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

by C. C. Peñaranda

  She didn’t let her face give anything away. “Yes. Is Reylan—?”

  “He left as soon as I told him of the king’s plan. He should be well on his way back to Rhyenelle by now.”

  A relief. One that stabbed her heart selfishly. But he was safe.

  “Nik and Tauria?”

  She noticed him place something else next to the tray of bland food. Clothes. Along with a cloak for warmth. Such simple items meant so much to her as she longed to get out of the dirty ruin of her Yulemas Ball gown.

  Caius reached forward and unlocked the chains from her wrists for her to change. She almost moaned at the relief of having the harsh metal removed from her raw skin and rubbed her painful wrists as he turned his back to her for privacy while she undressed.

  “They’re alive. The king has them confined to their own quarters. They’re fully guarded at all times.”

  It terrified her that he knew of their involvement in one way or another. At least he didn’t seek to kill them for it…yet.

  “Thank you,” she said, though it never felt like enough for everything he had done, everything he had risked for her—for all of them. Caius deserved far more than the simple words of gratitude.

  Her dress fell from her, and she breathed at the weightlessness, quickly stepping into her new garments and tucking her dagger inconspicuously into her boot instead. As much as she was desperate for a full, hot bath, it was a great comfort to be in fresh clothing with a thick cloak to help shield her from the harsh winter nights.

  He turned to her when she finished, offering a warm smile. “I’ll visit as much as I can. You’re not alone, Faythe.”

  Tears pricked the backs of her eyes and started to blur her vision. It was exactly what she needed to hear, and she desperately wanted to embrace him in that moment.

  “You’re a better friend than I deserve sometimes.” She owed him a debt for life for what he was doing for her. For giving her hope and keeping her sane.

  Just as another guard hissed at him to hurry up, he gave her one last smile of reassurance. Then he strolled back out, locking the cell once more.

  Silence fell around her when everyone took their leave.

  She was not alone. Never alone.

  Nightfall cloaked her cell in darkness. The only light came from the peaceful full moon that flooded a tranquil glow through the window. It was small, barely bigger than her head, and had a woven metal casing that distorted the view. Not that she could see much anyway as it was too high for her to catch a glimpse of anything except the sky.

  The white of the moon brought a different image to mind. She thought of Reylan as she stared at it from her curled-up position on the ground. All she did was think of her friends throughout her restless days. Safe and alive, they would all have a future. The general was smart in choosing to flee. In fact, she was glad it was so easy for him and she didn’t have to fight him on the matter. Yet at the same time, a part of her selfishly hurt at the notion.

  A small bird landed on the narrow ledge just outside the window. She’d seen it before. White, almost shimmering silver under the moonlight, it came back as if it had no idea of the vast world around it that it was free to take flight to and travel wherever it wanted.

  Faythe rose to her feet, wincing as the pain in her bones and abrasions on her wrists got worse by the day. She went over to the window, craning her neck to examine the unlikely friend. Something about the bird brought a small comfort, as if it understood her pain and was waiting for her to join it before it took flight for good.

  It was a ridiculous concept, and perhaps she had reached the point of delirium at being left for days without any conversation or human contact. Her madness fully came out when she huffed at the bird that sat still in silence and then started talking out loud to it.

  “I was always destined to end up here,” she said, voice croaking from her days of silence. “You should go, take in every sight possible, before the war taints the world with black days and red streets.” She smiled at the bird sadly, turning away from it to rest her back against the wall. “Do me a favor though, will you? Look out for my friends, Jakon and Marlowe.” At the thought of them, her heart cracked, but they weren’t the only ones who were fleeing the king’s wrath. She found herself adding, “Dammit, Reylan too.”

  The silence answered back to her. She didn’t check to see if the bird was still there. She knew it would be. It hardly left. Perhaps when they took her at last and the cell fell empty once again, in its loneliness, it would fly away and never return.

  The groaning of the cellblock door jolted her from her poetic daydream. Her fear rattled in the face of the vicious captain—grinning wickedly as if he got off on her terror before the torture had even begun. She tried to stand tall and keep her mask of confidence, but it faltered more every day in her exhaustion.

  “Ready to play?” he taunted maliciously.

  Though a cold chill licked up her spine at his tone, she rallied her bravery enough to say, “I once promised to kill you, Varis.”

  The corners of his smile tugged wider. He enjoyed the fight she had in her, if only so he could relish in the victory of breaking her down to nothing.

  “We’ll see,” he said, darkly seductive. He stepped up close to the bars. “I’m going to have so much fun with you, Faythe.” Her name sounded vile in his predator’s caress.

  Varis jerked his head, and a guard came forward to open her cell. Two stepped inside, and she didn’t flinch even when they roughly handled her and she felt her wrists sting in agony as they were let free from their iron grips. She wasn’t given the choice to walk with dignity as they took her arms and pulled her from her cell. Her feet fumbled, struggling to step one in front of the other in time with their uneven, wide strides.

  She wasn’t led to the throne room, and she didn’t recognize the east side of the castle where they descended many staircases until she was sure they were underground.

  Underground where no one would be able to hear her cries for help.

  When they reached the end of the last hallway, she was pulled into a large room that reeked of death. It also resembled the dark force in appearance as the dim torches highlighted every blood splatter around the chamber of pain. Nausea overcame her, and in her panic, she couldn’t stop the vomit that rose, doubling over the moment the guards let her go. Her palms slapped painfully to the ground, and she gasped to try to compose herself and calm her raging heartbeat.

  The room had one sinister purpose that struck her with cold dread. Torture. The captain chuckled, delighted with her reaction to the location.

  Then she spotted the king across the room, so out of place in his finery amid the gruesome setting. He didn’t smile, but his eyes held a cruel gleam that told her he was willing to do whatever it took to get the information he thought she had. Without her friends as leverage, pain would be the next best thing.

  There was a long, flat bench in the center of the room, and beside it, a far more comfortable chair was positioned in stark contrast.

  “Faythe.” The king drawled her name. Her blood curdled at his voice. “What a busy woman you’ve been.” Orlon glided toward her like a venomous snake. He paused, looking down on her as if he could crush her like a cockroach with the sole of his boot. “All this time, you held onto exactly what I was searching for.”

  He gave a nod to the side, and a guard came forward holding an unsheathed sword.

  Holding Lumarias.

  Faythe’s eyes widened in shock, and she fell numb. He took it in his palms, admiring its craftsmanship before settling his attention on the stone set in the pommel.

  “The Riscillius,” he breathed as if he didn’t quite believe it. Then his eyes locked on her again. “Yet you still have one more thing I seek, don’t you?” He took a long breath, and Faythe braced herself as he said, “Tell me where you’ve hidden the temple ruin, spymaster.”

  Faythe tried to keep all expression from her face, hissing through her teeth, “I don’t know wha
t you’re talking about—”

  The back of the king’s hand connected with her face. She whimpered at the sharp sting, head twisting so hard it was her own will that kept the blow from snapping her neck.

  “Do not lie to me, girl!” he spat, his voice laced with venom in his impatience. Then he straightened, composing himself. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed. My initial detaining of you had nothing to do with any of this. You can imagine my surprise at discovering what you so cunningly kept to yourself all this time, eluding me and my guard. I have to credit you—it is no easy feat.”

  Faythe shook violently against the cold ground as the king paced the room.

  “I planned to kill you once and for all for your attack on an ally—on a king! Your skills aren’t as sharp as you believe, it seems, though your manipulation of Varlas’s memory did hold out for some time.” Orlon stopped his pacing to look down and gauge her reaction to the exposure of her treason. But Faythe couldn’t muster a switch of expression while she remained solid, still, frozen in terror. “In his letter, he demanded I hand you over to him, along with the Rhyenelle general. How foolish of him to come back to my kingdom. I do still wonder what influenced his return…” Orlon’s eyebrows knitted together in curiosity, but he didn’t ponder for long. His black stare fixed on Faythe, rippling with the darkness of death as he stalked over to her.

  “You’ll be glad to hear I declined his request. Or perhaps you’ll beg me to surrender you to Varlas when you sample what I have in store for you instead.” He came to a stop in front of her.

  Faythe didn’t look up, eyes fixed on his polished boots as she forced down the acid rising up her throat once again.

  “It made me question what you thought you knew of our plans, and if there was any other time you might have dared to use your ability without my knowledge. I knew I couldn’t have a Nightwalker enter into your mind—or my son’s—undetected. So, I had the memories of my ward searched to see how close you two have become in your time here. Faythe—spymaster—it seems you are far more cunning than I took you to be. But I will get the location of the ruin from you one way or another.”

  The king glanced around the room in lingering threat as he observed the gore-coated walls. “As much as I would love to see you bleed for your treason and deception, it is not physical pain you should be afraid of. No—I plan to go straight to the source of information. Your mind, Faythe. Your biggest asset becomes your doom.” Orlon nodded to the guards behind him and made to walk around her.

  Faythe breathed hard in the heat of her frenzied panic. She snapped. Reaching into her boot, she pounced to her feet, dagger gripped in her hand, and whirled to plunge it into the king’s back.

  A hand curled painfully around her wrist just an inch off her target.

  Faythe cried out as Varis’s grip turned bone-crushing, and she dropped the blade, her last hope echoing damningly off the stone floor.

  Orlon chuckled in mock amusement. “Your fight and dedication is admirable. It will be a shame to see such talent go to waste. You could have been an invaluable ally. You could have helped conquer the world. Yet you fought me at every turn in your own artful way. Your defiance has become your end.”

  Two guards approached, hauling her away from the king. She thrashed, losing all her strength and dignity as she became completely overwhelmed with fear. They lifted her, feet leaving the ground completely, as she struggled against their brutal handling with everything she had left. It was all wasted energy. In a few quick movements, she was bound by her ankles and wrists, completely vulnerable to the vultures who circled her. Tears burned in her eyes—not from the pain, but at the realization she had absolutely no escape. No one was coming to help her this time.

  King Orlon moved to the exit, but before he left, his voice sang chillingly, “I will have what I want, Faythe. By the end of this, you’ll beg for your miserable life to end.”

  Then he was gone, and the demon switched faces as Captain Varis stepped up to her. Faythe shrank inwardly and strained against her bonds, wanting to run far, far away from the monster who grinned with painful promise.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” he said with sinister cheer. The captain didn’t reach for any tools of torture—didn’t even lift a hand to her. Instead, his smile was sadistic and gleeful as he sat in the chair beside Faythe.

  He leaned toward her in his seat, and the rope bit her wrists as she instinctively recoiled back. The disgusting heat of his cruel breath caressed her ear as he said, “Now, you’ll get to know what it feels like to be powerless in your own mind.”

  His words struck a new kind of fear in Faythe as she figured out their means of extracting the information. She wished for anything else, even physical pain, in place of having her mind invaded while she was helpless to do anything. Helpless…and aware. In a surge of frantic dread, she pulled wildly against her restraints despite the sharp pain that shot through her weakened muscles and tore her raw skin with every movement. She lost all her dignity and courage, breaking down in a hopeless sob.

  Yet she smelled it as someone came up to her other side: a scent that sparked a distant memory; a day so long ago, before she had any idea of her capabilities. When she feared herself, her ability. When Nik stepped in to save her. Back then, that scent offered her salvation. Now, the tonic to stifle her ability would become her worst nightmare…

  In a smaller dosage, it can also be used to stifle your ability but still allow another Nightwalker to enter your mind, and you’d be helpless to throw them out. Nik’s words from long ago echoed in her ears, and she sobbed in defeat as the smell grew stronger. Closer. She clamped her mouth shut, but a pair of rough hands grabbed her jaw painfully, adding more pressure until she couldn’t stand it anymore and cried out. The moment she did, she felt one drop of the foul liquid fall onto her tongue. Then the hands were gone.

  Faythe slumped against the hard bench, having lost the energy to fight. It was futile anyway. She was human, weak, inferior. She tried to hold onto the shreds of her spirit…but she feared that was soon to be broken beyond salvation too.

  “Sleep, Faythe,” Varis cooed. “I’ll see you inside.” His last words echoed with a dark chuckle as she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

  She had failed, she had lost, and now her own mind would become a playground for the worst of all creatures.

  Chapter 50

  Nikalias

  Nik paced his rooms with simmering rage. He had four guards posted outside his door, and a further six below his balcony. He wasn’t foolish enough to try to fight against so many, and he had no doubt there were others who could be quickly alerted if he dared.

  No—physically, he was outnumbered. But he wasn’t entirely powerless in his confinement. For the past seven nights, he’d entered his full unconscious, building his strength and resting his mind. They could take everything from him except his ability. His Nightwalking. And he planned to use it to bring silent revenge to the King of High Farrow.

  He was ready.

  That night, he didn’t dress for bed. Lying fully clothed, he took a long breath before he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off.

  Nik stood in the black-and-gray whorls of his subconscious. Before he could head for the king, he had one stop to make. Though he couldn’t converse with Tauria in her mind as he’d done with Faythe many times, he could still search through her memories—to ease his worries and be sure she was alive and okay.

  Something halted him. At the thought of the human who stole his heart beyond romance…it broke all over again. He’d failed Faythe. It was a guilt and shame he would carry for the rest of his immortal life. He’d lived the past four days in denial, unable to accept that she no longer breathed for fear he would fall apart completely and not be able to exact his revenge.

  Then something hideous and hopeful crossed his mind.

  Doubt.

  It was enough that he wanted to change his destination, desperate to be sure but terrified to meet only empty darkness if he tr
ied. He couldn’t stop himself. Despite the pain he would feel to have her death confirmed, Nik found himself picturing Faythe then attempting to channel into her mind.

  He met a black wall. It almost buckled him, until…

  Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t an empty void like he was expecting; there was still an essence behind it. Relief crushed him, and he was desperate to get inside. He felt around for any weakness or breaks in the firm barrier. It was a familiar sensation, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Not as if she was in a deep, unconscious sleep. Not as if she was blocking him out. Something else prevented him from gaining entry.

  Realization dawned like an ice-cold sheet. He’d felt its likeness before—when another Nightwalker occupied his intended target already. Panic pierced his chest. He didn’t have to consider the possibilities, knowing exactly who would be inside—the one called upon for all the king’s most heinous tasks.

  Captain Varis.

  He’d challenged other Nightwalkers before and won, gaining access to get the information first. But it never ended well for the host. He would risk Faythe’s life by trying to get inside and cast the captain out without great stealth and even greater power. Even then, he wasn’t entirely confident he could succeed without harming Faythe from the inside. Leaving her in the wicked beast’s grasp was not an option either, and he knew in his heart that even with the perilous risk, if Faythe had the choice, she would beg him to try.

  Nik still hesitated. It was a hideous, gut-wrenching feeling to presume her dead. If he tried and failed, he would all but kill her himself. The thought was shattering, but it was a selfish reason to leave her in the captain’s hands. She didn’t deserve that fate, and he wouldn’t let the captain have what he’d wanted since day one: the chance to end Faythe’s life.

  He needed more time. While he felt strong enough to break through the defenses of his father’s mind, he didn’t need to be careful in going there. With Faythe’s mind, he had to be able to get in without the captain sensing straight away, and more importantly, without harming Faythe. The task was complex and would require a new test of his ability’s strength and precision. He couldn’t afford to be even slightly restless or have any loose emotions.