sat in only a thin shirt and pants with bare feet.

  “You’ll freeze out here,” Nik said quietly, stopping a few paces in front of her. He kept far enough away to give her space, but close enough he was sure he could grab her if she decided to topple herself off the balcony. He couldn’t comprehend what effect the events of the night had on her and how sensitive she would still be. Faythe could do the most unexpected things in the heat of her emotions sometimes.

  She was silent for a while and didn’t turn her head to look at him. He cautiously stepped closer. When he was certain she wasn’t going to cast him out or do anything foolish, he hoisted himself onto the flat of the stone rail and twisted around to dangle his legs off the edge and stare out over the inner city with her.

  “He never felt any of the pain and fear you saw,” she said, achingly quiet. It broke him to see the suffering on her face.