An Heir Comes to Rise

by C. C. Peñaranda

  She pushed the panic-inducing thoughts aside, and with plenty of time to spare, she decided she would use it to put a little effort into her look for tonight, if only to keep herself busy. Not that she had many outfit choices, but she opted for the only gown she owned in place of her usual pants and tunic. It had been a gift from Jakon on her eighteenth birthday.

  The gown was a deep crimson color with ornate gold embroidery over the square-cut neckline and long sleeves—to match her eyes, he’d said. She dressed quickly, discarding her other clothes on the bed and going to the small, clouded mirror in the washroom. She took sections of hair from the sides of her head and braided them back out of her face. A small difference to her everyday untamed waves.

  Once satisfied she had achieved all she could with her look, she huffed at her plain face in the mirror. Her eyes were her mother’s, but Faythe couldn’t help but wonder if she looked at all like her father. Whenever she asked about him as a child, her mother had refused to talk, simply saying they were better off without him.

  Faythe had a long face and high cheekbones made slightly more prominent by lack of proper nutrition. Her jaw, while still feminine, was angled with a small, rounded square chin. Her mother had a round and tapered face, making her look almost pixie-like. Faythe smiled at the memory. Even ten years after her death, she would never forget the image of her mother’s delicate beauty.

  With nothing else to occupy the painfully slow minutes, Faythe leaned casually on the old but hardly used wooden kitchen counter as she picked at an apple to keep her stomach at bay. She glanced at the watch in her dress pocket, tapping her foot impatiently for Jakon to get home. The spare time gave her mind free rein to run wild over the huge revelation that could change her life. Internally, she became numb to the overhanging notion she was capable of the notorious fae ability, refusing to accept the impossible as fact or truth. She attempted to push the thought to the back of her mind for fear of crippling herself with panic and dread. No matter how hard she tried, a constant unsettling feeling remained in her stomach.

  Close to eight, the door swung open, and she thanked the Spirits for Jakon’s arrival at last to save her from her quickly spiraling emotions.

  He stopped just past the threshold and gawked at her for a moment, but then his lips curved up into a grin. “You look incredible,” he said.

  Her cheeks flushed, and she mumbled an awkward thanks, smoothing down the skirts of her gown. Jakon kept his hands clasped behind his back, hiding something, and her face fell into a frown. When he noticed her stare, his grin widened.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said, bringing the object into view.

  She gasped, hands going over her mouth, when she beheld what her friend carried in both outstretched palms.

  A sword!

  He nodded at her to take it, walking forward slowly. “Happy summer solstice, Faythe,” he said quietly when he was close enough for her to accept the gift.

  Faythe stood in the same frozen position, hardly able to form words. “Jak, we… I can’t. It must have cost so much money,” she got out, feeling guilty he would spend it on her.

  “Don’t worry about it. I saved what I could, and Dalton owed me a favor, so I got a good price,” he said, mentioning Farrowhold’s blacksmith on the other side of town.

  Faythe raised a hand to graze her fingertips over the large crystal-clear stone on the pommel.

  “The blacksmith kindly offered the stone with no charge. Called it The Looking Glass—some ancient rock that’s supposed to bring good fortune and all that.” He huffed a laugh.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she continued to trace over the intricate woven pattern of the cross guard that expanded confidently like the wings of an eagle into downward-facing peaks. She had no thoughts on what the symbols meant along the rain guard, only that they were beautiful.

  “They had a rather artistic side,” Jakon commented, also admiring the craftsmanship. “Take it.” He pushed it into her hands.

  She held it between her own palms, and the light weight surprised her. Gripping the crisscrossed leather of the hilt, she pulled it free from its scabbard with a satisfying cry of sliced steel. She could only marvel wide-eyed as the full glory of the brightly polished blade glinted in the candlelight, revealing every impressive contour of the masterpiece as she raised it skyward, the metal a little darker in tone than she expected.

  “It’s Niltain steel,” he said as if reading her thoughts.

  She gawked at him at the mention of the precious metal. It was a rare material and the most robust, only found in the mountains of the Niltain Isles—a small island off the south coast of Ungardia. Not much was known of the people or creatures who dwelled there, but they fell under the jurisdiction of the kingdom of Rhyenelle.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Does it matter?” He grinned deviously.

  From his look, Faythe knew she didn’t want to know the answer. “What about you?” she asked instead, still feeling guilty at such an outrageously generous gift when she had nothing to offer in return.

  He shrugged, nonchalant. “Swordplay is your thing. I do well with only my fists anyway.” He gave her a playful push. “You’ll just have to be the one guarding our backs from now on.”

  Faythe gave an excited squeal in acceptance, balancing the blade in each hand to get a feel for it. Jakon stepped back to let her use the space to swing it gently a few times. She couldn’t find the words to describe how it felt: as if it had been made for her alone and no one else could wield it. The weight was perfect, with the hilt seeming to have all the right grips for her hand that made the control as easy as if it were an extension of her own arm. She made a mental note to stop by the blacksmiths and commend him for his expert craftsmanship.

  After finishing her admiration and disbelief, she sheathed the blade and unwrapped the belt from its scabbard to sling around her waist.

  “You’re going to wear it tonight?” Jakon asked, pleased but wary.

  “Of course.” She beamed.

  He smiled, more to himself, at the absolute joy on her face.

  “I’m just surprised you’d trust me with a real blade against you,” she teased. “We’ll see how long your fists hold up then.”

  He barked a laugh and brushed past her. “I’ll freshen up quick, and we can go enjoy the celebrations.”

  Faythe grabbed his elbow. “Thank you, Jak, really. You have no idea how much I love it,” she said with absolute sincerity.

  He brushed away a stray bit of hair that never fit in her braid and gave her a knowing smile. “I do.”

  Chapter 6

  Dusk had settled over the skies, lit by a glorious full moon and a glittering cascade of stars. Faythe breathed in the scent of fire—entirely wholesome and welcoming as it coaxed her to find where dancing flames brought the aroma to life. She linked arms with Jakon, and together, they strolled lazily through the bustling street, past multiple vendors offering unique treats and long sticks that sparkled a rainbow of color when lit.

  When they came across a certain food stall, Faythe stopped to purchase two skewered sausages that made her mouth water. They devoured them on their way out of the stone town and up to the grassy hills, where she could already spy waves of orange and yellow dancing the tango with human silhouettes. The music was wonderful, and she found herself swaying to the lute band’s ensemble as they walked toward it.

  They passed another vendor, and she stopped again, grinning to herself. “I’m getting a drink,” she announced.

  Jakon’s eyes wandered to where she was headed, and he laughed. “The last time you were drunk, you got us banned from the inn for starting a brawl.”

  She feigned shock. “They were cheating me at cards!”

  “Actually, you were cheating them. You’re a sloppy cheat when you’re drunk,” he countered.

  “I would never resort to such measures,” she scoffed with a playful smirk, heading to the stall anyway. She bought one glass of wine, do
wned it in a few bitter gulps, and went straight for another while Jakon rolled his eyes, sipping on his drink. She stuck her tongue out at his judgmental look and refrained from giving the stallkeeper the same response when he looked inclined to say something to her.

  “Some of us still have to work tomorrow,” Jakon said.

  “That’s never stopped you before, if I remember correctly.” She grinned at the memory of last Yulemas. They’d gotten so piss-poor drunk Jakon had woken up among the pigs at the farm. Miraculously, he’d convinced his superior he had arrived early to get a head start. Still drunk.

  “Never again,” he said, reminiscing with a smile.

  The first wine had already taken the night chill away and loosened Faythe’s tense muscles. She wished she’d left her cloak at home. They reached the peak of the hills, and Faythe took a moment to marvel at the sight: people dancing, laughing, and just being together. It was a change from the usual gloom that coated the town under the same bland routine.

  She drank, and when she looked into the raging fires before her, they seemed to beckon with arms of black smoke. For a second, her mind flashed to her dream—her nightmare—the night before, which she had now come to discover had been inside Nik’s head. She raised a hand to her throat, the ghost of that phantom touch lingering.

  “You okay?” Jakon asked, sipping his wine.

  She nodded and smiled before knocking back the rest of her second cup and discarding it in a nearby waste container. She took his hand, leading him further into the mass of people around the largest center bonfire. She stopped at the edge of the flames as the song changed and women took their place around the burning inferno for a dance. It was one her mother had taught her as a child. Jakon released her hand and stepped back to watch.

  Faythe was going to protest she hadn’t participated in such dances in a very long time and would most likely look foolish, but his nod of encouragement—or maybe it was the wine—dissolved all the words from her mouth when the tune picked up rhythm. She watched the women carelessly flow with the music and flames, and then she joined in, twirling and bowing and moving her feet as she gave herself over completely to the melody.

  Faythe felt as if she were floating, her dress and cloak fanning around her as she made spin after spin. She wasn’t certain she was even still grounded. A sharp crackle exploded into falling embers in front of her, and she became one with the fire that lured her into a dance of danger and passion with its whispers of seduction.

  Minutes that could have been hours passed, and the tempo finally slowed, coming to its final chapter. When it stopped completely, people clapped, and the women made their final bow toward the flames. But Faythe did not, for through the rippling gaps in the fire, Nik’s eyes bore into her. Dizzy from the dancing or alcohol or seeing him, perhaps all three, Faythe turned to Jakon pale-faced and swayed a little as she stepped over to him.

  “I think we should get you some water,” he said, hooking an arm around her waist to keep her straight. “Can you walk?” He sighed when she shook her head sloppily, looking around before leading her over to a makeshift bench. “Stay here. I won’t be long,” he muttered, giving her a look over and making sure she wasn’t about to pass out before he made haste back down the hill.

  She wanted to protest, but the words were lost, and he was too far down to hear her anyway. Faythe got to her feet. She could walk. She could follow him. She took all of a few steps before her vision doubled and she tumbled face-first into the grassy slopes.

  A hand went around her waist, hauling her upright before she could taste the dirt.

  The arm was gone as quickly as it came, however, and it took Faythe a moment longer than it should have before she registered the encounter. She snapped her head around, but her alcohol-clouded mind delayed her focus.

  As soon as Nik’s face came into full view, she glared at him. “Twice in one day. To what do I owe the pleasure, Nik?” She drawled out his name, the wine giving her a clumsy sense of confidence.

  “You know that’s magick wine you’re drinking? One cup is enough to put you on your ass, never mind two,” Nik scolded.

  Well, that explained a lot.

  She kept her glare as she muttered, “Killjoy.” Faythe looked him over. He wasn’t in the same casual attire she’d seen him in twice before. Instead, he wore a familiar uniform. She noted the colors and sigil and backed up a step. “So you are part of the king’s guard.”

  She had suspected it, but seeing him dressed and armed like a guard made her very uneasy. He knew what ability dwelled within her. She couldn’t decide if his being close to the king kept her safer, since he might know if anyone was suspicious of her, or if it put her in more danger.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

  “How do I know you won’t just go running to the king with my secret? I’m sure he’d reward you handsomely,” she sniped.

  “You’d have been locked in a cell long before now if that were my intention,” he countered.

  She dropped her eyes. He had point. Unless he was waiting to find out more about her.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” she asked quietly.

  “You can’t,” he replied, “but you don’t really have a choice either.”

  Also a good point.

  When she didn’t respond, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Here,” he said, pushing the item toward her after a subtle look around to check if anyone was watching. She examined the small vial of liquid in his cupped palm and didn’t immediately take it. “It’s not poison!” he said incredulously.

  “That’s not what I was thinking!” she quickly shot back.

  He gave her a look that said he knew it was exactly what had crossed her mind. “It’ll basically help you to sleep deeper and prevent a wandering subconscious mind. Use only two drops per night,” he explained.

  She kept her eyes narrowed, still skeptical, but with a grumble and a mutter of, “Thanks,” she pocketed the bottle. His eyes traveled to her hip as she did.

  “Nice sword,” he observed. “Though one might think it a little out of your…standing.”

  She shot him a distasteful look. “It was a gift, and it’s none of your damn business.”

  His lips pulled up into an amused grin, and she held back the urge to whack him. Stupid fae and their pretentious, arrogant, selfish—

  “I only meant for you to be careful. It’s not often you see a human, especially a female,”—he winced at her pointed glare—“with a sword of such caliber. You wouldn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself.”

  Unspoken meaning lingered between them: “Don’t give them a reason to look into you.”

  She nodded her understanding at the silent words.

  “Enjoy the festivities, Faythe, and I hope you sleep well.” With that, he turned and weaved through the crowd with swift grace until she lost him in a distant blur of revelers.

  Jakon crept up to her seconds later, and she jerked in fright, wondering if Nik had somehow known he was near and disappeared on cue.

  The world still spun, and when she looked into the fire, she saw animals of flame leaping and roaring, chanting for her to join them. A cold cup was pressed into her hands, and she drank greedily, desperate for her head to clear.

  “Let’s get you home,” Jakon said, sliding his arm around her waist and hooking her own around his shoulder to carry her.

  She didn’t recall much of the journey back to the hut besides blurred bodies and a loud clamor as the solstice celebrations went on in full swing. In the hut, she threw herself onto her cot, her head somewhat cleared from the fresh air and constant top-ups of water Jakon kept supplying, but the walls still tilted slightly.

  Jakon removed her cloak and boots before standing over her. “Unless you want me to fully undress you, you’d better get up,” he said.

  She giggled. “Yes, please.”

  He groaned in response. “You’re always a pain in my ass when yo
u’re drunk.” He helped her to sit up and unlaced the back of her dress. He’d seen almost every inch of her many times before simply because it came with sharing such a small space.

  She turned to him once he’d finished. Her bold, tipsy state mixed with her internal frustration when she looked into the warm hazel of Jakon’s eyes. It should be easy for her to fall in love with him… Was there something wrong with her? She had lustful desires, of course, and would occasionally give in to flirtations with single suitors on a night out at the inn—when Jakon wasn’t there to make her feel guilty about it. She refused to tangle their friendship with lust, knowing it would mean something entirely different to him. But tonight, she was irrationally angry at herself for not being able to return his want for something more.

  Impulsively, she leaned forward to kiss him, desperate to prove herself wrong in her platonic feelings. Their lips met just briefly, but then he pulled away.

  “Faythe.” He said her name as a quiet plea.

  At the pained look in his eye, she instantly regretted the reckless move. It was selfish of her to try, and hopeless. He seemed to know it too—at least in her pitiful tipsy state—but he wiped away his disappointment with a teasing smirk. It eased her guilt as he stood and lightly tousled her hair.

  “Drunken fool,” he muttered playfully.

  She gave him a sheepish smile, and he turned to leave their bedroom and let her change.

  Faythe mentally chastised herself, standing to slip out of her dress, which hit the floor with a thump. She swore as she bent down to rustle through the pockets. She retrieved her watch and set it on the side table before reaching in again and breathing a sigh of relief. The bottle Nik had given her was still intact.

  She quickly slipped into nightclothes and then sat on the edge of her cot to inspect the small vial. She unscrewed the top, tentatively lifted it off, and found a dropper attached to the lid. She sniffed it once and immediately flinched back at the awful odor. If it were poison, she would be none the wiser, and that made her sick to her stomach. But as Nik had said, what choice did she have but to trust him? Surely there would be no reason to kill her this way when he could benefit greatly from handing his rare catch to the king.