A brilliant white lion. Too large to be of nature, and too perfect in color.
Every guard backed away in terror as the beast growled at them in untamed malice. The vibration of its roar was felt over the stone beneath her feet. Faythe held no fear and did not cower away from it. Her shock turned into relief and joy so overwhelming she let out a short sob as one word, one name, echoed through her to fill her with strength and hope.
Reylan.
His eyes met hers with the thought, and his looked softened, curled lips falling back over powerful teeth in his legendary form. Then, after a bright flare of white light, there he was. Shapeshifted back into the intimidating fae male who had every other in the room retreating in fear.
Faythe wanted to go to him but halted her near step as a flood of crimson coats started to file in behind the general. They were all beautifully uniformed and held a lethal focus to protect and defend. It was admirable to see their neat lines and perfect form in the current chaos of the throne room.
Everything was silent. Then the Rhyenelle soldiers cut down the middle, stepping to the side to allow someone to pass.
Not just anyone.
Faythe had never met him, but she had caught a glimpse of the mighty ruler through Varlas’s memory. King Agalhor Ashfyre of Rhyenelle.
She didn’t have it in her at that moment to question how they gained access into the city, never mind all the way through the castle. Their forces were fabled, but still, she was struck by how easy they made it seem. It was no wonder the two kings behind her required something more than an army to conquer their ally kingdom.
The King of Rhyenelle passed the final line of soldiers and came to stand with Reylan halfway across the hall. The general’s piercing blue eyes only left her to keep track of the monster behind her, silently calculating every possible way to get between them before the High Farrow king could strike with the blade he still held.
Faythe struggled to believe he was even here at all, too stunned to fear the threat that loomed imminently at her back. She couldn’t even turn to gauge Orlon’s reaction, though she imagined he was livid at the mockery Rhyenelle made of his defenses.
When Faythe tore her eyes from Reylan, she was instantly met with those of Agalhor. She recoiled a fraction, not expecting the ruler to pay her any attention at all, never mind the lingering look of what she could only decipher as shock.
“This is an act of war!” Orlon thundered.
Agalhor slid his gaze up to the king behind her, not in the least bit fazed by the malice in his tone. “No, Orlon—you took that first step yourself.” His voice was deep, calm. He took another step forward, and Reylan drew his sword before following. Agalhor switched his gaze to Varlas. “Though I was greatly disappointed to learn of your collusion against me. How many times have we defended your border? Still do, in fact.”
Faythe felt awkward at the center of the royal feud. She didn’t have to try to feel the waves of anger, distrust, and sadness between the three rulers. She would have stepped out of the way, but it strangely didn’t feel appropriate to do so.
Agalhor’s gaze traveled to Nik and then over the rest of Faythe’s friends who were now standing still under the threat of many swords from the dark guards. “I see not even your own blood agrees with your actions this time, Orlon. If this is how you treat your kin, I feel gravely for the citizens of your kingdom.” Then his face fell bored. Despite being a king, she couldn’t believe his audacity. “Now, why don’t you let these unfortunate humans go so we can discuss serious matters?”
“You arrived just in time, Agalhor,” Orlon said in a controlled rage. “The fun is only just beginning. Allow me to demonstrate a just punishment for one who dares to defy. Treason demands death.”
Faythe knew he would be bracing to raise his sword to her again, yet the voice of the Rhyenelle king thundered to halt him once more.
“You will not harm her, Orlon!”
Agalhor’s tone of voice as he called out to save her was different. Faythe stared at him wide-eyed, shocked by his unexpected intervention, the command that sounded like fear laced with desperation.
It was enough to pause her execution, but she didn’t dare turn around.
At the same time, Reylan raised his free arm, and the gesture of his hand immediately disrupted the hall with echoes of shuffling as the front row of Rhyenelle soldiers became equipped as archers in a few impressively fast seconds. Faythe went rigid in fear, ice dousing her, as she looked along the line of lethal arrow tips pointed in her direction. Their aim was on the king behind her, but she couldn’t soothe her terror that just one of them might be a fraction off the mark and would hit her instead.
In a delayed counter response, those in the High Farrow and Olmstone ranks who were equipped with a bow drew their arrows and fixed their aim on Agalhor.
Faythe’s chest grew heavy with the anxiety that one slipup from the archers on either side could erupt into chaos and tragedy. She found the air too thick to inhale as she waited for the next move. There was no sure outcome in their mutually compromised positions. Every slight flicker of movement made her flinch.
Anger rippled off the king at her back for the threat of the many iron-tipped arrows that now targeted him. Despite this, he chuckled darkly. “I knew you held sympathy for them, Agalhor. You always have been weak. But even you are not foolish enough to come to the defense of a nothing human.” Orlon spat the word, and she jerked, feeling him closing in behind. Then his voice dropped as he pondered his thoughts out loud. “What is it about you, Faythe?”
She couldn’t be sure what he meant by the wandering question and couldn’t form a single thought of her own when she felt warm breath brush her ear at his proximity. His hand came up and slid over her shoulder, fingers curling around her throat, but not with tightening force.
Reylan’s eyes flashed a dark shade of fury as he jolted a step forward at the contact.
Faythe turned painfully stiff under the king’s repulsive touch. His face inched so close to hers she heard his deep inhale, which tremored down her spine and knotted her stomach. She would have doubled over to retch, but she swallowed intermittently to force back her nausea at his dark caress. Her heart pounded faster with every slow, passing second, close to rupturing inside her rib cage. He could crush her neck before she even felt the pain.
Then Orlon retreated from her suddenly and all at once. “Impossible,” he muttered slowly, quietly.
The disbelief in his voice had her looking to the general for answers. Both he and the Rhyenelle king stiffened their posture as if bracing to advance, and deep-seated fear filled their eyes at whatever Orlon concluded.
Then his rumbling laughter chilled her to her core, darkly jovial in contrast to the fear and tension that choked the air in the room. “It’s almost too perfect to be true. Your compassion for the humans makes clear sense now, as we all look upon the product of your distasteful infatuation.”
Faythe kept her eyes on Reylan to try to understand Orlon’s words and gauge his movements at her back. She jerked violently when she felt his fingers graze over her shoulder again, tenderly sweeping her hair back to expose her neck.
“What a prize I have held all this time,” he said in quiet admiration. Then the Griffin behind locked eyes with the Phoenix in front. “I’m going to take far greater delight in this knowing that with her life, I will break yours, Agalhor.”
The world seemed to slow as the eyes of those in front of her went wide with panic. Faythe knew what was coming. The promise of a steel-kissed death loomed behind her. Reylan moved faster than she’d ever seen him react, but even he could not outrun the blade that fell. His face was pale with fear as he raced for her, and she had to look away.
Faythe owed her friends one final farewell and only hoped they could see the apology in her eyes for bringing this mess and danger into their lives. Then she closed her eyes, perhaps in cowardice, as she couldn’t stand for any of their distraught faces to be the last thing she saw as
she met her end.
With a deep inhale, she braced herself…
The echo of clashing blades pierced a shrill cry through her ears, mere inches above her head. Faythe’s eyes snapped open. She turned and was struck by a phantom spear of ice instead of steel.
It was not the crossed swords hovering dangerously close that hitched her breath—but the sight of the young guard who’d saved her life.
Caius! Gods above!
Caius held firm against the strength of Orlon, pushing off his blade. It forced the king back a step. His black eyes blazed in animalistic fury, and he didn’t hesitate for a second to advance again toward the guard.
Instead of raising his sword, Caius let his only weapon, his only defense, his only shield…slip right from his grasp.
Faythe’s eyes swelled, and her mouth parted, but her scream caught in her throat, gripped by terror at listening to the steel echo off the marble floor. She couldn’t move, couldn’t hear, couldn’t cry out. Caius reached for something else from underneath his cloak, but it did nothing to stop the Farrow Sword that plunged straight through his abdomen.
Time slowed to a crawl and wouldn’t reverse. Faythe struggled to accept the fatal maneuver that sealed Caius’s fate.
He spluttered, falling to his knees. When he did, she beheld the glittering black cuffs around the king’s wrists.
Shackles…crafted of Magestone.
She couldn’t believe it. Caius had indicated he’d failed in getting the shackles from Marlowe, who Faythe supplied the material to after a lone trip to the caves below, but all this time, he was saving them for this moment. She didn’t know why he chose to keep it from her. Perhaps some foolish notion to try to protect her instead. It was a heart-shattering thought that crushed her soul as the price for it would now be his life. His, when it should have been her on the receiving end of the king’s sword.
Faythe wasn’t capable of feeling an ounce of relief or joy at the sight of Orlon incapacitated. He cried out in anguish as the iridescent stone took effect and his knees gave out to hit the floor.
Nik moved to poise a blade over his father’s chest for extra measure.
Caius had saved them all.
Her eyes fixed on him clutching the fatal wound that poured sickening amounts of his blood out across the white marble. Faythe couldn’t tear her eyes away from the river of dark crimson. Her heart pounded, and she breathed hard, watching the flow of blood run faster and faster. She heard shuffling around her as the guards in black darted to go to the aid of their fallen master. Her rage was a storm, cancelling out all thoughts of mercy and reasoning. She felt her chaos build and turn all-consuming. She wanted to stop them, to kill them, before they could reach Caius. She needed more time with the fae whose breaths were numbered, yet they closed in like merciless wraiths to rob her of the chance.
Faythe tracked the glistening line of red, compelled by it, while ancient words whispered from her mouth of their own accord; a spell so dark and forgotten… The blood met its target, and she watched the item drink its key as she uttered the final verse.
The Blood Box bound by Caius.
She’d asked him to seal it as someone she trusted, someone who had proven their undying loyalty, and someone the king would least suspect. Faythe had taken the task of sealing the box alone so the king could not find out through anyone else’s mind who harbored the key.
Faster than she remembered, perhaps even imagined in her desperation, the seal of the box glowed before turning clockwise. A wave of immense power blast from it like a physical blow the moment the closure came loose. Faythe braced her legs and stood firm, recklessly exposing herself to the unearthly magick, allowing it to pierce her being. It ripped through her like a gale in staggering amounts. Straightening, she yielded to that blazing power. It had no beginning and no end—an unparalleled and unforgiving surge of energy not bound for her world. Her veins caught fire, but she fought against letting it consume her. Faythe harnessed that power, adding impossible heights to her ability within. It would kill her. But not before she used it to unleash her rage and retribution.
The guards in black darted toward her, and they were fast. But Faythe’s senses were wide and clear, with a reach far surpassing even those of a fae. She could hear the pulse of every mind at once, could see every flicker of motion without looking. Before they could take another step…
Faythe seized control of every mind who dared to move.
Chapter 55
Reylan
Reylan had never seen anything like it in his four hundred years.
Faythe glowed under the power of the ruin. He could feel it coursing through the room as well as his own self, otherworldly power that didn’t belong in their realm, and certainly not within a human. Within her upturned palms, matching symbols glowed. A downward pointing triangle within a circle, a single line struck through its circumference. It rang a faint familiarly, but he couldn’t be sure where he’d seen such an ancient mark before. And couldn’t focus on anything else in that moment except Faythe.
It was a miracle she still stood alive. Reylan thanked the Spirits for it. Not for long, however, as she would soon be consumed by it if she kept holding on.
Thirteen fae guards who moved to aid their fallen king were now paralyzed by Faythe’s influence. It shouldn’t be possible, yet there she was, like a storm of light as the air stirred around her and her veins pulsed bright. The whole hall gawked at her in silence…then began to retreat with absolute terror on their faces.
Reylan matched them, his own immense fear a kind he’d never felt before, but not for what Faythe could do. He feared for her life, which counted down in precious minutes. While everyone wisely sought distance from her, he advanced toward her—cautiously, figuring one wrong move could trigger an attack on him too if she mistook him for the enemy.
Her splayed palms and tense arms trembled as if she held an invisible tether to each of the dark guards through every one of her fingertips. She looked deathly pale and slick with sweat. She was faltering and would die if she continued to harness the ruin’s power.
The guards choked and spluttered. Then, all in unison, they were brought to their knees, backs arched while their faces contorted in invisible agony. Reylan swallowed hard, throat dry as bone at the horrifying notion she could bend so many wills at once.
Faythe didn’t look at him as he edged closer, and mercifully, she didn’t turn on him with her deadly power. He sheathed his sword as he approached, taking the final steps until he was standing right in front of her. She didn’t pay him any attention, refused to release her hold on the guards who threatened her—or, more importantly, threatened her friends and the young guard as he drew his final breaths. She was protecting them all, even if the cost was her life.
“Faythe,” he said quietly, carefully. He got no response, and her trembling turned more violent. Reylan surged with urgency. “Faythe, look at me. You have to let go.” His tone turned desperate, but she gave no indication she even heard him. He tried to reach her another way. “I see you, Faythe. I see you, and I hear you.”
Her gold eyes snapped to his then, blazing so bright they glowed like molten ore. Yet she still did not release the minds she held.
“I’ll kill every single fae in this room if they dare to take one step toward you. You need to let go.”
“I can’t.”
Her response was weak, and his eyes widened a fraction in realization. She had lost her control, her own will, to the power of the ruin. And she was fading fast.
In a moment of sheer panic, Reylan reached for her, damning the risks as he wrapped his hands around her forearms. She instantly gripped onto him too, as if desperate for the release she knew he could give her—or, rather, take from her.
The power that raged from her was almost enough to bring him to his knees, but Reylan clenched his teeth and held firm, taking as much of her heightened ability as he could bear in its moment of full, unearthly strength. It pulsed through him—through them
—like its own physical life source, and he battled to hold it in. Faythe gasped, grappling to stay standing as the darkness threatened to draw her under. He pulled her to him, one arm going around her waist to take her weight.
“I can’t,” she repeated, head dipping while she fought for consciousness. “Reylan, I can’t hold on.”
“Yes, you can, Faythe. Look at me,” he pleaded.
She did as he commanded, her tired look laced with the pain he wished to take from her.
He raised a hand to her cheek. “I’ve got you. I am with you. Always. Don’t stop looking at me.”
Faythe leaned into his palm, her lids fluttering with the claim the darkness tried to stake. Silver lined the fire in her eyes as they strained to hold his. “Always,” she echoed in a whisper.
Reylan’s heart was hard in his chest, drumming with a fear so great while each second passed with uncertainty. The room around them disappeared, the world around them faded, and there was nothing…nothing that mattered but her. The tears in her eyes lapped waves over the sun that was devoured in her irises. She didn’t blink; neither did he, afraid it would be enough to make her vanish.
He felt her within, a tether he gripped with everything he had, taking the strain as she faltered. “I’ve got you.” His thumb traced over her cheekbone. “Stay with me.”
With his soothing words, he felt her reaching for that tether too, and the tension slackened as she slowly reeled back from the brink of oblivion. Reylan’s ability worked with hers. Her power filtered through him, taming the wild storm and returning it back to her in calm, lapping waves.
Slowly, he felt Faythe regain control of herself, and it dropped a ton weight of relief in his stomach. Her breathing was severely labored, but she was no longer rapidly fading as she fought back. Within her own self, she fought to stay alive against the damned odds.
A Queen Comes to Power: An Heir Comes to Rise Book 2 Page 43