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

by C. C. Peñaranda

  Faythe stood silent and alone as her friends gave her space to grieve.

  She felt…nothing.

  Not anymore, as a numbness so detaching had settled for her to be able to leave the confines her rooms. She’d cried, tormented, for days in solitude, but it would never change the fact Caius was gone.

  Loss was an eternal shadow. It had clung to her since her mother’s passing and thickened the moment the light in Caius’s eyes went out. It wouldn’t diffuse with time; it couldn’t be banished with happiness. But it could ease with acceptance, just enough for those still living to bear the passing seasons for however many years they had left in this world. Death was a force that could not be fought, and time was its cunning accomplice. For nothing could prevent death’s claim once it sank its claws, and no amount of time could erase the pain it left behind.

  Faythe planned to make it count. To honor Caius’s life, the life of the human boy whose life she took, and for every other innocent who had been forfeited in a war that was not of their choosing. In aid of a better world like the soul of the dreamer believed in, it was time to fight back. In their names, with her last breath, if the end demanded it.

  She couldn’t deny the inferno before her brought forth the other heavy burden on her mind. Every now and then, she thought she saw the arms of flame cast out like wings and take flight to join the stars before dispersing as falling embers. The cowardly part of her didn’t want to face it. She’d made her choice to stay in High Farrow and had no desire to know her father. Even as she thought it, her mind chastised her for the lie. She’d been dealing with the internal tornado of emotions for the past five days.

  King Agalhor was set to retreat his forces by morning, and with them, she would likely not see Reylan again either. She refused to acknowledge her sadness over that particular fact. The general had saved her, brought her back when she lost herself to the power of the temple ruin, and risked his own life to do so. It was a debt she didn’t think she’d ever be able to repay. She had nothing to offer him, and nothing to offer the Kingdom of the Phoenix.

  After a few quiet minutes in front of the pyre, she felt Jakon’s presence. She didn’t turn to him as he spoke.

  “I told him to protect you,” he said, achingly quiet. His voice was thick with regret and remorse. When she glanced over at him, Jakon was staring into the flames, face distraught, as if he somehow thought it was his fault.

  Faythe slid her hand into his and squeezed. He didn’t look at her, but she felt him return the gesture weakly.

  “Caius chose to save us all,” she said in solace. “It’s our job to make sure it wasn’t in vain.”

  Jakon’s throat bobbed, holding back the pain he wanted to unleash. Faythe had never seen him cry. Not once in over ten years. Yet now, silver glistened in his eyes, and the stray tear that fell shattered another piece of her fractured heart. He took a long breath to calm himself, quickly swiping the wetness from his cheek.

  “It’s not over, is it?”

  Faythe had no answer to the question that kept them from being able to move on completely. She had to look away. “I think it’s barely begun,” she answered honestly.

  Marlowe came up to her right, and Faythe turned to her. They exchanged a crinkled look filled with heartache, their faces mirroring their unspoken longing, and fell into each other’s arms wordlessly.

  “I’m sorry,” Faythe whispered.

  Marlowe’s arms clutched her a little tighter. “Me too.”

  When she pulled back, the blacksmith’s eyes sparkled as flames danced through the tears pooling in them.

  “You are the strongest of us all, Marlowe. The burdens you carry… I’m sorry I was not there for you when you needed me. I thought you were better off without me, but I was wrong—so wrong. I realize now, we’re stronger together, and we need each other.”

  A tear gathered and fell over her glowing porcelain cheek. Faythe’s hand lifted to swipe it away with a sad smile. “Can you forgive me?”

  Marlowe nodded, her face easing to return to its delicate softness. “Of course. But only if you can forgive me in return. I was hurting and overwhelmed and angry, and I…I took it out on you, blamed you, when I knew it wasn’t entirely your fault.”

  Faythe pulled her into another embrace, feeling the darkness lighten enough for her to breathe easy knowing there was no longer a rift between them.

  “There is nothing to forgive. You had every right to feel the way you did. It was my fault, but I won’t ever stop fighting for you. Both of you.”

  They broke apart, and Faythe turned to Jakon whose expression lifted as he observed them. Faythe’s lips upturned contentedly, and she linked arms with him, head tilting to rest on his shoulder while Marlowe folded into her other side.

  For one small, suspended moment in time, the three friends stood in front of the flames listening to the crackle of splitting timber and watching the rain of fire stars. Faythe allowed herself to feel the small essence of joy that weaved through her melancholy chest. She cast her eyes to the sky as she silently, painfully, thanked Caius in one last internal farewell and recalled his final words as a vow she would never forget.

  Make it rise from the ashes.

  Marlowe’s careful voice broke their mournful silence. “Will you go to Rhyenelle?”

  Faythe shook her head. “My home is here, with both of you.”

  Her answering look filled Faythe with dread. She had come to know when Marlowe was speaking to her as more than just a friend. As an oracle.

  “You shouldn’t give up on the chance to know where you came from. I think there is still so much for you to learn, Faythe. The answers you’ve silently sought are close.”

  Faythe felt foolish for wanting to protest to stay, as if she needed permission.

  “She’s right.”

  Faythe whipped her head to Jakon. His look was pained at the thought of her leaving, but he smiled in understanding. “You deserve a chance to have a relationship with your father. And if you decide the south isn’t all it’s made out to be, you will always have a home to come back to here in High Farrow.”

  She held his eyes filled with encouragement, and in his smile of love there was a silent push. He was setting her free. He wouldn’t object if she went to Rhyenelle because he would always be here, and nothing, no one, could stop her from seeing him anymore.

  “And should you decide to stay in Rhyenelle permanently, damn if you don’t think we’ll be heading south too,” he added, fitting an arm across her shoulders to pull her to him.

  Faythe held onto her reservations; she had been separated from them once before. “We only just got each other back.”

  Marlowe gently squeezed the arm hooked around Faythe’s waist. “Exactly. There is no one keeping us apart anymore, and no one ever will again. But this… This is your destiny, Faythe. Whatever land or sea stretches between us can always be traveled. We will always make our way back to each other.”

  She cast her eyes back to Jakon. His smile was unburdened and bright as he looked between her and Marlowe.

  “What if I don’t fit in there?” Faythe asked, admitting the fear that had clouded her mind ever since she saw the path to Rhyenelle as a viable option. She was only human, only Faythe, a far cry from any semblance of fae prestige. And to know she would be trading one castle for another… She couldn’t ignore where she came from. The sorry, abandoned hut and her careless but impoverished childhood with Jakon. Faythe wouldn’t change her past for the world. Not the days they passed on an empty belly in the early years when neither of them were old enough to find proper work. Not the nights that were so bitterly cold they pushed their cots together in the feeble space and stole burlap sacks to use as extra blankets. Not the days she cried endlessly for her mother and wondered what she had done to deserve to be alone in the world.

  But Faythe was never alone. Not since the day Jakon entered her life and became her family. For the person she held tightly in her arms in that moment—for him—she w
ould do it all over again. No matter what she learned of her father and why her mother robbed her of the bond they could have had, she would always have him to come home to. Jakon, Marlowe, Nik, and Tauria—her unbreakable found family.

  “You weren’t born to fit in, Faythe,” Jakon answered with a hint of amusement that lifted the somber mood. She smiled, finding comfort in the vibrations against his chest as he spoke. “Not as Faythe Aklin or the Gold-Eyed Shadow, or as an Ashfyre.” He took her shoulders, peeling her from his body to look her straight in the eye. “It’s time for you to embrace that free spirit of yours. It’s time for you to fly.”

  Her chest opened up with light that chased the shadows of uncertainty away. Her breathing came easier, clearer, no longer choked by her reserves and protests as she beheld the fierce look in his brown eyes and the warm smile that reassured her nothing could ever sway his opinion of her. No name nor title could waver their bond. And upon turning to Marlowe and seeing the blacksmith’s nod of silent agreement, it was all she could do to refrain from pulling her into an embrace of endless gratitude.

  Her emotions darted between nerves, excitement and…liberation. This was her choice. She was no longer tethered here by a wicked king or spirit-bound to the Eternal Woods. Her heart beat full and free as she realized her life belonged all to her once again. She would be no one’s burden but her own.

  The door to Faythe’s cage had been opened, and now all she had to do was dare to fly free.

  Chapter 57

  Nikalias

  The Prince of High Farrow wore a brave mask as he entered the castle dungeons. He asked the guards to wait outside while he entered the cellblock, needing to be alone for this harrowing task.

  Nik spotted his father immediately, leaning against the back of the dark stone and iron cell. It relieved him that the monster was caged, but equally broke him that it wore his father’s face. A once proud and mighty king, used and discarded like an overworked toy. He tried to convince himself there was nothing of his father left, that he died over a hundred years ago when his heart was turned by the Spirit of Death in Rhyenelle. He had to believe there was no saving him as Aurialis claimed. It was the only way he would be able to carry out what needed to be done.

  After witnessing the king’s madness in the throne room, the guards—the real blue-coated High Farrow warriors—obeyed his commands without a thought once it became safe to do so. His fears that they too had turned their backs on him dissolved the moment they seized his father instead of him when Caius rendered him incapacitated with the Magestone shackles.

  It was a moment Nik would never forget. He would always remember the young fae for his bravery and sacrifice in saving Faythe’s life and ending the reign of terror at the hands of the king. The Magestone was a stroke of brilliance on Faythe’s part, and brave Caius carried through on her plan when all hope was almost lost.

  His father still wore those bonds that took away his fae strength, chained to the back wall like a dog. Nik pushed his personal feelings aside as he unlocked the iron door and stepped inside. Orlon stared at him through a stranger’s black eyes with no regret or remorse for the events he caused.

  Despite everything he’d done—killing his mother, conspiring a war, and ruling with merciless malice—Nik’s anger and hatred toward his father was overshadowed by another crushing emotion. Guilt. That he had believed all this time it truly was his father who committed such heinous crimes over the past century.

  “Ahh, Nikalias, my son…” he drawled mockingly. “And the biggest disappointment of my immortal life.” It was his father’s voice, but not his words. The male he knew, the one who raised him—he was not the one who looked up at him with cold loathing now. “You’re weak, you’re spineless, and you let your emotions get in the way of what needs to be done. I saw the future for this kingdom. Power. Strength. I did not spend my life building it all so you could simply let it fall with your soft heart,” his father spat.

  Nik’s jaw tensed, and it was as much emotion as he would show as he raised his chin. “You’re right. You led these people. You built this kingdom.” He took a step forward. “Then you died at the hands of Dakodas a century ago, and so your reign should have too.”

  The king’s black eyes blazed in fury, and he knew he’d struck the right chord.

  “My only regret is that I didn’t realize it sooner.” He would forever harbor the guilt of failing his father.

  Nik looked down at those black eyes, trying to detach his father’s face from the evil lurking within as it glared back at him with a powerful malice. He locked away all personal feelings behind a steel guard, going on to address the demon within.

  “Did you know of the creature in the caves below the castle?”

  Orlon stayed silent, but in the faint flex of his eyes, Nik saw the recognition. He huffed a humorless laugh.

  “Of course you did. You were the one ordering for it to be kept fed. But why?”

  Nik paced the cell, trying to put the scattered pieces of the puzzle together.

  “You will not stand against the might of the dark fae, prince.”

  Nik halted, eyes snapping back to hold its black depths. It was a snarl meant to scare him, but instead, it gave Nik the confirmation he sought. One that inspired a horrible feeling of foreboding.

  The creature in the passage was a dark fae.

  “Such a savage, unhinged species may be a brutal weapon, but they cannot be tamed and disciplined for battle.” Nik chose his words carefully, knowing he wouldn’t receive answers by asking the terrifying questions he needed to outright. He wanted to gather what information he could to try to gauge what they were up against.

  It seemed to work, as the demon chuckled darkly, each vibration like a cold trail down his spine.

  “Those who transitioned too savagely for purpose are but a distraction. They are without any humanity, yes, but they can deliver carnage,” he drawled, relishing in the opportunity to strike fear into the prince. “But there are also those who are not so different from you, Nikalias. Perhaps one may have crossed your path, but you would never have known in your ignorance and naïvety.”

  Nik kept his breathing steady, but his pulse quickened at the haunting possibility they could walk among them without detection. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Yet they are far stronger. Far more lethal. They are a war you cannot win.”

  Nik’s whole body stiffened painfully to suppress the tremor that swept through him. “Their numbers can’t be all that threatening if they have succeeded in remaining hidden. The dark fae are winged,” he pointed out cautiously.

  A cruel, triumphant grin split the demon’s cheeks. “Their numbers span beyond your imagination, prince. They are cunning, and there are many with the ability to glamor their dark fae heritage. Without their wings, would you know if one was staring you in the face? The fae are too oblivious to question the shift in scent, too imperious to believe there could exist a species superior to them. Fear the dark fae, Nikalias, for they will make the Netherworld seem like paradise to those who dare defy them.”

  “You pulled back the forces in Galmire…” The dawning realization that hit him was chilling. “You knew the dark fae were targeting the humans. You—” Nik’s breathing hardened in a rage. “You let them be targeted.” Another puzzle piece shifted into place. “The mountains,” he whispered to himself as he fitted it all together. A flash of memory from Jakon’s recollection of what he’d gathered in the town: The bodies always turned up near…

  “They reside in the Mortus Mountains, don’t they?”

  The demon flinched as if he knew it was a piece of information he shouldn’t give away. His face contorted as if he were fighting within himself to stay silent.

  He didn’t directly confirm it, but Nik didn’t need him to.

  “They need humans to feed on, and they need fae bodies for transition.”

  “Transition?”

  The demon nodded. “How do you think they have built their nu
mbers? They have many full-bred dark fae, but to rely on them would take many millennia more to form the army they require after their near annihilation. The Silverbloods are strong, pure, but the Blackbloods—the transitioned—add a lethal capacity to their forces. You will not stand against them.”

  Nik blanched but maintained his outward composure. He stored away the knowledge, unknowing of what he could do with it yet—against an uncharted and absolutely deadly threat, the likes of which no living fae nor human had encountered before. A threat from nightmares and horror stories; a dark fable and historic myth…made very real. He swallowed hard to wet his bone-dry throat.

  “And Marvellas—does she hear us now?”

  “The great Spirit of Souls is everywhere. You cannot hide from her, and you cannot escape her.”

  “Good.”

  Nik drew the sword at his hip, and his father flinched back in fear. He blocked out all thoughts of the male he knew, or he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan. He pointed the blade at Orlon’s chest.

  “If you’re listening, I want you to know…”—the prince’s heart hammered, and it took all his strength to keep his hand from wavering and letting his world-shattering pain slip through the length of steel—“we’re coming for you, Marvellas.” Then he kneeled, thrusting the sword straight through his father’s heart in one swift motion.

  Orlon spluttered, coughing blood as he looked down to gape at the blade that dealt his killing strike. The king’s sword—the Farrow Sword. It would now rightfully belong to Nik.

  The prince held firm as he watched in painstaking agony while his father’s life faded under his own hands.

  Then Orlon’s head snapped up to lock his gaze with a sharp gasp that struck him cold.

  Regret battered his heart and remorse clouded his mind, at his father’s wide-eyed stare and what he saw in it. Through the depthless black voids of his irises, hues of hazel began to lattice. Nik went to retract the blade, horrified he was wrong, that Aurialis had tricked him, but his father’s hand curled around his forearm to prevent him from removing the sword in his chest. Nik leaned forward as the familiarity, recognition, and love returned to Orlon’s eyes while he stared back.