“I don’t like keeping secrets from her. This…” Nik trailed off, struggling to comprehend the revelation. Reylan sympathized as he’d spent weeks in turmoil after discovering the fact during his first trip to High Farrow. “She deserves to know.”
The general nodded. “Agreed.” The cowardly part of him was glad not to be the only one who knew. Perhaps when the blow landed, it could be softened by the prince she clearly trusted deeply. Though it pained him to acknowledge it, he knew it would take time to gain the same trust from her after everything he’d done. But all Reylan had was time.
“After Yulemas,” he said. “Give her a little more time to sort through her troubles. Perhaps the holiday can bring her some joy. She deserves that at least.”
Nik’s face softened. “After the holiday,” he concluded.
One week.
He only hoped that would be enough time for her to diffuse whatever plagued her troubled mind and find room for another impossible truth—one she silently longed for. To know who her father was.
As for how she would respond… Reylan’s emotions were on a knife’s edge in anticipation.
Chapter 43
Faythe
“You asked for me?”
Faythe turned when Caius’s voice came through her door after a brief knock. She nodded and welcomed him inside her rooms.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need to get something to Marlowe. I would go myself, but I can’t risk raising the king’s suspicions if he happens to have me followed.”
The young guard approached, looking ready to accept any task she asked of him. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
Faythe didn’t know what she’d done to deserve his loyalty, but she was grateful for it. She smiled with suppressed sadness, hating that she had to involve him at all.
She had a plan. Or rather, a death wish.
She’d told no one of it. Faythe had barely left her rooms and refused to see any of her friends over the past week since they spoke to the Spirit of Life.
She had to kill to the King of High Farrow. And she had to do it alone.
Her survival didn’t play into any of the outcomes she’d drawn over her days of scheming. It seemed sacrificing her life was the only way to stop the fate the Dresair told her would come to pass. If it became a choice between her life and that of those around her, the answer was obvious. It wasn’t her way of trying to be the selfless hero. Out of those around her, she determined her life was of the least value. Nik and Tauria had kingdoms to protect, Jakon and Marlowe had a life to grow together. Gods, she even took Reylan into account. He was a highly skilled and respected general who would be of far more use in the bigger war to come than she could ever hope to be.
But there were still matters she had to put into place before the main event that would see her commit treason. It was a horrifying, daunting task, and she tried not to dwell on the act out of fear she would succumb to the panic that built inside the hourglass draining faster toward her end.
She would do it during the Yulemas Ball by week’s end. A party she wasn’t invited to—but now intended to crash. The setting would offer the disguise she needed, the chaos to distract, and the opportunity to get close enough to the king for long enough to strike.
Each passing day added layers to her anxiety, and she’d pushed everyone away for fear they would suspect something was wrong.
Lifting the thickly wrapped package, she held it out to Caius. He took it, wide eyes shooting up to hers as he did.
“Marlowe will know what to do with it, and I’ll need it returned at the Yulemas Ball. Can you do that for me?”
He offered a wan smile with his slight nod. “Something big is about to happen, isn’t it?”
Faythe reached a hand out to his arm to soothe his wariness as he observed her, perhaps searching for her sanity. “You’re on the right side, Caius. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and for our friends. You’re a picture of the brighter future we all fight for.”
Though she didn’t mean it as a goodbye, it overwhelmed her all at once that her encounters with him, and with everyone, were short on numbers. She didn’t give him a chance to step away when she leaned in to embrace him, grateful and relived when he held her tightly back for a long, bittersweet moment. When Caius released her, his frown was deep with protest and concern.
“Faythe, whatever you’re planning—”
“I’ll be fine,” she cut in, giving her most convincing smile.
Caius looked at her sadly but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned and headed for the door. Just before he opened it, however, he twisted his head halfway back. He didn’t look her in the eye but stared in thought at the ground instead.
“I’ll see you at the ball, and I’ll have what you asked for from Marlowe. But Faythe, if we lose you, we lose all hope of that brighter future.”
Then he was gone.
The following evening, Faythe felt desperate in her need to release her emotions through the swinging of her blade. She found herself in the training room, an hour into battling it out against a wooden dummy, which she hacked to pieces in her frustration.
Caius’s last words did little to motivate her. Having the opposite effect, she hated that she started to feel guilty in the sacrifice of her own life. She hated the grief she would cause her friends, which had always been a heavy weight on her decision. Yet Caius instilled a different kind of feeling that made her doubt her choices.
Her life was useless in the grand scheme of everything—against Valgard, against Marvellas. She was of little value in the eyes of battle, though she’d had every intention to fight before she met her new twist of fate. The young guard had succeeded in making her feel guilty for dying when she hadn’t even told him her intentions.
I have no purpose. She swung her sword, wedging it into the wood. I am no one. Bracing a foot against it, she yanked her blade free. They all deserve to live. Her teeth ground from the sting in her eyes as Lumarias struck again. I bring them nothing but danger. And again. They’re better off without me. And again, until she finally halted, breathless, and hung her head.
She wished the stationary wooden figure could fight back as she resorted to using her imagination to parry offense attacks. She’d taken several chucks out of the wood, so it was starting to lose its form as she whittled it down. Wood chips carved of self-resentment and sorrow surrounded her. Bracing her hands on her knees, she was about to scream in indignation into the otherwise silent space when a familiar voice cut through her deep breathing instead.
“You know there are servants for that?”
Faythe jolted at the sound of Reylan’s words. When she met his deep blue eyes, she struggled to keep her cold façade of hatred, gleaning the concern that lay within them.
Then his words registered, and she frowned wordlessly in question.
He jerked his chin at the battered dummy. “Chopping firewood.”
She might have chuckled and even felt the slight tug of her lips, which she forced down. She sheathed her sword instead and couldn’t bear to look at his face any longer for fear she would break. Faythe cast her eyes and stepped off the training platform, making to go around him without engaging at all. It was cruel and heartless…but it kept him safe.
His hand caught her elbow as she passed, and she snapped her cold eyes to him. “Tell me what’s wrong, Faythe.” His voice was achingly tender. She had never heard the pleading tone from the general and wondered why he even cared to try it with her. They weren’t friends before, and she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be friends now, even though her heart cried the opposite.
“You’re wasting your time with me, Reylan. Let me go.”
“I can’t.”
She looked down at his hand still encasing her arm, knowing it wasn’t the hold he meant. Losing her fight, she felt the mask of detached loathing dissolve, leaving only desperation—to stop something before it could begin. She couldn’t land him on the list of those clos
e to her whose lives now hung in the balance.
“Please,” she whispered, begging him to understand and not press the matter further.
She could tell he was conflicted, not knowing whether to accept her wish or stand firm in his assertion that he wasn’t abandoning her. Finally, his overprotective fae male bullshit prevailed. He released her arm, but his expression turned accusatory, and he crossed his arms.
“What happened down in those caves?”
Faythe instinctively slipped back into her cold guise at the mention. “Nothing happened. We got what we needed, and that’s all that matters.”
“You’ve been pushing everyone away since. You don’t have to face everything alone, gods-dammit.”
There was only one way she could get him to back down. She felt sick at the formation of her verbal blows, which rose from the dark void of her desperation, leaking like shadows through her chest to encompass her heart. She had to hurt him, or he would never let it go…
“I wouldn’t ever confide in you. I don’t trust you, and I don’t particularly like you. Your place is at the head of an army, and you’ve only made things worse by being here. There’s nothing here for you, General. Go home. Go back to Rhyenelle. You’re not wanted here.”
Her words were cold. So bitterly ice-cold. She felt each sentence chill those shadows, circling, tightening. It would only relent if she stole those words back.
In the flinch of his eye, she knew they’d hit their mark. The flash of hurt was gone in his next blink. On anyone else, it would have seemed negligible. On Reylan, on someone so well-guarded with their emotions, the slither of hurt spoke louder than anything heard by the ear; felt deeper than any cut with a blade.
Reylan was a warrior honed for battle. He’d seen bloodshed and misery, lost family to war, and been on the front lines of devastating tragedies in his four centuries. She didn’t think she would be able to invoke pain within him. Yet there it was, clear in the quick pinch of his brow and the flicker of sadness across his sapphire pools.
She didn’t mean it—not in the slightest. She’d fought it for so long, holding onto her reserves out of her own fears, but all this time, she did trust him. Completely and unexplainably. It crushed her spirit to think she might never get to tell him she was sorry before she met her end.
Without giving herself a chance to beg his forgiveness and give in to her selfishness no matter the risk…she cast her eyes to the exit and marched out of the room.
This time, she didn’t feel his need to come after her.
Chapter 44
Jakon
Jakon watched Marlowe wrap her craft delicately, exactly as Faythe had requested. Then she set it aside, finishing up for the day.
Exhaustion was clear on the blacksmith’s face, and he longed to take it from her since she’d been working tirelessly for the past few days. He’d tried to help and hadn’t been back to work on the farm for weeks. He couldn’t. A dark cloud had settled over everything, and he felt himself on the edge, just waiting for the storm to break. He didn’t know why he felt such dread, but he had been unable to relax ever since they returned from Galmire because he knew something was coming. Something evil and inescapable.
Marlowe released a long sigh, looking over her work. She wiped her brow with the inside of her elbow, and then a deep crease of worry lined her forehead. Jakon moved on instinct and found himself stepping behind her and pulling her small form into him. She leaned into his touch with a smile but remained slightly rigid and concerned. He kissed her temple, then the curve of her ear, then her neck.
“What’s wrong?” he mumbled against her smooth skin.
Her arm came around and lazily curled her fingers in the back of his hair. “I’m worried about Faythe,” she admitted.
He leaned his head back and twisted her around to face him. “I don’t think we’ll ever not be worried about that woman,” he commented in light humor, though in truth, he’d been a wreck over her since Caius came to them with her request. He dreaded to think what plans she had for such an item, and he was even more riddled with sickening guilt that there was nothing he could do to stop her on whatever reckless course she’d set for herself.
“But how are you, Marlowe?” His fingers grazed under her chin, guiding her face back to lock gazes with him. “Since we’ve been back, how have you been feeling?”
Her brow flinched, giving away her gratitude for his concern. It still pained him deeply, but never again would he allow her to believe her feelings should be suppressed.
“I’m…not sure,” she answered vacantly. Where her mind travelled, he went with her. The sense of foreboding danger that couldn’t be placed. “I’m concerned for everyone. I don’t think any of us are spared from what’s to come. And then, should something happen to Faythe before I can talk to her, apologize for how I’ve been with her and explain—”
Jakon took her face between his palms. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know Faythe will tell you the same thing. And she will tell you, because we will see her again.”
It was as much a desperate reassurance to himself as it was intended to soothe Marlowe’s worries. A shiver embraced his body as he wondered what pieces of a cracked puzzle the oracle held to inspire such cold trepidation.
Seeing the glittering sadness of uncertainty in her ocean-blue irises, Jakon brought his mouth to hers.
They didn’t get the chance to deepen the kiss as a frantic form whipped through the back curtain of the blacksmiths. Jakon tore away from Marlowe, pushing her behind him at the thought of danger from the invading presence.
His alert turned to shadows of dark fear at the sight of Caius, wide-eyed in panic. “You have to leave,” he said urgently.
Jakon straightened, his mind reeling over what might cause the guard to be so worried and desperate. “Faythe. Is she—?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“Alive—for now.”
Jakon didn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief as Caius went on.
“But they’re coming for you—both of you. I think it’s to get to Faythe.”
He looked to Marlowe in cold horror. “Gather your things, love,” he said quickly, trying to keep his calm through the shock.
Marlowe nodded and set to work gathering what she thought was necessary from around the workshop. He didn’t know if they had time to make it back to the cottage.
“How?” he asked first, needing to get all the information he could.
Caius’s look was grim. “The captain, I think. Nightwalking,” he said vaguely.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It was always a possibility they could be caught out by such an ability.
“What do they want?”
“All I know is they plan to use you to get to Faythe. She knows something they can’t get to without her.”
Jakon’s mind was a chaos of thoughts. Instinctively, he looked to Marlowe. They shared a moment of dawning before both their eyes locked on the item on the table.
“Faythe once told me if she was ever to be caught, you were to run—and take the ruin with you.”
He had to close his eyes for a moment and breathe. Everything in him screamed to go to her. If she was in danger, he couldn’t leave her to face it alone.
“Can you get me into the castle?” He met the guard’s eye.
Caius shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jakon, but you’ll only make it worse for her. She’ll give over exactly what they need if they get a hold of you. The only way you can help her is to run far and take what it is they seek with you.”
He knew the guard was right, and it infuriated him to no end. He wanted to kill them all, every guard, and even the king who sought to harm Faythe. His friend, his soul mate—he refused to believe there was a chance he may never see her again.
“You can’t let them kill her, Caius. Please protect her. Help her to escape, and tell her we’ll be heading south,” he pleaded like a boy. It was all he had in him as he was painfully desperate.<
br />
Faythe had to live.
The young guard lifted his chin and gave a fierce nod. “I will,” he promised.
Chapter 45
Faythe
Faythe adjusted the long dagger strapped around her thigh one last time before letting the cascade of crimson fall over it in disguise. She stood in front of the mirror staring at her gold eyes—soon to be those of a king killer if she succeeded in her plan tonight.
She almost couldn’t recognize herself, and it had nothing to do with the elegant new look she donned for the Yulemas Ball. Her dress was a statement in itself. The deep red with gold accents reminded her of fire. Gave her fire. Its fierce strength was exactly what she needed. The neckline was scandalously low and almost reached her navel. The transparent mesh of the sleeves and bodice was embellished with weaving lines of crystals, giving the illusion of vines of flame licking up her arms to merge into the blazing inferno that fanned around her. Even her hair was different. Her waves were flattened, and she’d purposefully abandoned the elegant braids that were customary to the ladies of the court. Instead, her hair was held back from her face by one pin above her ear on each side, like two feathered fans of red and gold.
Faythe didn’t want to blend in tonight. She wanted for the king to see her and to be heard…one last time.
Nik’s gifted necklace lay against her bare chest, and she held it, closing her eyes and imagining him standing next to her with Tauria by his side. Then Jakon and Marlowe. Then Reylan appeared in the scene, and she looked around her friends in her mind.
Out loud, she whispered as if they all could hear her, “I’m sorry.”
Chapter 46
Reylan
Reylan was never one for grand parties. Back home in Rhyenelle, it was easy enough to find reason to be busy when they took place. In his position, there was never a shortage of problems that needed attention, soldiers who needed training, patrols that needed organizing. It kept him busy.
A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 36